It's too hot. I'm too hot. And there's a distinct lack of air to contend with. More immediate though is the warm clenching that's begun low down in my belly, or lower. Yes definitely lower. Nearer my thighs, and between them.

Instinctively, I move towards the desk for something solid to lean on for balance as he comes to a stop in front of me. I take in the full sight of him, slowly savoring the image, tasting it on my tongue. Absent of blood, he's dressed in a perfectly tailored black shirt which he's rolled up at the sleeves showing off an expensive looking watch, and immaculately cut grey trousers. He looks exactly like the dangerous, fierce looking male model I remembered.

It's comforting to know that my memory hadn't exaggerated his face, or his body, or the eyes. It's the mouth that I can't stop staring at though. His full lips are curled up into a sexy knowing smile, as his eyes glitter in the dim light.

I'm aware suddenly that my eyes are open too wide, as is my mouth, and so I close them both a little. I can't do anything about the unbelievable heat that's flooding my body though. I'll just need to deal with that. It's a ridiculous overreaction to his presence, but its what's happening and so it needs to be managed.

As we continue to stare at one another it occurs to me that he looks as though he's enjoying himself. He's enjoying watching me disintegrate in front of him. Oh god is that what I'm doing? Disintegrating? Oh please let me look more in control than I feel. I could try speaking, saying something, anything. Before I get the chance to though, he speaks.

"Fancy bumping into you here, doctor," He smiles playfully. His voice is low and sexy like I remember it. Did I remember it being sexy? Am I just admitting that now? He's still not my type. He's still the sort of man I'm sure I've been warned to stay away from. My brain scrambles around looking for words, any words to answer him with because I haven't yet.

"You?" I manage. It's pathetic. My parents paid a lot of money for an expensive education and that's all I have. 3 whole letters.

His mouth twitches mischievously. "Me,"he confirms.

I nod once, still unable to find any proper words. I want to act like the Cambridge educated woman I am but he's having a strange effect on my head, and my ability to form sentences, and breathe.

"So it was you who sent the invites?" I ask. He smiles a full smile then and I feel a quiver over my entire body. What a smile. I knew it would be special. With a mouth like that it had to be. It's gorgeous, sexy, and a little wicked. His teeth are a straight white line, with two sharp pointed canines at each side. They make me wonder if he bites. I feel a tingling on my neck as the image gains momentum.

"Yeah, I did," he confirms again.

"Why?"

His smile fades slightly though his stare seems to intensify, which I didn't even think was possible. When he speaks again his voice is a lower tone, less playful.

"I wanted to see you," He tells me. "To thank you - for what you did." His manner is that same mix of forced politeness he had at the surgery, as though he isn't used to it, like the words and even the tone are unnatural to him. I like it though. Its rough around the edges, and it tickles my ears and skin.

I glance at his neck; his shirt, open at the collar reveals the flash of white bandage covering the knife wound I stitched together exactly 11 days ago. He shifts slightly on his feet and his scent washes over me that same heady mix of manliness that I can almost taste on my tongue. It's more intense than I remember it. Everything about this second time seeing him is more intense. Jesus Christ this isn't me. I don't have pathetic girly reactions to good-looking men. No matter how good-looking. It just didn't happen. It had never happened. I swallow and stand up a little straighter. I still haven't said anything.

"You did thank me." I say in what I hope is a casual tone. "You were bleeding, I just did my job," I shrug and finally manage to glance away from him. I look past him over his shoulder, and then down to the floor before bringing my eyes back up to him. Great, I managed to not look at him for all of 5 seconds. Excellent.

"No." He says with a shake of his head. "You didn't have to open the door." His eyes narrow, as though he's trying to work me out. Why I opened the door perhaps?

"Of course I did," I frown. "Why wouldn't I have opened the door? You were bleeding and I'm a doctor." I've just repeated what I said a moment ago with the words changed around slightly. I wonder if he noticed. He bites his lip, thoughtfully. Those lips. That mouth. It's so kissable looking. I lick my lips involuntarily.

"Well you were kind about it. You didn't have to be. We weren't exactly gentlemen," He sounds guilty. I think about that for a moment and decide maybe he's being a little unfair on himself. He was gentlemanly; polite and grateful. His creep of a friend wasn't. Instead of mentioning this, I just purse my lips and shrug again.

