CHAPTER 11

Lexie stood at her designated workstation in front of a pile of freshly cooked crabs. The air in the kitchen of the LMK was redolent with the aroma of the crustaceans. She’d had Buster steam the crabs right after the dinner service so they’d be ready when Seb arrived.

The three-man camera crew had shown up first, and then Seb had arrived moments later, his entourage in tow. Lexie wondered if the deck had been stacked against her when she saw who had come to support Seb: Bobby Trevese from New York and Norton Campton from Boston, both famous chefs with their own cooking shows. Chef Trevese was a rotund, jovial man whose persona was warm and welcoming. Chef Campton was his polar opposite in looks—rail thin, with an imposing mien. Still, he’d been pleasant and friendly when introductions were made.

Seb’s assistant and agent had come along for the ride, too. Seb’s agent, a woman named Eleanor Ulner, had arrived in a swirl of expensive perfume and a swath of even more expensive silk scarves. She’d swept in, giving Lexie an up and down. Maybe she was sizing her up to see if she’d make a suitable client? Fat chance. Why would Seb’s agent ever want to represent a small-town restaurateur like her? And, really, why would she want an agent, anyway? She’d never need one.

Ivana Vlatova, Seb’s assistant, had been more polite, if a bit reserved. She was one of the most striking women Lexie had ever seen. Tall, with long black hair, legs that went on for miles, and a perfectly fitted wrap dress that hugged every curve. Lexie couldn’t believe Seb could actually work with her and get anything done.

For all her self-doubt, Lexie managed to keep her cool as everyone filtered into the restaurant. While Seb’s assistant and his agent were obviously rooting for him to win, chefs Trevese and Campton were ostensibly there to judge them fairly. But it would be a bit daunting to perform in front of so many people. And she had no doubt it would be a performance.

Cameras were set up in front of each workstation, with a third camera ready to capture the small group’s reactions to the competition. Willing herself to ignore the fact that they were going to be taped, she took a deep breath and tried to relax. Thank goodness they’d worked out all the details by email a few days ago. Otherwise she’d be going crazy.

Lexie hadn’t wanted anyone to come watch her except Babs and Buster, who were there for much more than moral support. She’d been too nervous. Now, she was having second thoughts; it would have been nice to have a few more friendly faces around her.

Babs, Buster, Ivana, Eleanor, and the two chefs were now seated in the dining room chairs they’d brought into the kitchen for the challenge. Buster sat completely still, his rangy frame folded into a sitting position. He was watching her intently, as if he were sending her the mental ammunition to help her win. Babs gave her an encouraging smile, her face eager. Babs always loved a good competition. Seb’s people looked faintly bored, but the celebrity chefs seemed like they were enjoying themselves.

The crabs cooled slowly on her platter. By the time the competition started, they’d be ready to be cracked and peeled. She’d extract the moist meat with every tool at her disposal—forks, toothpicks, even her own fingernails. It was dirty, messy business, but she loved it.

Out of the corner of her right eye, she could see Seb preparing his workstation. He was meticulous, wiping down the counter, the knives, and the bowls, even though Lexie had cleaned everything just before his arrival. Ignoring Seb, she focused on her game plan. She had already organized her station the way she wanted it—non-crabmeat ingredients on the left, knives on the right, bowls in front of her. Clean towels hanging above her head.

Lexie had practiced making the crab cakes for the past three nights, but she was so nervous, she felt like she needed to run through her strategy in her mind before starting. First she’d crack the crabs and extract the soft flesh. Once that was done, she’d set the meat aside and prepare the tarragon aioli that would be used both inside of the cakes and as an accompaniment. She’d mix the crabmeat with the aioli, scallions, and just enough bread crumbs to hold it together. Then, she’d form medium-sized patties and bake them to perfection.

The crab cake recipe she’d concocted was good. Really good. The cakes were almost solely crabmeat, allowing their natural flavor to shine through without too much filler or flavoring. The flavoring she had added was subtle, and it enhanced the taste of the meat rather than covering it. She was proud of her work and she hoped she’d be able to execute her recipe perfectly tonight.

“All right, you two,” Babs said as she stood up, her husky voice resonating in the kitchen. “I hardly need to tell Lexie the rules, but I’ll repeat ’em for Sebastian, who’s broken every rule ever laid down and laughed about it.” She scowled at Seb, who returned her dirty look with an angelic smile. Lexie almost snorted. With his sharp white teeth on full display and his green eyes glowing, an innocent smile on him looked like a halo on a demon.

“Ahem,” Babs cleared her throat. “Play fair and keep it clean. Everything must be made on the premises using the ingredients present. No outside help, including from your own staff members or the professionals on hand.” Babs gave a nod to Buster and the two chefs who were also sitting in the kitchen. “You have exactly a half an hour to prepare and cook the crab cakes and serve ’em to the judges. You may enter a total of five crab cakes to be judged. Any questions?”

