Every hair and nerve on my body seems to stand on end, straining for his attention.

As I stare back, a little speechless, I find I'm not surprised by the fact that Jake's date outfit makes him look like he's just come from a GQ photo shoot. He's wearing a charcoal grey woollen looking jacket with the collar turned up slightly, and a lighter grey v-neck t-shirt underneath. I can see the white of a small plaster on the right hand side of this throat. He's wearing dark coloured jeans and brown suede boots. The overall look is effortlessly stylish yet casual. So apparently clothes are his 'thing' too. As are no clothes. That's also his thing.

My inner anger fades completely. His stubble is now a very short beard and he's had his hair trimmed; it's shorter at the sides with the top is still long enough to grab onto. Did he actually get his haircut for our date? Why is it that I think that's adorable? A smile threatens to break across my mouth at the idea but I stop it just in time. I still need to look a little annoyed at his latecoming.

"Okay so you turn up," I look at my watch "almost half an hour late and then swear at me? Interesting dating etiquette..." I nod. I wonder whether to fold my arms for additional effect but I decide against it. Too much.

He runs a hand over his mouth "You look... fucking amazing," He shakes his head a little.

I shiver at the compliment but sigh for effect. "Flattery will only get you so far Lawrence." I say evenly. "It's rude to keep a girl waiting about. You do know that bit right?" He nods and puts his hands up. When I smile he looks relieved and a smile breaks out across his face.

"I do know that. And I'm so fucking sorry..." he says moving forward to step up on my doorstep. His face is inches from mine, and his smell invades my personal space. Though it doesn't so much invade, as I welcome it in with open arms, breathing him him. "It was stupid of me...I'm an idiot," he says in a very low, very warm tone before pressing his mouth to mine. My mouth opens immediately and I touch his tongue, moaning at the welcome hot feel of him. He pulls me closer with an arm around my waist, exploring my mouth with his before slowly releasing me. He licks his lips and then smiles sexily. "Now, " He takes both my hands, holding them up to look at me fully. "As much as I'd love to stay here and do that all fucking night I really want to take you out, on a proper date," he kisses me again, a peck this time. "You ready? You look ready,"

I catch a breath from somewhere. "Yes, I just have to get my bag and jacket. One second," I say.

He waits at the door for me and then I follow him down the driveway to his car. It's not the car that was parked outside my house on Saturday night so it must be new. Or old. Or maybe he has two? It's an Audi this time, and still flashy but not as flashy as the other one. He opens the door for me and I get in, smiling my thanks at him as I do. Inside, his car is clean and tidy and smells of leather. Which I decide it's very him. A leather interior, tinted windowed Audi is exactly the kind of car he should drive. The other one was too flashy. Jake isn't too flashy. He's powerful and sexy and a little cocky even, but not flashy. He gets in and presses a button on the dash to turn the engine on. Suddenly very loud very fast rock music with a male voice screaming at me assaults my ears for a moment before he smiles apologetically and turns it down.

"You actually drive with it at that level??" I ask incredulously. His poor ears.

"It blocks out everything else," He says with a small shrug. I nod and decide to take his word for it.

He pulls out of my driveway and we drive slowly through my village. We actually pass a few people that I know but since the windows are tinted no one actually sees me inside. I'm glad for that in fact - Sam at the pub on Saturday and then in a car with another man in the same week would be tantamount to brazen hussy behavior around here. Small village cons: lots of old people with conservative views about dating.

"So, where are you taking me?" I say, turning in the seat to face him. His profile is gorgeous of course - full lips, a straight nose and a youthful healthy complexion. His eyes are focused firmly on the road ahead but he smiles at my question and then glances round to me.

"Not the Dorchester anyway I'm afraid," He says.

I smile. "You know I've never actually been to the Dorchester. Well, not for dinner anyway."

His mouth twitches playfully. "Well maybe one day you'll get to live the dream, huh?"

I giggle and shake my head.

"This is just a place I like," he continues. "Nothing fancy or anything but I know the owner. And the food's amazing."

It could be my imagination but he seems a little nervous. Edgy even. He licks his lips again which I've noticed he does a lot. I definitely like it that he does, it gives his lips a constant kissable look. I want to kiss him. Instead, I sit back around and look at the road as we take the on ramp to the motorway. I can't just stare at him. He'll start thinking I'm in love with him or something. My eyes drift down to his hand resting on the gear stick. His hands are strong looking with smooth skin, and the veins raised slightly across the top. Is there any part of him I don't find attractive?

"There's a contraflow just past junction 5. Oh, is that why you were late?" I turn to glance at him again. He looks away into the side mirror.

"What? No, I just got caught up with something at the club. The contraflow wasn't there when I came down," He says before he begins biting the inside of his cheek. I'm about to ask him what happened but something about his manner and response stops me. It's probably none of my business anyway.

Instead I just nod at his profile. Though he senses I'm looking at him, he glances at me for a moment, still looking a little tense and then looks back at the road. Okay I need to try harder at not staring at him. I need to try harder not looking at his hands and his mouth and remembering what he did to me with them. It's making my body and face hot.

"So it's in the city? The place you're taking me?" I ask to make conversation. To help me think of something else other than x-rated thoughts about deep sexual growls and wet warm tongues. Christ.