"Maybe, but it wasn't really kindness. It was more like... bedside manner. It's part of the training." I smile. His mouth quirks and he draws his eyes slowly down my body, the hungry look creeping into them again. I think he's about to say something about my dress that might make my insides explode so I decide to speak instead.

"So this is yours?" I say, turning away from him. I look back through the large two-way window towards Robyn and Leigh. Like an anchor, seeing them there reminds me that this in fact reality, and not a sex dream. "You manage it, or own it? I assume you aren't the dizzy barman Kyle said needed my help?"

He chuckles and it's a soft sexy sound. "No, I'm not a barman. I own it. I'm attempting to manage it." He says.

His tone isn't brag - it's just matter-of fact with some humility thrown in. It surprises me. If I owned this place I'd certainly be bragging a little. When I turn back around I find him still looking at me, his eyes narrowed as he runs his teeth along his bottom lip. I wonder, and not for the first time, what those lips would feel like on mine, whether they'd be hard and demanding or soft and slow.

"Well it's impressive." I nod. He doesn't respond but I think he looks pleased by my comment, his chest puffing out a fraction, his eyes and mouth smiling. He's looking into my eyes but its like I can feel the heat from them everywhere on my body. They're deep, and intense and the closest I can think of to describe the colour is a light emerald turquoise that seems to be aflame.

"You look really beautiful tonight," He says after a moment, stealing the breath out of me. And as he draws his hungry gaze down over me once more I'm pretty sure I want to be eaten by him. That I want him to devour me whole. I've never wanted anything as much as I want that. Not your type Alex. He seems to shake himself out of a partial trance and locks onto my eyes again. "I'm really glad you came. I wasn't sure if you would; if it would be your kind of thing. But I'm really glad you did."

I take a moment to enjoy the warm vibration that's still lingering from his compliment. He's glad that I came and he thinks I look beautiful. The knowledge does things to me. Hot needy dangerous things.

"Well thank you for inviting us. We're having a great time," I sound remarkably calm. How strange given that I feel literally the opposite of calm.

"I'm glad Alexandra," He says with a smile. I almost gasp out loud. He knows my name? How does he know my name? My full name - my Sunday name. The name my parents use when they need to tell me serious things.

"How did you... how do you know my name?" I whisper, no longer sounding calm.

He shrugs looking neither embarrassed nor apologetic. "I know where you work. Wasn't hard to find out which doctor was on last Tuesday night. Lot of men at your surgery, a 50-year-old woman, and you." he smiles.

I honestly don't know whether I should be frightened or flattered by his efforts. Naively, I decide I'm a little of both but definitely more of the latter. Idiot.

"Ok, but why bother?" the question escapes from my mouth.

"Why bother what?" he looks confused.

"All of this," I gesture behind me. "The ruse. The invites. Why not just send a thank you card?"

He sighs and runs his hand over his face. "I told you why, " He sounds mildly annoyed, like I'm not playing along with a set of rules I don't know exist. "Because I wanted to see you again." He turns and walks backwards toward the desk.

Ok, he did tell me that already. Which means that's twice he's told me he wanted to see me again. So he went out of his way to find out my name and send me invites hoping I'd show up here. I'm really not quite sure how I feel about that. Oh who am I kidding? I am sure how I feel about that. I'm flattered and excited, and very hot.

"Have a drink with me Alexandra, yeah?" he says lifting the champagne out of the bucket, the ice dislodging as he does.  I really want to tell him to stop calling me Alexandra. Only people who don't know me really call me that. And my Aunt Audrey. But he doesn't know me, and he isn't family so maybe he should be calling me Alexandra. I'm overthinking this. Maybe. "It's a big night for me." He adds, fixing me with one of those intense stares of his.

He pops the cork on the champagne with very little effort and for some reason I don't jump the way I normally do when people pop champagne corks. I'm too entranced by watching the easy motion of his body, and his hands as they move the delicate glasses closer, before filling them both halfway. I've always had a particular thing about men's hands. Rob teases me about it incessantly. His hands are beautiful. Long tanned fingers, smooth skin, with raised veins across the top topped off with clean short fingernails. I watch transfixed as his strong steady hands pour two glasses and he holds out a glass of the chilled fizzing champagne. As my hand grazes his as I take the glass I note that he feels very warm to the touch of my cold clammy hands. Apparently the only part of my body that is cold.