Lexie shook her head no. She saw Seb do the same.

“Get ready. Your time starts now.”

Lexie ran to her oven and turned on the broiler. Then she whirled to her station and madly began cracking crabs. Tuning out everything around her—the camera crew, the audience, and Seb himself—she simply focused on getting the job done. After eight minutes, she had enough meat to begin crafting the cakes. She glided through her recipe, mentally checking off each step as it was completed. With sixteen minutes left, she was ready to cook the cakes. She sprinkled some extra-virgin olive oil on a baking sheet, then placed the formed crab cakes onto it. She didn’t need to check the oven to make sure the temperature was correct; she knew these ovens like the back of her hand. Home team advantage.

Lexie nervously watched the cakes as they cooked. After about ten minutes had passed, she opened up the oven to peek at them. The tops were crisped a perfect brown. Sighing in relief, she wedged a spatula under the edge of one of the cakes and carefully flipped it over. Then she flipped the rest of them, ensuring that each crumbly cake stayed together as it was turned. Back into the oven they went.

After another four minutes, she checked them again. They looked good, but she wanted to be sure. She broke into one of the least attractive ones and sampled her handiwork. Perfect. She pulled the baking sheet out of the oven and delicately slid the crab cakes off onto a waiting plate. With her two remaining minutes she selected the most perfect specimens and arranged them on a serving plate. Finally, she garnished the plate with some greens and a dollop of the tarragon aioli.

Pumped full of adrenaline and with a minute left in the competition, she turned triumphantly away from her workstation. Her smile froze on her face.

Seb had completed his entry, too, and it was sitting on the central counter, waiting to be judged. Leaning against the back counter, his long body stretched in an elegantly casual pose, he was staring at her intently, his green eyes boring into her own. It looked as though he’d been watching her for some time, even though the steam emanating from his dish belied that impression.

Lexie fought her nerves and turned away from Seb’s probing stare. She grabbed her entry and briskly walked to the central counter to place her plate next to his.

“Time’s up,” called Babs, as she rose from her chair. The camera swiveled to follow her. “It’s time for judging. As you know, each judge gets one vote, but the judges will taste and discuss the entries in a separate room before giving our final decisions. We’ll take the entries now.” She gestured at Buster, who carefully lifted each platter and carried them out of the kitchen and to the front of the restaurant. Babs, the two guest chefs, and Seb’s assistant and agent all followed Buster into the dining room, trailed by the camera crew. Seb’s agent gave Lexie a cool stare as she left the kitchen.

Suddenly, Lexie was alone with Sebastian, who was eyeing her with predatory interest. She stared back at him, crossing her arms under her chest in a purely protective gesture, praying she looked angry instead of incredibly nervous. Before she could stop him, he’d crossed the room to where she stood, filling the space around her with his oversized presence. Without any preliminaries, he reached around her and snared a crab cake from the pile that she hadn’t deemed worthy of the judges. While she stared, he broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth. He chewed for a few moments, his jaw working up and down as he tasted the morsel.

“Not bad,” he mused aloud. “Not bad at all.”

Instead of responding, she walked over to his own pile of discards and duplicated his actions, grabbing one of his crab cakes and taking a hefty bite. She chewed viciously at first. Then slowed down as the taste poured over her in waves. It was a revelation.

Seb had also tried to accentuate the flavor of the crab. Like her, he hadn’t used traditional mid-Atlantic flavors. But instead of going Continental the way she had with the addition of tarragon and scallions, he’d done a Southwestern treatment. Lexie tasted cayenne pepper, onion, red pepper, and lemon. He must have soaked the bread crumbs in lemon juice to impart such a tart tang.

Lexie wasn’t surprised it tasted incredible; Seb was, after all, a nationally acclaimed chef. But she was surprised by the direction he’d chosen. He’d done a great job of infusing a traditional dish with an unusual flavor spectrum.

She looked back at Seb, who was watching her again. Waiting for her to speak.

“It’s very good.”

Seb looked miffed. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

All the tension Lexie had been holding in throughout the competition came out in a rush. “What would you like me to say? That this is the best crab cake I’ve ever eaten? That you’re the better chef?” she snapped. “You really are the most presumptuous man I’ve ever met.”

His eyes crinkled at the edges and his mouth formed a sensual smile, making him look like the man of the world he very clearly was. “You’re gorgeous when you’re angry, you know that? The way your eyes spark fire at me as if you wished you could burn me up with just a look. Like you’re doing right now. Do you have any idea how tempting you are? How sexy you look standing there?”

Lexie reflexively crossed her arms over her chest again, fighting the arousal this man always made her feel.