"Yeah, is that ok? It's just where I know," he sounds apologetic.

"Of course. That's fine. It's great." I nod eagerly before turning my head back to look out the window. The car journey continues in a strange yet heated staggered silence. It feels as though we may both be thinking things that would make our parents blush. He asks me about my day at work, and with a smile, whether I had any lives to save. When he asks if I have any plans for the weekend I think it's because he's going to ask me out again, but he doesn't. Perhaps he's waiting to see how tonight goes first.

Some twenty minutes later, we pull up to a nice looking restaurant at St Katherine's Docks and Jake parks backwards, with some skill, into a very tight space. I unfasten my seatbelt and get out, smoothing down my dress, fluffing my hair and putting my bag over my body as he walks around to meet me. He gestures toward the restaurant, which is a two-storey building with a wrap around terrace. It looks busy but not overly so. When he slips his hand into mine as we walk toward the door my stomach flutters, which is ridiculous because what age am I? Thirteen? Perhaps its because it's a little chaste for him. Who knew Jake was a hand holder? I like that he is though and I like the feel of his strong hand in mine even more.

As we get a little closer I see that it's an Italian and that it looks warm and welcoming inside. I hate those bright obtrusive restaurants with their hospital lighting and frosty atmosphere. Those that are normally modern trendy ones that sells Japanese food and serves you chopsticks in little wrappers. I'm also glad it's Italian because there are so many other cuisines he could have chosen which I hate - Indian for example. As the door opens, the familiar scent of pasta, garlic and bread fills my nose and my stomach growls. As soon as we enter a small friendly looking man in his fifties with thick black eyebrows comes toward us smiling with his hand out. He shakes Jakes hand and looks at him with an mix of deference and warmth. His eyes come to me next and he offers me his hand.

"And you must be Alex," He nods turning to smile at Jake. "It's a pleasure to meet you cara..." He leans in to kiss me on both cheeks.  I smile and nod although I'm totally shocked he knows my name.

"Yes, I am. Nice to meet you too," I say giving Jake a confused look.

"Leo, and its' my pleasure Alex.  When Jake said he was bringing a girl here tonight I couldn't bloody believe it. But he's a good one you know, despite the rumours. I've known him since he was this high," Leo holds his hand up to his waist.   I feel Jake tense a little beside me and when I look round I see him shake his head and give Leo a look that I think is a gentle warning to stop talking.  Leo smiles in an almost fatherly way, before Jake turns away from him and begins looking around the restaurant as though carrying out a risk assessment.

Once he's finished casing the place he puts his hand against my back and moves me gently to follow Leo to the back of the restaurant, towards a cosy booth with green leather seats, a dark wood table and those candles made out of wine bottles. Leo offers to take my jacket, and then Jake shrugs out of his.   His T-shirt is shows the outline of his body but I already know what's under that slightly slim fitting t-shirt and it makes my mouth water.  An image of him naked in my bedroom stripping for me blasts into my mind and I feel too hot again. I slide into the booth gracefully trying to appear nonchalant and not as though I'm having mind sex with Jake.

"Some wine for you both?" Leo offers.  I nod and someone hands him a bottle of red. It's Barbera and has an expensive looking label and I watch as Leo pours a small taster into a glass and slides it to Jake. He shakes his head and gestures toward me, smiling at me as he does. I lift it to my nose to have a sniff before taking a small sip. It's perfectly fine. It's not French, but apart from that it's perfectly fine.

"It's lovely. A glass please," I tell Leo with a polite smile and he proceeds to pour us two large glasses of what I'm sure must be his best wine. Jake presses the top button on his phone and turns it face down on the table then looks up at me again and smiles. Yes, he definitely looks nervous, or on edge. Glorious, sexy, and edible but definitely a little nervous. Maybe he's just waiting on a call? Maybe he's expecting someone. Maybe that's why he was looking around as we came in. Leo puts a menu down in front of each of us.

"Anything else for you at the moment?" Leo asks my date before looking at me. Jake doesn't look at him, just shakes his head and keeps his eyes on me.

"I don't think so," I smile at Leo who nods politely and departs. Jake and I stare at each other another moment before a waiter appears with some bread, black olives and dipping oil. Oh god. I'm utterly starving so I lift an olive immediately and pop it into my mouth almost groaning aloud from the pleasure. Then I take a long welcome sip of the wine before turning back to the menu. I haven't seen Jake even give it a cursory glance. I think about ordering one of everything I'm so hungry, but I know it's just that my stomach feels unloved and wants to be showered with gifts. After a few moments I glance back up and see his head tilted as he stares at me. He's still not looked at the menu.

"Are you not eating?" I ask.

"I know what I'm having," he says, eyes glittering.  Eyes which look darker than I've ever seen them. It must be the candlelight.

"Really? So what do you recommend?" I ask taking another slow sip of my red wine.  It's smooth, sweet and fine but it's Italian and I'm a French wine kind of girl. This probably makes me some sort of wine snob. "Mmm this is lovely," I say as I swallow.  It is lovely. Jake follows my lead and takes a small sip from his glass. His face screws up slightly but he tries very hard to hide it. I stifle a giggle.