As I look back up to his eyes and feel the now familiar quiver at having his eyes on me I decide that it feels very surreal, being here, in this place with him. I know people say that all the time. It's a completely overused term. Surreal. But this was surreal. Seeing him. Knowing that he wanted me here. Him saying he wanted to see me. That he thinks I look beautiful. It's surreal. Like the dream I'd had a few times since I first saw him. It all makes me feel slightly giddy and lightheaded and this is only partially from the champagne.

I try and focus on something not surreal to anchor myself back to reality again - the TV on the wall, the champagne bucket, the desk, but it doesn't last very long and then I'm thinking again about his eyes and his smell, and the way his mouth moves when he says my name. What's also disconcerting is that by contrast, he appears to be totally in calm and utterly at ease. I'm normally the at ease person in most situations. Calm, analytical, thoughtful. I'd been called all of these things often enough and I believed them. Situations didn't normally faze me. But then, this wasn't a normal situation.

"Did you visit a hospital? Like I recommended." I ask in the most professional tone I can muster.

He nods as he sips his drink. "I did. They re-bandaged me, checked for infection and said I'd been well looked after. So thank you again," He smiles a flash of sharp tooth and my womb clenches anew. I swallow.

I nod. "Good. I'm glad to hear that." I take a sip of the cold fizzy champagne. It's sweet, wet and welcome on my dry nervous tongue. His eyes continue to asses me, glittering serious pools of blue/green. He looks like he is in a focused kind of trance, as though wherever he is I'm with him, and its just us there. It's intense and unsettling but not uncomfortable. Perhaps the fact that I stitched his skin back together as he bled on me has given us a bond? Suddenly, something occurs to me.

"You know, I don't even know your name," I tell him. "Though you know mine, and my occupation, and where I work. You have me at a disadvantage here." I smile and I take another sip of the amazing champagne. Ok, so I admit I may potentially be flirting with him by my tone and by the way I've said that, but in my defence, I'm giddy and perky and he thinks I look beautiful. And although he isn't my type, he is very very attractive and I'm very very single.

He nods, as though until I mentioned it, the fact that I didn't know his name hadn't even occurred to him. He takes another sip of his champagne then places his glass down on the desk before stretching his hand out toward me. It hovers in mid air for a second before I reach out and take it in mine. It's exactly how it remember it - hot, and soft and large.

"Jake Lawrence," He says with definite authority.

Jake Lawrence. I repeat it over internally a few times and decide it suits him. It's a kind of boyish mans name. It's a name for an extremely good-looking, slightly dangerous looking man. Jake Lawrence. For some reason, I have feeling it's not a name I'm likely to forget anytime soon.

Again he doesn't shake my hand in that formal handshake kind of way, he just holds it and begins to graze his thumb slowly over the back of it. The sensation of him doing that feels almost sensual somehow. Then I realise that I must be really desperate for male attention if I think the way he is holding my hand is sensual. It's hand holding. Get a grip. Oh, a pun. How hilarious. In any case, it wasn't oral sex. Oh dear god why did I just think that? Now I'm thinking about oral sex, and his mouth and oh my god... I glance at his mouth and then almost as though he can read my mind, he smiles a slow measured smile before licking his delectable bottom lip and biting it with his sharp white tooth.

I don't think I've ever used this many adjectives to describe anything or anyone before. Except maybe a Dali painting. But Jake Lawrence was far more enjoyable to look at than any Dali painting, and I liked Dali.

"Alex Marlowe," I answer, barely recognizing my own voice. It sounds very girlish and very breathless. It sounds ridiculous. "But then you knew that already didn't you Jake Lawrence?" I smile. Better. Stronger. A little sarcastic too. Well done me.

He keeps smiling as he takes another step toward me, into the space between our bodies. He's so close that I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. As he looks down at my mouth and back up to my eyes I know then that he's going to kiss me. He's going to kiss me and I've never been so nervous about being kissed before. I'm almost thirty years old and I've been kissed a lot, yet I'm nervous.

"I like hearing you say my name Alex," He nods as licks his lips again. "I could definitely get used to hearing my name come out of your mouth," He says as he looks too closely at my mouth. His accent sounds more pronounced now, rougher in its lower decibels. He's east end for sure. Just as I'm wondering where he grew up, he moves forward and with his mouth removes every other single thought from my head.

His mouth is gentle at first, teasing mine open, but when I begin to respond he becomes more forceful, hungry. His hot mouth and tongue become increasingly possessive as the begin to stroke, suck, lick and taste. I can taste spice and heat and mingled with the expensive champagne, it's delicious.

