"Nice to meet you Jess," Harry replied, extending his hand across the island unit to shake mine. 

I hoped with all my heart that he couldn't feel me trembling as his fingers touched mine, and I tried to ignore the tingle of electricity that raced up my arm. He seemed to hold my gaze for longer than necessary, or maybe it was because it all seemed to be happening in slow motion. I couldn't answer him; I just smiled stupidly, completely lost for words.

"Would anyone else like a drink?" he asked, as he walked over to the fridge and opened the door. 

"I'll have another white wine, babe," Lou called, as Lottie shook her head. 

"Jess?" Harry offered, and my body broke into goosebumps at the sound of his slow, deep voice rumbling over my name.

"Um, I'll have a top up of white wine too, please," I squeaked.

Harry took the bottle of Pinot out of the fridge and picked up a clean glass from the tray next to the sink. He walked back over to the counter and refilled Lou's drink, and then turned to me expectantly. I set my own glass down on the worktop in front of him, not trusting myself to hold it out to him in case I accidentally threw the contents all over his shirt or something. I couldn't help but watch him as he stood next to me, only two feet away, concentrating on pouring the wine with his lips pressed together, breathing in and out gently, and blinking twice. He was so close I could feel his body heat, see the individual strands of his hair shining under the kitchen light, and smell the delicate hint of aftershave on his skin. I stared at the curve of his cheekbones, his individual eyelashes, and a couple of stray eyebrow hairs that weren't groomed into place.

He was so perfect, how was he even real? How was any of this real?

"There you go," he muttered, pushing my drink towards me and moving to the side slightly to pour the remainder of the wine into his own glass.

"Thanks," I said, breathlessly, afraid of making eye contact with him again but somehow unable to tear my gaze away from his face. He looked up and caught my eye again, and gave me another smile. 

"You're welcome."

"Shall we go and sit in the lounge or something?" Lou suggested, interrupting my trance. "My feet are aching standing up here. Louis will come and find us once he's finished."

Lou filled Harry in on the vomit situation as she led the way through another door into a spacious lounge, with two huge squashy sofas facing each other either side of a marble-topped coffee table, and a large armchair at one end. Lou immediately flopped into the armchair and kicked her shoes off with a satisfied moan. Lottie and Tommy sat down together on one of the sofas, which left the other sofa free. I sat down at the end of the sofa nearest Lou's armchair, and felt a sickening flutter of nerves as Harry took the seat next to me, his long legs bent awkwardly as his body sank into the soft cushions. He leaned forward to set his wine glass on the floor at his feet, and his hair fell into his face when he sat up again. He ruffled it with his hand and then flipped it back, before reclining casually, leaning against the arm of the sofa. I looked away from him, conscious of my own ogling and feeling more than a little disloyal to Louis for unashamedly checking out his mate. While Lou and Harry chatted about Harry's patterned shirt I took a few moments to compose myself inwardly, repeating silently that Harry was just a person like everyone else, and mentally berating myself for being so embarrassingly starstruck.

"So what do you do, Jess?" Harry asked suddenly, jolting me out of my own thoughts. 

"Um, I'm an insurance underwriter," I began, feeling a flush creep up my cheeks at having his undivided attention, and his unwavering gaze fixed upon me so intently. "I write commercial credit insurance."

Oh God. I loved my job, but I knew how boring it sounded when I had to explain it to other people. I could always see their eyes glaze over as soon as I mentioned the word 'insurance'. 

"OK," Harry nodded, staring deep into my eyes. "What does that entail, exactly?"

Bless him, for feigning interest. He was about to regret it, once I started my standard explanation of the outline of my job.

"Well," I began, wishing there was a way to make accounts sound sexy, "I analyse financial information, trade patterns and payment performance, and measure it against overall industry data, before writing a level of cover appropriate for the individual company and the client. It involves working with a lot of numbers, and reading a lot of fine print. It sounds extremely boring, but it's actually really interesting - to me, anyway. I'm a bit of a geek, to be honest."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Well it all just went over my head," he admitted. "But that doesn't make you a geek, in my view. It just makes you sound super-intelligent."

"I don't know about that," I muttered, my cheeks growing hotter by the second. 

"Well, I'm guessing you need a university degree of some sort?" he asked.

"I studied at Cambridge," I admitted, squirming under his gaze.

"Cambridge?" he repeated, his eyebrows rising further. "Wow. So I was right - you are intelligent."

I smiled self-consciously and looked down at my glass, my heart pounding. I hated this sort of conversation. I wasn't a fan of blowing my own trumpet, but I also knew how false it sounded to play down my qualifications. I had done well academically, and I wasn't ashamed of that.