"Yeah... Its strong." he swallows slowly, with difficulty.

"You don't like red wine do you?" I smile. His shoulders sag slightly. He looks disappointed in himself.

"No, not really. I don't really like wine at all. Except Champagne. I'm a beer or Jack man," He says pushing the glass away from him. I assume he means Jack Daniels.  Also my brother's favorite drink.

"So why did you order it?"

He shrugs slightly and gestures toward someone behind me.

"Cause it's expensive, and I thought you'd like it. I was prepared to give it a shot," he tells me.  A waiter comes over, all eager to please, and Jake orders a half pint of Peroni and pushes his wine to the side, discarded.

"I do like it," I smile and shake my head before looking back down to my menu.

"I don't normally have a starter here - the mains are huge, even for me and I will always pick dessert over a starter," He says sounding serious. "But of the mains.... the chicken ravioli is amazing, as is the spaghetti meatballs,"

Eager waiter comes over then with the cold pint of lager placing it, somewhat nervously, in front of Jake. He must be new. Inexperienced waiters always make me edgy. I'm always waiting for a smash or crash to happen at any moment which will make me jump out of my skin.

"Chicken Ravioli sounds delicious. I'll go with that then." I say closing my menu. I take the napkin and place it on my lap and reach for my wine again before Leo appears and takes our order. Jake orders "the usual" and I go for the chicken ravioli. I wonder vaguely why the owner would be taking our order. Assuming Leo is the owner. He seems a little old to just be a waiter, though maybe I'm just being ageist. I detach my eyes from Leo and guide them across the table to Jake. He's still staring at me, with that small knowing smile on his lips. I really hope he's thinking about when he was inside me.

"So..." I say, breaking the silence.

"So," he echoes taking a large gulp from his beer. It looks refreshing and cold and the condensation drips down the glass.

"What did Leo mean by 'despite the rumors'?" I ask smiling. Jake rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"Leo talks to much. It's old age," He says this affectionately I think. He clearly likes Leo.

"Has he really known you since you were a boy?" I ask.

He shrugs looking mildly uncomfortable. "Yeah, but I was different then. Very different," He rubs the back of his neck and looks down.

"Oh really?" I ask. I picture a young teenage Jake. I imagine he would have been the most seductive boy I'd ever laid eyes on. He would have been such a bad influence on teenage me. God I wish I'd known him then. He would broken a gazillion hearts no doubt. Mine being one of them. Could still happen Alex.

"Really." He nods. "So tell me about yourself Dr Marlowe," He says sitting forward and lifting his glass again. I'm slightly taken aback at the formality of his tone. This man has seen me naked, has made me come multiple times with his mouth and hands, one of which was in my kitchen. He knows a lot about me already.

"You already know way too much about me, Mr Lawrence. What else could you possibly want to know?" I smile seductively as I take another large sip from my glass.

"I want to know everything about you," He says. I laugh softly but his face remains utterly totally serious.

"Everything Everything?"

He smiles. "Everything Everything. Where you grew up. Your family, mum, dad, brothers, sisters, cats, dogs, goldfish, the lot," He states. He sits back in his chair, his legs grazing against mine under the table as he does and I feel his warm heat of him through his jeans bloom against my bare leg.

"How about you telling me something about you? I don't know anything. Which means you have me at a disadvantage again. It's not fair " I pout. I think maybe he's going to say life isn't fair, like he did before but he doesn't. He just sits, obviously thinking something over in his head. Then he brings his right arm up and rests along the back of the booth behind him.

"You don't know anything?" He gives me a questionable look. "Well that's not true now is it? You know lots about me ...you just don't realise it," He says with a slight smirk. I think about this for a moment.

"Okay, I know your name, where you work, and the fact that you like Italian food but not red wine," I say. "That's not lots. That's nothing at all really." I take another sip of the wine which is beginning to taste better on every swallow. Jake leans forward in the chair, and rests his hands under his chin.

"No," he says, his voice lowered to a whisper. "You know way more than that Alex. You know that I can make you come with my mouth, that I get hard just from looking at you, and that I could have someone's eye out with my cock," He finishes with a sexy bite of his lip.

Holy Christ.

The look on his face is demanding a reaction of some sort and he gets it. I do have a reaction, a chemical one. Heat floods my cheeks and the tops of my thighs begin to squeeze from the inside out. I glance away from the heat of his eyes.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing..." I say whisper. Breathe Alex, you're in a public place, just breathe.

"What am I doing?"

"Changing the subject," I meet his stare.

"Hmmm. But talking about how hard you make me is the only subject I'm interested in. Oh, and making you come with my mouth. I'm interested in that too." He laughs. It's a quiet little sexy laugh that almost makes me orgasm in a crowded restaurant.

"I thought we'd talked about this? You speaking to me like that? You just can't help yourself can you?" I look at him over my glass.

"Maybe I can't. Or maybe I just really like watching you pretend you don't like me speaking to you like that." He smirks. Great, so he's noticed I'm only pretending I don't like it. There's literally nowhere to hide from him. "So, do you prefer when I'm speaking to you like that or when I'm actually doing it? Just curious." He looks pleased with himself.