“Don’t hide from me,” he commanded, his smile fading. As he stared, Lexie lowered her arms to her sides. She had no idea what made her do it, only that he’d stop talking if she didn’t. Lord help her, she didn’t want him to stop talking. Because if he stopped talking, he’d start acting.

“I just want to eat you up.” He was staring at her, intensity rising. “I made my crab cake recipe with you in mind. I put all your fire, all your heat, all your spice into them. I’m going to serve them at my new restaurant with your name on them, Lexie. Everyone’s going to know the effect you’ve had on me.” Her mouth went dry, now a typical reaction when Seb was near. She swallowed, trying to get some moisture inside. Seb took a step closer. “What do you think people are going to say about us then, Spice?”

Lexie’s mouth was still dry. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out how to moisten it. Luckily, there was no need for her to respond, because the judges filed back into the kitchen.

“We’ve each made a decision,” Babs said. “I’ll let Chef Trevese speak first.” She nodded toward the burly man.

“With crab cakes, it’s very difficult to get the consistency right. Sebastian, I felt as if your cakes were a bit dry. The peppers were a great flavor addition, but they didn’t help hold your cakes together. Lexie, the addition of the aioli into the body of the cake was brilliant. It really added to the texture, making the crab cakes almost creamy. My vote goes to Chef Meyers.”

Chef Campton spoke next, his tenor voice resonating in the room. “As you both probably know, New England–style crab cakes are what are usually served in this region. They’re quite similar to Maryland crab cakes in that they’re traditionally flavored with dry mustard, Worcestershire sauce, or parsley. Both of you used those traditional flavors as a launching pad, but departed from those traditions in different, interesting ways.” He turned to Lexie. “I liked your integration of the tarragon aioli. The herb was infused nicely throughout the cake. I would have liked more zing. The scallions didn’t quite work.” He turned to Seb. “The Southwestern idea was great and your execution was perfect. The true flavors of the region really showed through. I especially liked your use of the red and green peppers. They provided a visual appeal while also adding to the flavor. The mango salsa accompaniment was an added bonus. My vote goes to Chef Grayson.”

Finally, it was Babs’s turn to speak. Her eyes gleamed as she looked at both Sebastian and Lexie. “Well, let’s get down to it. I liked both flavors. They’re different from the way I make ’em, but I liked the way they tasted. The tarragon creaminess of Lexie’s and the spicy zing of Seb’s both did it for me. I don’t mind it when crab cakes stick together and I don’t mind it when they crumble, neither. So both were even for me in that respect. Visually, they both looked good. Lexie’s had that crisped top, which is pretty, and Seb’s had that green and red flaked look, which is unusual, but interesting. I know both of you put a lot of work into this.” She gave Seb a look that could only be described as one of grudging admiration. “So I think I’m gonna disappoint you both when I tell you that it’s a tie.”

The kitchen erupted as a heated argument ensued between Seb’s agent and Babs. Ivana tried in vain to get Eleanor to back off, but she wasn’t budging. Chefs Campton and Trevese edged away from the women. Only Buster stood by them, watching the proceedings with a detached coolness.

“Turn those damn cameras off,” Ivana snapped, waving her hand in front of the camera closest to Seb.

The judgment and the arguing brought Lexie back to reality. She turned to Seb. He was watching things unfold with a bemused smile on his face. He turned and caught her eyes above the fray, then moved his gaze toward the back kitchen door, a clear signal that they should continue their conversation somewhere quieter. She nodded her head in assent. While everyone else was otherwise occupied, Lexie stepped out the back door, Seb close on her heels.

The door swung shut, but before she could give Seb a piece of her mind she felt his strong hands gripping her shoulders. He spun her around, pulled her tightly against his body, and began kissing her as if he was a drowning man and she was a raft.

Once again, Lexie was lost in the sensation of his lips on hers and the feel of his strong hands—one on her back and the other around her waist. Instantly, the physical feelings she’d been suppressing slammed back into her with full force. With the touch of his mouth on hers, he had effectively converted her anger into passion.

“You are so hot when you’re pissed off at me,” Seb whispered huskily between kisses. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”

“I want them on me,” she whispered back truthfully.

Her words obviously struck a chord with him, because he kissed her even more deeply, exploring her mouth with his warm, firm tongue. She couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped her.

Lexie’s mind began to catch up with her body, but she pushed the thoughts aside. She didn’t want to think about the games he was playing—blowing hot, then cold, then hot again. She didn’t care anymore. Their physical attraction was undeniable and she was tired of fighting with him when all she really wanted to do was to feel his big hands on her, caressing her, making her feel like herself again. And every time they touched, her resolve not to get involved with a man—not to get involved with him—became weaker.