Oh god he can kiss.

I knew he'd be able to kiss. To not be able to kiss with that mouth would have been a travesty. He moves his whole warm muscular body into me causing me to stagger backwards.  I stumble a little but he follows, keeping me pressed tightly into him with a firm arm around my waist. When I feel the hard impact of something at my back, I know he has me pressed against the wall-sized window.

When I hear him moan against my mouth it works like a release, something in me unleashing, unraveling, and I let myself go completely. Melting further into him as I wrap my arms around him to pull him closer. The champagne glass in my hand threatens to crash to the floor but somehow I manage to keep hold of it.

Suddenly, his hand is on the outside of my thigh and he moves it up under the hem of my dress in soft but urgent massaging motions. He tastes amazing, raw and hot and with my eyes closed and his smell and taste invading my senses I definitely feel as though I'm in a dream. I feel his hand grip the top of my thigh before he slides it round to the back, under my dress and grabs my bum roughly and pulls me further into him. When I feel his erection, loud and thick press against me it causes a rush of something between my legs which is my alarm call to stop. I need to stop. I don't want to stop.

I turn my head to the side to break the kiss and use my remaining strength to push him off me. He resists for a moment, and I hear a low frustrated noise akin to a growl escape his mouth before he finally steps back. My breathing is shallow, (more like panting really) as I stare up at him. His mouth is wet and red and he's breathing hard. He looks very aroused. In fact I know he's aroused because he just had his arousal pressed up against me.

"I need to get back... to my friends." I say breathlessly, embarrassment flooding my entire body. My face feels like its on fire and there's a dull throbbing at the tops of my thighs as the memory of his mouth lingers on mine. Who on earth was I just there? What on earth was I thinking letting him kiss me like that, and touch me like that? I don't do things like that. God help me I'm so turned on. I bring my hand to my mouth as I smooth down my dress, and then I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

He looks satisfied with himself, a proud arrogant smile arching his mouth.  I wonder why he looks so pleased with himself though since what just happened there wasn't even nearly enough, not for me anyway.  I want more, a lot more. Doesn't he?

He licks his lips again and then to his shame - or perhaps mine because he doesn't seem to be ashamed in the slightest - he adjusts the erection straining against the front of his expensive trousers. He keeps his eyes fixed on mine as he does it. It's obvious, and shameful and it makes me even more aroused. I look away from him mortified, excited.

So he's hard. This ferociously attractive man is hard just from kissing me. I feel a surge of power at that notion, at the sheer idea of it. In fact, the thought dispels something from my psyche entirely and for a split second I think I might just let him have me right here against the glass like a wanton woman. Or on the sofa. Or on his desk. Clearly I'm not thinking straight. Clearly I'm drunk. Okay I really need to get away from him. Now. If only I could detach my feet from the floor.

Just when I think he's going to move forward and kiss me again there's a loud knock at the office door. I nearly jump out my skin at the interruption, but Jake doesn't flinch. Neither does he look away from me or move to get the door - he just continues to stare at me until there is another knock, louder this time, accompanied by the sound of a girl calling his name from the other side. He curses under his breath and spins on his heel and stalks over to open it. As he pulls open the door I see it's one of the girls I saw downstairs on the way in. A tanned pretty thing with dark-hair and big blue eyes in her early twenties maybe.

She beams at him. "Hey, Jake, sorry -." She says, waiting for him to forgive the interruption. He doesn't. She glances behind Jake to me and I'm sure something more than curiosity passes across her face. "So um...just to say that Aleska is caught in traffic but he should be here in the next 30 minutes - definitely on time for the start of the set. I've put all the stuff in the dressing room that he wanted but the bar need you to sign this off," she hands him a tablet style computer which he grabs, signs quickly and hands back to her.

Whilst Jake's head is down she throws a stare in my direction and it's the same look again. This time I recognize it - resentment. I'm clearly stepping on someone's toes being in his office, which somehow makes me feel like even more of a hussy. As he goes to close the door she steps forward and says quietly, though not quietly enough "Will I see you later then?" There's a hopeful lilt to her voice. So he sleeps with his staff. What a gentleman.