At that moment Leo and a waitress arrive with our food. Leo places the steaming hot plate delicately in front of me with a warning that the plate is very hot, and I watch the young pretty waitress place Jake's spaghetti and meatballs in front of him. She steals more than a few glances as she does but he ignores her completely, still looking at me with that sexy smirk of his wondering if I prefer him saying it or doing it.

I think about when he told me how he'd imagine how my cunt would taste and I feel my insides tighten deliciously again. Oh I like them both. I want it all. The waitress flicks her hair over her shoulder and it makes me wonder briefly if he's slept with her too - she was another one with a vaguely scorned look about her - but I think I'm probably moving into jealous paranoid territory with that thought so I banish it. She leaves the table slightly huffily, with Jake completely oblivious, clearly reveling in his little conversation stopper.

Leo comes back with black pepper and parmesan and does the necessary but I wait until he's gone and out of earshot before I decide to launch a little conversation stopper of my own. I choose my professional tone, the one I use with my patients. Hopefully it will have more effect that way.

"Well, granted Jake, when you're fucking me with your mouth or your cock, your way with words does, in that specific context, have a distinctly erotic effect on me. However, I'd much prefer it if you didn't espouse your learned and graphic sexual vocabulary over the dinner table. It's really not the time nor the place. Later though, when we aren't eating, please feel free to tell me just how delightful my cunt tasted."

It's not the time or place mainly because it makes me too bloody turned on and I've already had more thoughts than I'd care to mention of dragging him into the bathroom and begging him to take already. I keep my eyes on his as I carefully put a forkful of ravioli before sucking it off the fork. He was right about one thing though - the chicken ravioli is amazing.

I take a sip of my wine as he continues to stare at me, eyes burning, and mouth open in either shock or awe. At least I hope it's one of those two. Finally he shifts in his chair slightly, and runs a hand over his mouth and opens his mouth to speak. However just then Leo comes over to check that everything is good with our food, which Jake still hasn't touched. I nod graciously at Leo and smile my most glorious smile while Jake continues to stare at me all dark promise and lusty. Serves him bloody right. It takes him about 2 whole minutes before he speaks again. When he does his voice is low and serious.

"Ok. You win Alex. The dinner table is not the place for that kind of language. It makes me want to fuck-" he stops himself. Oh, he's trying - how sweet. "It makes me very.... aroused," He says before putting a large spoonful of meatball into his mouth. We chew in silence for a couple of minutes with him staring, smiling then shaking his head like he cant believe what I just said. I can't believe what I just said either.

"So you never answered my questions," He says eventually as he takes another forkful.

"Which ones?"

"Brothers or sisters, mother and father, where did you grow up? I'm interested," he says. He's a very polished eater. Elegant with his fork, chewing each bite economically not getting anything anywhere except his mouth - and this is spaghetti he's eating. He makes eating seem like an art form almost. I'm not surprised - everything he does with that mouth is art of some description.

"I have both: a brother Nick, and a sister Natasha. Both older. My mother and father live in Camberley where I grew up. They still live in the same house," I add. He likes that answer I assume because he nods and smiles.

"What about you?" I ask.

"What do they do? Your parents?" he continues, ignoring me.

"Um, they're both retired now. My mother was a university lecturer, Russian history of all things, and my dad was a doctor. I suppose technically still is," I take another bite as he nods again, pleased again. He looks thoughtful and a little distant as he stares at me, then goes back to his food, then stares at me again. I don't know what to make of the long looks, the slight narrowing of his eyes and the biting of his lip. It's like he's processing every single piece of information I give him and digesting it along with his spaghetti and meatballs. I feel warmer under the spotlight of his eyes and they seem to have this ability to keep me there making it almost impossible to look away.

"Is that why you became a doctor? Cause of your dad?" he asks. He's stopped eating now and is just staring at me intensely.

"Partly. My dad's amazing. The best man I know. I look up to him, and I wanted to make him proud I suppose," I reply. Suddenly I feel embarrassed at how saccharine that sounded. He doesn't look like he's going to throw up thank god, despite me just coming out with the cheesiest daddy's girl line ever spoken. No, his eyes are just intense and very warm. I really like the way he looks at me - it makes me feel very very alive.

"I'm sure you do make him proud Alex," He says softly. I smile and take another bite of my ravioli. He starts eating again but then stops and reaches over to refill my wine glass.

"I really shouldn't drink too much - school night. Just a little more," I say. Being around him makes me want more wine and not less - it helps steady my nerves and the beating of my heart. Well that can't be healthy can it? Him making me want to drink.

"So you get on then. You get on with your family?" he asks as he fills my glass up, stopping just below half way. I like that he didn't just go ahead and fill it up anyway despite what I said. Most people would have. Ben would have.

"Yes, we get on. We're close I guess," My mum drives me up the wall 90% of the time but I leave that out.

"And you see them a lot?"

"Often, my parents anyway. My sister lives in California now with her husband now so I don't see her as often as I'd like to but Nick lives in London. But we all go on holiday together every summer. My parents have a farmhouse on the Cote d'azur," I wonder where he's going with this. I wonder why I'm rambling. I need to try and restrain my compulsion to spill my whole life out to this man.

"France?" He asks. I nod and he smiles. "Do you speak French?"