Lexie pressed up against him, tacitly offering herself—her body—to him. As if he recognized this, Seb slid one of his hands to the edge of her shirt. Slowly, he moved it up underneath to cup her breast over her bra. She felt her nipple peak in his palm and she shivered. Gently he thumbed the tight bud through the fabric, making her burn with desire. He cupped her other breast with his other hand, kneading her softness and circling both nipples in an intoxicating rhythm. While his hands were on her breasts, he kept his mouth busy on her neck, her lips, her face.

She wound her hands through his thick, dark hair, reveling in the feel of its smooth silkiness between her fingers. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d ever bother with gel or cologne or accessories. What you saw was what you got. Lexie was lost—in time, in feeling, in his strong arms. He slid his hands to her back and began to undo her bra.

It was at that very moment that the sound of a shrill bell sliced through the air.

“What the—” Seb stopped nibbling on Lexie’s neck and jerked his head up. At the same time, he slipped his hands out from under her shirt. He stepped away fast, as if he’d been caught doing something dirty.

“It’s the fire alarm,” Lexie said, suddenly embarrassed. What would have happened if the alarm hadn’t gone off? Where would this have led? She stepped back from Seb and hastily tried to compose herself as best as she could, smoothing down her shirt and straightening her hair.

Seb didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. “We need to go back in to see what’s happened.” He swung the back door open. “What’s going on in here?” he roared as he walked inside. He’d thrown the heavy metal door open with such force that as Lexie stepped in just behind him, it smacked her in the rear end. Just great. Still smarting from the thump, it took her a moment to realize that the room was in complete chaos.

Rubbing her bottom, Lexie sized up the issue in an instant. Eleanor Ulner had gotten too close to a still-hot burner on the stovetop, and one of her many scarves had caught on fire. Poor Eleanor was frantically trying to yank it off while Buster was trying to wrestle her to the ground to stamp out the flames. Panicked, she was struggling with him, oblivious to the fact that he was trying to help her.

“Stop, drop, and roll!” Lexie screamed, realizing what was happening. “Stop, drop, and roll!” The phrase must have resonated with the woman, since she finally stopped struggling with Buster and let him guide her to the ground. In mere moments, he had the blaze extinguished. Then he took a long dowel from the pantry and used it to hit a button on the fire alarm. The blaring noise finally stopped.

Stunned into silence, Eleanor finally managed to unwind the scarf from her neck and she threw its charred remnants on the ground in front of her. She stared in horror at the burned silk, probably imagining what would have happened to her tender flesh if Buster hadn’t come to her aid.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Eleanor said to Buster in a clipped voice. Lexie had to give her some credit. She’d just been set aflame and tackled to the ground, yet she still managed to come off sounding composed.

“Yer welcome,” Buster said gruffly, still holding the dowel.

Lexie sighed with relief. She had Buster to thank for the woman’s narrow escape. The two guest chefs, three cameramen, and Babs were all standing there, looking as sheepish as children who’d been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. Ivana stood off to the side, nervously holding her own throat. Seb looked like his typical self—furious and dangerous.

This was her restaurant and her kitchen, and Lexie had had just about enough for one evening. It was time for her to take charge. “All right, people. We’ve all had a long night.” She picked up someone’s coat from a chair and held it out. “Why don’t you all get ready to drive home. I know you have a long way to go.” It was an implicit invitation for them to leave.

No one said a word, except for Seb, who looked pointedly at her. “We aren’t done, Lexie,” he growled. “I’ll be back.”

Silently, Chef Trevese held out his hand for his coat and put it on. The others followed suit, even Sebastian. Silently, the camera people started packing up. Once everyone was ready to leave, Buster followed them to the front room. Lexie heard the jingle of the front door and then the click of the dead bolt as Buster threw it closed.

When he returned to the kitchen, he said, “I’ll clean up, Lexie. You go home now, you hear?”

“Sure, Buster. Thanks,” she said gratefully. “I … I don’t know how to thank you for all you did tonight.”

“Don’t thank me. I got some bad news for you,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“The gas line’s been tampered with—I’m sure of it. I’m going to have to cut the gas to the whole place.”

“Not good, Buster,” she said, wearily. “Is that why Eleanor’s scarf caught fire?”

“Don’t think so. I think that was just an accident. But it’s a good thing it happened. It gave us a chance to catch the leak. Gotta tell you, we’re lucky we had this late-night competition here. If the gas had been left on all night, the whole place could have gone up when I started the grill in the morning.”

“Oh, my God!”

“Hey,” Buster said. “We caught it. Don’t worry. I’ll see if I can fix the problem myself, and if I can’t, I’ll call Luke Bedwin in the morning.”

“But what can I do?” Lexie asked.

“Aside from calling Cole, just go home and get some rest,” he said gently. “You’ve had a long day. I’ll follow you in the truck to make sure you get home safe.”

Nodding gratefully, she left the restaurant and did just that.