"Just get back to work Gemma, yeah?" He says brusquely and closes the door in her face. I feel a little sorry for her then. Whatever they had going on clearly meant more to her than it did to him. I wonder how many poor girls has he's had in here. I glance towards the leather sofa and desk and a myriad of sleazy thoughts go through my head. I was nearly another one. Though I suppose since it's the opening night he couldn't have had too many in here already. How depressing. Now I feel cheap. Drunk and cheap. I really have to get out of here.

"Well, thank you, Jake."' I say moving toward the door as he comes back towards me. "It really was very kind of you to invite us tonight, and really the hospitality has been lovely," I say. Too late I realize that it sounded like an innuendo. As though him kissing and fondling me is part of the hospitality. "It's a really great place and. I'm sure it'll do really well. I'm glad to have gotten the chance to be here tonight. Congratulations," I'm jabbering now, which must be really sexy. I get to the door but suddenly he's beside me and he puts his foot against it and his hand over mine stopping me turning the handle.

"I want to see you again," he says. It sounds more like a demand. His eyes also have the look of someone who isn't defied often. See him again. Of course my sensible head knows it's a bad idea. He's dangerous and seductive and he almost had me in his office. I know that seeing him again is definitely a bad idea. However the rest of my body thinks it's a great idea - especially the part between my legs. That part thinks it's a fabulous idea - its pretty much screaming yes aloud and asking when.

I shake my head. "I don't think that's a good idea," I say this hoping that my body gets the picture too. Warning after warning is flashing up in front of my head. But then, there's that mouth and those eyes and his smell and all of the warnings would be so much easier to heed of not for all of these things. What are the warnings again? I shake my head again. If I can just get out of this room and away from him it'll be fine. He's distracting me from the obvious and I'm too hot. It's so hot in here. Why doesn't he have air-conditioning in this bloody room?

He tilts his head to the side studying me, his mouth in a lazy half smile. "That's not a no, Alex," He points out, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from my face.

Was it not a no? God that isn't even proper English. As he skims the back of his hand down my cheek and traces my bottom lip with his finger my skin seems to ignite at the contact.

"I've thought about you a lot since that night Doctor," He continues in the low soft rough-edged tone. "I thought about what I'd do if you came here tonight and I saw you again."

I stare up at him. His eyes are piercing, so piercing. He thought about me a lot?

"And what was that? What were you going to do?" God only knows how I'm able to speak because I'm barely breathing. 

He smiles again, slow and lazy. "First I told myself I'd kiss you." Slowly he leans forward and I think he's going to kiss me on the mouth again but he doesn't. Instead he brings his head down to my neck and kisses me softly just below my ear. Then he takes a deep breath. "Then I told myself I'd touch you here..." His fingers move from where his mouth just touched and down the side of my neck and across my collarbone. I can't breathe. His smell is flooding up my nose now and his touch is sending warm shooting spasms between my legs affecting my ability to inhale. Then in a voice so quiet he says, "I also thought about fucking you, doctor."

I gasp.  An image of his strong tattooed body on top of my own, moving into my own without any tenderness or care explodes into my mind and I feel another surge of something hot and damp between my legs. He makes a soft growling noise that vibrates over my entire body "Are you thinking about it now? Wondering how good I'd feel inside you?" His voice tickles my skin as he licks the tender flesh at my neck softly, teasingly, torturously. "Oh, I'd feel good Alex, you can trust me on that." He groans again in need this time and I have to bite my tongue to stop from moaning out loud.

I think I do trust him on it. I think he would feel good inside me. How on earth is it that he's so confident? How do you get to a point where you know you're good at being inside someone? No guy I know would ever say something with so much sexual arrogance. Is sexual arrogance even a thing? If it isn't a thing then it should be. A thing to describe him. There's only one way someone would know that they're good at being inside someone and that's from experience and feedback. His sexual experience is another warning I should heed.

"I really have to go," I plead in my unsteady voice, which I realise still isn't saying no. I need to get away from him and back to the safety of Rob and Leigh to where I can think straight and to where it isn't so warm, and it doesn't smell so intoxicating.  Somehow I manage to maneuver out from under his body and heat and pull open the door. Then I squeeze myself through the gap and scurry away from him down the corridor like the coward that I am.

I look back only when I reach the top of the stairs, and it's mainly to check that he isn't following me. Though I'm not entirely sure what Id do if he was. Anyway, he's not following me. He's just standing there in the doorway of his office; arm stretched up against the doorframe watching me retreat, a small sexy smile on his face as he does. Then he nods once, sort of like he just accepted a challenge. A challenge he knows he'll win hands down.