I smile and glance down. "I get by," I say. I speak French very well. And some Spanish from school, and a little Russian which mum taught us. He didn't ask if I spoke Russian or Spanish though so I don't mention it. He nods again and continues to smile at me.

"Whereabouts in London?" he asks. I'm confused. I stare at him. "Your brother. Whereabouts in London is he?"

"Oh, he's in in Camden now." I say.

"And what does he do?"

I put down my fork and sit back. "I think we've spoken enough about me. I want to know about you," I raise my eyebrows at him. "In addition to what I already know that is."

He shifts in his chair and puts down his fork, narrowing his eyes slightly and licking his bottom lip. It's become his signature move of increasing the intensity, of attempting to make me nervous, or turn me on. I can't decide which.

"I don't like talking about myself. Not that interesting," He shrugs. Okay, I don't believe that for a minute, especially since I am more interested in him than I've ever been in anyone probably. Except maybe Henry VIII. I was obsessed with him when I was 14; read every book I could get my hands on, watched every film and became determined I was doing a history degree and going to work for Historical Royal Palaces. I grew out of it.

"So modest," I smile. "I'm not buying it. I think you are interesting. I'm interested," I lean forward. He debates something for a moment before he leans forward too so that our faces close enough so that I can see the white of the scar across his eyebrow, and how his facial hair is so perfect that I know where the words designer stubble comes from. His scent comes over me in waves and I'm helpless not to inhale.

"I'm flattered that you're interested Alex really. But you'll be seriously disappointed," he says quietly. Disappointed in him? Not even a tiny chance.

"I highly doubt that," I say.

He sighs and looks down, playing with fork turning it around and around on his plate. He really is struggling with this. He really doesn't want to talk about himself with me. I'm about to speak when he looks back up and his eyes have a strange, almost sad expression to them.

"Ok. So what is it you want to know doctor? My medical history? My average weekly alcohol intake? My BMI?" he smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Funny," I nod. "No. Since you're not my patient that doesn't really interest me, but you look pretty healthy to me," His BMI can't be any more than 19. There isn't an ounce of fat on him anywhere that I've noticed. I wonder how often he works out to keep his body looking like that. Then I picture him sweating in a gym and I start to get too hot again. Stop being so bloody shallow Alex, he's about to open up to you. He doesn't open up. He doesn't speak at all, he just shifts in his seat and rubs his hand over the back of his neck. Yes, he's really struggling.

"You really don't like talking about yourself this much?" I try and keep my voice light. He glances up and shakes his head once. "How do I get to know you if you wont talk about yourself?" I lift my glass and take a slow sip of my wine.

His eyes soften and he smiles a sexy smile. "See this is where I'd say that you already know me pretty fucking well. Intimately even," I feel his leg rub against mine under the table. He's trying to distract me again, to get out of taking about himself. He's right though. I do know him intimately, carnally even. Just like he knows me.

"Why don't you like talking about yourself?" I ask trying to keep my mind focused on the task, whilst also trying to ignore the sordid images running through my mind. It's hard. Where is the bathroom in here anyway? I wonder how private it is.

"Let's just say that I'm not a big sharer, or talker," He says. I think this is almost funny because when he's in bed he is the most sharing talkative person I know. "I don't talk about my life or my feelings and I keep my thoughts and opinions to myself - most of the time," he continues. "If I want someone to know what I'm thinking I'll use other... methods of communication," I frown at him. Other methods of communication? Does he mean smoke signals, sign language? "But I'm a very good listener." He finishes with a smile.

I ponder this a moment. "Okay, but on a date, talking is the preferred method of communication, or the most acceptable anyway," I point out. He nods in agreement but he doesn't say anything more. An idea pops into my head. "Okay, why don't we try something?" He looks at me warily and I sit up, excited. Oh this might work. This might be fun.

"How about you give me three questions. Just 3. In which I get to ask you about yourself. You can decide how fully you want to answer them, but you need to answer. You can't refuse to answer any of them," I turn my head slightly as thought to say 'are you game?'. His eyes narrow and he runs his forefinger lightly across his bottom lip as he mulls it over, staring at me in that piercing way he does, like he's performing the act of visual dissection. Finally, he sighs.

"Okay Alex. I can't promise I'll answer them to the extent that you're hoping for, but okay. I'll give you 3, non-health related questions, and we'll take it from there. But have a think about what you really need to know. Wouldn't want you wasting any. 3 isn't a lot," his voice is lighter now; more relaxed because he thinks he's won this one. Maybe he has. Maybe this was a stupid game.

Leo appears from my right to clear away the plates, asking us again how our food was. I tell him truthfully that it was amazing and Jake says thank you but keeps his eyes on me, smiling sexily - just for a change. As I debate with myself over my 3 questions I begin to understand what Aladdin felt like wracking his brain for the cleverest use of 3 wishes. I'd never have had any problem making my 3 wishes, but this was somehow harder. Think about what I really need to know.

"Okay," I begin. I sit up in my chair and temple my hands under my chin as Jakes eyes widen expectantly. "Why do you think yourself uninteresting? Are you just extremely modest or is it a self esteem thing?" there goes my wasted question. He'll never answer that, not properly anyway.

He smirks. "Well that sounded like 3 or 4 separate questions rolled into one. You trying to outsmart me Doctor?"

