Saturday morning, after grocery shopping and other family duties, Jenny finally got the place to herself. Cat, her fourteen-year-old sister, was at Chinese school and the rest of the family was away working, shopping, socializing.

      Jenny took a couple of homemade egg rolls out of the freezer. She stuck them into the toaster oven for a few minutes, then took her lunch into her home office and booted up her computer. All set to type up notes from last night, she thought the penis-shaped egg rolls made a fine accompaniment.

      Her in-box held e-mail from all three of her Awesome Foursome friends.

      Ann said, I worried about leaving you at the club alone. Hope you got your interviews and made it home safely. Let me know.

      That Ann. So responsible, such a worrier. Hard to believe she was only twenty-eight. She was so stressed she was going to need Botox before she was thirty.

      Jenny typed back, Home safe but LATE! As for the interview…well, let’s just say I got some really good stuff—and it was big and hard and attached to Mr. February! Tell you about it Monday.

      She clicked SEND, giggling at the thought of Ann putting down her law books to check e-mail. This message would shake her out of her lawyerly rut. Give her something to wonder about until the girls got together for their regular Monday night dinner and gabfest.

      Suzanne’s e-mail said, Wow, Jenny, what an evening! I was so horny when I got home, I had to call Jaxon. He’s crazy busy this weekend, getting set up at his friend’s firm and moving into his new apartment in Berkeley, but I figured he wouldn’t mind a little late-night phone sex. And you know what? He didn’t! <g>

      Jenny was really happy for Suze—and proud that she’d been instrumental in hooking up her friend with a hot boyfriend—but it sure felt good to know that she’d have stories of her own to tell on Monday.

      Jenny answered, I guess phone sex is okay—if you can’t get THE REAL THING! Let me give you a clue, his name starts with Mr. F…. <G>

      Rina’s message read, I’m not sure if this is a good thing or not, but there’s this man, the uncle of one of my piano students, who’s asked me out a couple of times. I’ve never believed in dating a student’s relative, but last night got me so hot and bothered, I know I need to find a man! So I phoned him and we’re going out tonight.

      Not that I’d have sex with him on a first date or anything.

      Hey, good for Rina. She liked men and sex, but tended to be shy. It was that stupid body-image problem of hers. Good God, the woman was lush. She ought to be showing off her curves, not trying to lose them.

      Jenny wrote back, No, of course you wouldn’t. <g> No more than I would—oops, guess I did! Last night!! And without even the date first!!!

      Okay, enough fun teasing the girls. Time to get to work. Such a tough job, reliving the memories from last night.

      But it was harder than she’d thought, as it turned out. The G-rated memories were fine to let out via the keyboard, but the X-rated ones had her wet and wanting. And alone, damnit. By the time she’d finished the article, she was squirming in her chair and had to unlock the filing cabinet for an emergency session with her vibrator.

      A while later, when Jenny could concentrate on work again, she started typing up interview questions for tomorrow at the fire hall.

      That was going to be weird, seeing Scott there.

      When he’d said he’d like to get together again, she hadn’t known how to respond. The guys she usually went out with—whether they were Chinese arranged dates or the secret lovers she chose for herself—tended to be intellectual types. What on earth would she and Scott talk about?

      Down-and-dirty sex was fabulous, but there had to be more than that. Didn’t there?

      On the other hand, when she’d had sex with brainy guys, the sex had fit into the okay-but-not-great category. Her trusty Pearl Butterfly could do a better job than most of the boys she’d dated.

      As she finished typing up her questions, one unwritten one hung persistently in her mind. When she saw Scott again, in the light of day, would he still set her on fire?

      He couldn’t really be that hot. Could he?

      3

      It had been a slow, sunny Sunday, no fires and not many accidents or medical emergencies in the West End. Scott’s fire hall was one of the smaller ones, with only two rigs: an engine and a ladder truck.

      The hall was quiet, with some of the guys off at the training center. Scott and a couple of other firefighters were out in the driveway washing Engine 7, with the lieutenant providing unneeded direction.

      No surprise that the guys turned “washing the engine” into “drenching the probie.” The blue pants and short-sleeved shirt of his uniform clung damply to his body as he squatted to clean the rims of the giant tires.

      “Shit, would ya look at that?” Little Man Mancuso said. “That’s one hell of a sweet sight.” He let out a wolf whistle. Little Man was six-foot-four and more than two hundred fifty pounds, so the whistle was ear-shattering.

      Scott rose and turned to look.

      A black Jeep TJ had pulled off the quiet residential street into the fire-hall driveway. The top was down so he had a clear view of the driver—a woman with sunglasses and long, shiny black hair. Even before his mind registered that the sunglasses had pink frames, matching the Jeep’s seat covers, he knew it was Jenny Yuen.

      His pulse kicked up.

      She parked the Jeep in one of the slots at the side of the driveway.

      When she swung down from the driver’s seat, Little Man said, “And getting sweeter.”

      A pale pink T-shirt and white cotton pants showed off tanned skin and hugged her slim curves. Man, this girl could almost persuade him that small really was more beautiful than big.

      She wore pink sandals again, with higher heels than she’d been wearing Friday night. High enough so that, when she walked, they made her hips sway. Definitely a turn-on.

      And he’d been inside this little sexpot.

      “Feel like turning the hose on her,” John-Boy Boyd said. “Bet she’d look fine in a wet–T-shirt contest.”

      Scott, who’d been having the same thought, glared at him.

      “Hey, Softy, that’s the fox you were hustling Friday night,” the lieutenant said. “Right?”

      “She’s a journalist,” Scott said. “She needs to, uh, finish the interview.”

      When he and Jenny had set this up, he’d been thinking it was a chance to see if he really wanted to spend more time with her, get to know her. Now, every cell in his body—especially those in his groin—was screaming, Yes!

      Jenny’d taken off her sunglasses, pulled out her camera and was snapping shots of the guys and the engine.

      “‘Finish the interview’?” the lieutenant said. “That what you young guys call it these days? Dontcha mean—”

      “Finish the interview!” Scott snapped, wishing he could tell his superior officer to fuck off.

      As he stepped toward Jenny,