Free Sex and the Single Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novel by Jennifer Bernard Page A

will do so. Obviously, we can’t forbid you to date a fellow firefighter. But since I’m charged with bringing discipline to this fire station, I’m asking you to be discreet.”
    Sabina felt a wave of mortification sweep from her head to her toes. The man wasn’t asking her out. Of course not. What was she thinking? There were rules against firefighters of different ranks dating. As a Battalion Chief, he was her superior. What an idiot she was. Good Lord, he was probably talking about Vader . Everyone knew they were just friends.
    Everyone but the new guys.
    She flashed back to the bit of conversation Roman and Fred had been having when they’d walked into the training room. She’d been too busy ogling Roman to decipher it. They’d been talking about her. She was used to it, of course, but somehow it felt different with Roman involved. What did he think, that she slept around? With her fellow firemen? Then again, she nearly had, in Reno.
    She drew herself up to her most correct, most military posture, spine straight, jaw jutting forward. “Chief Roman, this conversation is completely uncalled for. You should know not to listen to firehouse gossip. I have a strict policy against dating fellow firefighters.”
    He rubbed his jaw. “So, in Reno . . .”
    “I didn’t know you were a firefighter. It wasn’t a date. And besides, we . . . well, we didn’t.”
    “True. Good thing, too,” he said thoughtfully, though his narrowed, sidelong look suggested something different.
    A vision of Roman, chest bared, hands on his belt buckle, flashed through her brain. “Good, yes,” she agreed, her voice only a tiny bit squeaky. She cleared her throat. “Satisfied?”
    “Mmm,” he answered, although she didn’t think “satisfied” quite described his expression. He looked more as if he’d stumbled into a very confusing hornet’s nest. She jumped on the opportunity to take him off guard.
    “Answer me this, Roman. Why don’t you cook for the firehouse? You can cook circles around most of us.”
    One eyebrow lifted. “Most?”
    Sabina raised her chin. “Hoagie used to make a pretty good Thai curry.”
    A gleam of interest flashed in Roman’s eyes. “Sorry I missed that.”
    “You haven’t answered the question,” Sabina said, after a short silence.
    Roman looked away, fussing with some paperwork on the desk. “I don’t have an answer. Cooking is . . . well, it’s . . . personal.”
    She watched, fascinated by his embarrassment, as he straightened a pile of folders, placed a paperweight on top, glanced over at Stan’s empty dog bed.
    “What about cooking at La Piaggia? That’s not very personal.”
    His head swung up, fire in his eyes. “It certainly was. I took that arrabiata atrocity very personally. How any self-respecting restaurant could serve something one step removed from ketchup and call it— Are you laughing at me?”
    “No, sir.” Sabina pressed her lips together to keep away the smile that wanted to spread across her face. Roman might be intimidatingly huge and powerful, but right now, he was . . . well, adorable. “I just think it might help the crew warm up to you a little if you cooked for them.”
    He straightened to his full height and glowered at her. “Why would I want that?”
    “No reason. Just station morale. Teamwork. That sort of thing.”
    “Discipline. Authority. Respect. That’s what I care about.” Each word dropped from his mouth like a heat-guided missile.
    Someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” Roman barked, all trace of the passionate defender of arrabiata gone. Fred poked his head in, Stan worming his way between his feet. The dog headed for his corner after an indignant look at the two humans keeping him from his morning nap. “Psycho says his Pilates demo is about to start.”
    Roman gave a sharp nod. “Discipline,” he repeated as he ushered her out the door. As she passed in front of him, she could have sworn he winked.
    A warm, fizzy feeling