Yes, I definitely like the way he says doctor. I like the way it rolls off his tongue almost sensually. I don't know how he can make such an ordinary word sound like that, but then, "toilet paper" would probably sound hot coming from his mouth. From that mouth.

"Actually, you could say it was one question with a multiple choice answer section," I say with a sweet smile. He cocks his head to the side.

"Well if I told you neither of the above you'd think I was cheating you out of a question so lets just say I was being modest. Obviously I can't say what you would find interesting, or what that guy over there would find interesting. But I don't find myself interesting. Not in the slightest," He shrugs. "I suppose I also said it to discourage you. Because I hate sharing shit Alex. I share when I totally have to, or when I totally trust someone. Think of me like Fred. Wary until I know I'm in safe hands,"

I want to tell him that I'm safe hands. That I'm a bloody doctor - how much safer do you get? But on the other hand I think what he's saying is extremely sensible. Prudent. It still doesn't tell me anything about him though. "I also don't date so this getting to know you stuff is a little weird for me," He adds.

"Why don't you date? A recent long term relationship, or fear of commitment?" I say.

He laughs a little. "That your next 2 questions?" he asks. Damn him. I let out a breath and narrow my eyes as I take another sip of my dwindling wine. I feel like I'm playing chess with him, and I'm terrible at chess. He doesn't date. I suppose I'm not really surprised at that because he doesn't exactly come across as a dinner and flowers kind of guy - he comes across as the constantly fucking kind of guy. But yet here he is, out for dinner with me, and he's sent me flowers, twice.

Do I really want to ask him why he's single and why he doesn't date? He surely has to be either a commitment phobe or newly single. In the end I decide to shelve the question entirely. Its something we can talk about another time. I'm more interested in Jake the man. What drives him, what his ambitions are, what he wants out of his life.

"What made you open a nightclub? Was it a Lifelong dream? Do you have plans for more? I level my eyes at him. He looks a little more uncomfortable at this question. Strange - surely questions about his personality are more difficult.

"Those are definitely three separate questions Alex. You decided you only needed 3 in total baby, you chose the number remember, not me? It's a bit late to go back and revise that now," He smiles. Good god. This must be a tactic of his, to make me more interested, feeding me snippets and teasers so it'll leave me wanting more. How can this thing between us go anywhere? We've been intimately acquainted yet he won't share the most basic information about himself.

"Fine," I say with a sigh. "Was it a lifelong dream of yours to open a nightclub?" He leans forward and sips some water before answering me.

"No. My lifelong dream was to be a fireman," He says. Then shakes his head as though it's a ridiculous idea. Did he just give me an additional piece of information for free? "The club was just an opportunity I couldn't pass up. I kinda hoped it'd be the start of something. Of not having to work for somebody else anymore. A fresh start of sorts," He looks down and shakes his head. "Just to change my life in one single way if I could. What a fucking fantasy that turned out to be," He laughs again, and looks down at his hands. He looks annoyed. He has the ability to switch emotion so quickly - it's unsettling.

"Why was it a fantasy?"

When he lifts his head up his eyes are on fire. His face looks harsher, as though he's trying hard to keep a lid on whatever it is that's making him angry. Maybe my questions are the cause.

"That your last question then?" He raises his eyebrow at me.

I want to know why it's a fantasy. And why he's angry about it. But I also want to know about his family, where he grew up, and what he does when he's not naked in my bed. But I can't have them all. Not tonight anyway. Not until he knows I'm a safe pair of hands.

"No. It's not my last question," I look down.

"I want to know about young Jake, that Leo knew. I want to know about your childhood," I say finally. That's not a question and I know it. It's a topic designed to start a discussion and to try and trick him into opening up. I think I see him wince a little but it could be my imagination.

"That's quite vague Alex...my childhood?" he sounds mocking and a little bitter and it gets my back up. I'm annoyed at his tone, at his shell, and at the fact that I'm not safe hands. I'm also annoyed at this stupid game I insisted we play.

"Oh come on Jake, seriously? This is ridiculous. I'm interested in you, even if you can't understand that, even if you don't think it's possible. How on earth can I get involved with someone who has so much difficulty in having a two-way conversation? I mean, why am I here? Why were you so keen to do this?" I ask. He says nothing just stares at me, biting the inside of his mouth hard. I let out a breath. "It's impossible. This is never going to work." I let the statement hang in the air a few moments to see if he'll counter it but he doesn't. I slide along the booth and begin to get up from the table.

"Sit down Alex," he says in a low firm tone.

When I look back at him his eyes are hooded and dark and they're commanding me to do what I'm told. He nods back to the place I was just sitting which makes me narrow my eyes at him. I know if I leave now it'll be the equivalent of a child stomping off because it doesn't get its own way. I'd also be cutting my nose off to spite my face because I still want him. So he's a mystery. I suppose I can be patient. I can wait until he trusts me cant I? Do I trust him? Slowly, I slide back into the booth, sighing as I sit back down across from him. His gaze softens and he stares at me a long time without saying a word. I have no idea what's going through his mind. Though I wonder if he's regretting asking me out now.

"Well this isn't going great is it?" he says his tone softer now, eyes softer too.

"It was. Now it isn't," I say shaking my head. He nods and purses his lips. "Look I'm not trying to pry into your life Jake. I'm just not used to being on dates like this."

"No, I bet you're not," He scoffs running a hand over his mouth. He leans forward, templing his hands under his chin and fixes me with another intense stare. As usual my body starts to heat up from it.

"I'm sorry if it seems like I'm being secretive Alex, it's just really not in my nature to share my life or my life story with people. In fact it's the complete fucking opposite of my nature," He says. Despite the fact that he swore he no longer sounds angry, just a little tired.

"But how else do you get to know someone if not by sharing information about yourself?" I ask.

He raises his eyebrows, and smiles suggestively at me. It makes me giggle and breaks down some of the tension between us. However another idea forms; I wonder if I could get him to open up to me in bed, whilst he's naked and sleepy and spent. His face turns serious again and he leans back in his chair and runs his hand over his mouth.

"Okay Alex. You really want to know about my childhood," He sighs and then shifts in his chair a few times clearly struggling to find a comfortable position, or getting ready to exit the booth entirely and bolt. His eyes rove over me, still filled with heat and need and I know then that no, he's not looking for an exit from me -just from talking about himself. He seems to decide something because he leans forward and starts to run his forefinger across his bottom lip. I notice that the nail is very short, as though he may bite them.

"I was brought up, or dragged up depending on your view, in Bromley by Susan, my mother. I have no idea who my father is - she never told us much about him, except that he was a "lying bastard" who fucked off and left her when she was pregnant with me. She liked telling us that. Me and Jon, my older brother were taken into care when I was 9, he was 13. We never saw her again after that, apart from one Christmas - I was 10 I think - and she turned up with a pair of football boots for us that were too small," He looks away for a moment. I continue holding my breath and keeping my face impassive, terrified that he'll stop taking. He brings his eyes back to me. "Jon joined the army when he was 17 to get as far away from that shithole as possible. He used to send letters, but I haven't heard from him for a few years. But then I moved about a bit, changed my number so he might be looking for me I don't know," another rub of his mouth with his hand and he drops his head. "Or he could be dead for all I know. I assume I'd have heard if he was but fuck knows how these things work," Another shrug. "I got out of that hole when I was 16..." He stops, changes direction and then lets out another sigh. "The next 16 years were a damn sight better but it still isn't anything I'd wish on my own son," He waits a moment and then looks up, as though he's checking I'm still listening. As though I wouldn't be. "Then 3 weeks ago, you met the finished product. Not the best first impressions I suppose but hopefully I've made up for it a little," He smiles.

The casual look on his face is almost convincing. He's trying to convince me that nothing about his story affects him in the slightest - not the fact that his mother abandoned him in a care home, or that he has no idea where his brother is now, or the part about the football boots. I'm not convinced though. Somewhere buried beneath that shell of his is someone who probably cares very much. He would never want me to know that though and I have absolutely no intention of mentioning it.

I realise that I'm still holding in a breath and so I let it out quietly.

"So I guess that's us even now then. Childhood stories shared. Playing ground evened," His tone is somewhat sarcastic.

I swallow slowly, unsure how to respond. I feel guilty for forcing him into talking, but at the same time I feel privileged. He shared. With me. On a date.

"I'm sorry -" I begin.

"I don't want your pity Alex," He cuts me off. "That's not why I shared. In fact, it's exactly why I didn't want to fucking share. I don't want you looking at me with pity. Never like that," he drops his head again.

"That's not why I was apologizing," I state. He looks up at through wary eyes. "I was apologising because I feel like I forced you to talk,"

"You did. And if I thought there was any other way of stopping you from leaving then I would have done it, trust me." His eyes are serious and a little dark.

Okay he clearly has no idea that I would have gotten as far as the door before turning back. Meaning he doesn't know just how much I want him after all. I'm not quite sure how to respond, or how to lighten the heavy sad tone that's settled on both of us. I decide to use flattery because as mum always says, men like being flattered just as much as women.

"I wouldn't have left. I like the finished product far too much," I smile.

"So you played me?" he asks, a tiny bit of a smile peeking out of his mouth.

I shake my head and take my last sip of wine. "Not intentionally. I was annoyed at the silly game. I know I started it. I guess I was hoping you would come after me if I pretended I was going to leave.

"I would have." He says, his voice is low and firm and the weight of his stare immense. I want to kiss him now. He would have come after me. Then his mouth curls up into a wicked smile, "I'll always come after you baby, promise."

He winks. Actually winks. I feel like I'm about to melt into a puddle and I can't help but giggle. He smiles and he looks like a weight has been lifted from him, or as though he's just dodged a bullet.

"See, that wasn't so bad was it?" I lean forward. "Sharing." He leans forward too, so that our faces are just centimeters apart. He smells divine and his lips are slightly wet and I want to kiss him so bloody badly. Here in this restaurant I want a full on PDA and I'm not even a PDA kind of person.

"Honestly? It was fucking awful. I still feel sick. But I guess it's done for now," He drops his eyes and takes my left hand, holding it palm down. He traces his fingers softly over mine, up and down the length of each one.

His hands look so strong and male next to my own. I've always hated my hands. The fingers are too long and too pale and the skin isn't smooth enough. He lingers on the finger next to my pinky, running his fingers up its length and then moves along to my forefinger where I wear my Tiffany Elsa Peretti ring. A graduation gift from my parents - a jade stone set in sterling silver, with Dr A Marlowe engraved on the inside.

I look up from our hands to find him staring at me. His face is serious but his eyes soft as he leans in and touches his nose to mine, rubbing them softly together. It's utterly adorable.

"So you like the finished product do you?" He says sounding cocky. My breathing starts to quicken and I need for him kiss me, so much so that my mouth begins to tingle and ache. I feel the warmth of his fingers as they caress my own and the heat of his eyes on me and I feel very much like someone falling for someone. Someone I'm not supposed to. A million bloody pieces Alex.

"Yes. I very much like the finished product." I nod. "I don't know anyone as successful, as well dressed, or as completely hot who was 'dragged up in Bromley," I give him a pointed look.

He laughs quietly. "Yeah, well I'm gonna bet you don't know anyone from Bromley baby,"

"I know one." I giggle.

He leans in then, and flicks his tongue over my lips before kissing me. His kiss is soft at first and then gets deeper, more intense, and the little knot of pressure in my stomach that's always there when I'm around him starts to expand. God I want him. I want to kiss every inch of his body until my mouth is raw and sore.

"So you think I'm completely hot?" he says against my mouth.

"Completely," I whisper as he pulls back from me.

"Well the feeling is completely mutual doctor. You drive me fucking crazy," He shakes his head and looks down at our entwined hands.

I drive him crazy? I feel completely self-certifiable around him. It's dangerous when you can't think straight. Which means that being with him is dangerous. Which I suppose I always knew. No earth shattering revelation there. It's just that its also exciting, and intense and for now, completely necessary.

Jake pays for dinner and we walk together out of the restaurant, his arm wrapped somewhat possessively around my waist. Again, I like how it feels there, like when I awoke with it over me. My head is light and fuzzy from the wine, but there's no point in kidding myself - it's also light and fuzzy from him.

When we get to his car he stops and turns me around to face him, gently pushing me back against the passenger side door. He presses his warm hard body into me and reaches up to brush my hair back behind my shoulder as he looks deep into my eyes. His face is so open to me now, blinds up, curtains pulled wide and I can see the desire and lust in his eyes that tell me he wants me. His face is perfection in my opinion. I wonder if he knows that. He must. If he has access to a mirror he must.

"Thanks for dinner," I say quietly. He just nods as he brushes his thumb across my jaw, and then my lip.

"Thanks for having dinner with me. For not standing me up again," He smiles. I shake my head about to apologise again but before I get a chance he leans forward and places his mouth on mine. I moan as he enters me, as he sucks at me, his lips soft and warm and slow. He kisses me like no one has ever kissed me. He tastes like heat and spice and the sound of his soft male moan as he tastes me makes my insides turn moist and soft. My hands go around his waist and under his jacket to pull him in closer, and we kiss like that on the street, like teenagers, his hands holding my head, for what seems like hours. Yet, when he breaks away it feels like it wasn't nearly long enough. I blink open my eyes and he makes his little playful growling noise from low in his throat which always makes me smile

"Mmmm we need to stop before I get carried away," He says. I want him to get carried away. He takes some of my hair in his hand and runs the ends through his fingers. "Now in my fantasy date with Alex, I take you home and fuck you long and hard," he winks, knowingly. I giggle. We have an in-joke now. "But I really want to show you how much of a gentleman I can be and get you home in one piece. So let's help me out here yeah?" He sighs.

He kisses me lightly on the mouth once more, and groans as he opens the car door. I slide inside and he closes my door, before walking gracefully around and getting in his side. Fantasy date with Alex. He has a fantasy of a date with me? Internally, I feel like the cat who got the cream. Of course I'm disappointed that he isn't taking me home to do with me what he does on his fantasy date with me, but inside I am totally and utterly the cat who got the cream.

He turns on the engine and stops, sensing me looking at him.

"What?" He's smiling.

"Nothing." I look away from him, and out the front window.

"What happened to all that sharing stuff? Not nothing," He leans back against the driver side door eyes wide and expectant. He's right. Okay, how to word this without sounding like a crazy person.

"I suppose... I was just thinking, about how you are absolutely nothing like how I imagined you would be," I say looking at him.

"You imagined me? What, like in a sex way? You fantasised about me?" He grins. I sigh and then look back at him, he's a little more serious now. "Sorry, what do you mean?"

"You're... I don't know. The night I first met you... I guess I had an idea of you in my head... It was...." God what on earth has happened to my ability to express myself in words? "You're just different to how I thought you'd be that's all. Very different." I add.

That will have to do. Hopefully he manages to decipher something from my madwoman ramblings. What I mean is that he is gentle and caring, and sweet and passionate. I imagined he'd be a whole host of other things. He looks at me for a long time. A really long time. Too long.

No, that's wrong, never too long. He takes a deep breath before he speaks again.

"No Alex. I'm exactly the person you thought I'd be. I'm just... very different with you," His voice sounds sad, regretful even. He nods and then turns around, releases the handbrake and pulls out into the traffic. 

Very different with me? What the hell did that mean?