"Sorry," he apologised, before I could reply. "I didn't mean to make you blush."

He smiled at me as I looked back up into his eyes again, and my stomach somersaulted.

"It's fine," I said, pushing my hair out of my face and wishing he would turn down the sexiness level, just for a couple of minutes, so I had a vague chance of composing myself.

"Cute and clever," he smiled. "That's a pretty powerful combination."

I laughed nervously, hoping I didn't sound too hysterical. Was he flirting with me?!

There was a pause as he took a sip of his wine, and I realised that in a normal conversation it would be my turn to ask him what he did for a living. However I already knew who he was, and was in no fit state to wind him up as I had done the first time I'd met Louis. I decided that honesty was the best policy this time, and as the others were now engrossed in a conversation about a reality TV show that I didn't watch, I turned back to Harry.

"So... I would ask what you do, but I think that's sort of obvious," I began, feeling a fresh wave of nerves at striking up a new conversation with him. 

It was Harry's turn to smile self-consciously this time. "OK," he nodded, slowly. "You've heard of One Direction, then?"

"Have I heard of One Direction," I scoffed, momentarily forgetting myself. "No - who are they?"

My comment was intended to be sarcastic, but he looked unsure for a second, and I remembered I'd never met him before and he obviously wasn't familiar with my sense of humour. Feeling a sting of humiliation again, I hastened to explain myself.

"I mean," I added, "yes of course I've heard of you. I love your music."

"Really?" he asked, the relaxed smile back on his face again. "Wait - are you one of these people who says that, and then follows it up with 'my kid sister loves What Makes You Beautiful'?"

I laughed a little too loudly, and then inwardly cringed. "No - although my teenage sister is a huge fan too," I admitted. "But I would class myself as a proper fan in my own right. I've been to two of your concerts, and I'm going again twice this year."

OK, shut up now, I scolded myself.  It was one thing admitting I was a fan; it was entirely another getting excited in front of Harry Styles about the number of his concerts I would be attending. I needed some chill.

"Oh, which ones?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Cardiff and London," I said quickly, and he grinned at me, which caused another wave of hysteria to rise inside me. I swallowed it with some effort, and hoped I was keeping my face impassive. "So, do you have plans for the summer?"

"I'm heading out to LA next week to do some songwriting and recording," he said, running his hand through his hair. "And to take some time to relax. It's been a busy start to the year. I'm looking forward to a bit of downtime before the next leg of the tour."

"I've always wondered how songwriting works," I blurted, before I could stop myself. "Do you get a melody first, and then add lyrics, or do you write the lyrics first? Or both together?"

"It depends," he replied, leaning down and picking up his wine glass again. "Sometimes you have a couple of notes in your head but no words - just a vague melody - and it takes someone else to throw a few lyrics around before it takes off. Other times whole lines or even verses come to you out of the blue, complete with chords and a melody. Each one is different. I love working with a variety of cowriters, because so many unique sounds can be produced, depending on the individual style of the songwriter."

I took a sip of my wine, nodding. This sort of stuff had always interested me, and I felt like I had some sort of exclusive interview opportunity, to ask all the things I had ever wondered, but without having to share the answers with the rest of the world. 

"What's been your favourite song to write so far?" I asked him, wondering if he would give me an honest answer or whether he would think I was just another fan fishing for information. 

"I think Stockholm Syndrome is probably my favourite from the current album," he answered slowly. "But I'm already looking forward to getting into the studio next week and writing some new stuff. I think the sound of the next album will be a lot different."

"That sounds so exciting," I beamed. "As a fan, I can't wait to hear it."

"I'm glad," he beamed back.

Oli entered the lounge, with a bottle of beer in his hand. "Is Louis still upstairs?" he asked. "Damo's mum is outside, and she isn't best pleased."

"Yeah," Lottie answered. "Do you need a hand getting Damo downstairs? Tommy will help."

Tommy threw Lottie a disapproving look, but before anyone could answer I heard Louis' voice from the hallway, seemingly coaxing someone towards the front door. My stomach fluttered, and I saw him walk past the lounge door with his arm around another lad of a similiar height, apparently holding him up. 

"Easy does it," he was saying. "Come on, your mum's in the car. She'll get you home to sleep it off."

Oli disappeared out of the room after Louis and the rest of us in the lounge exchanged amused looks. A couple of minutes later the front door slammed, and then Louis appeared in the doorway, looking less than impressed.

"Fucking idiot," he cursed. "He's thrown up everywhere. I've just spent the last half hour swilling it all down the drain. It fucking stank. Alright, H."

He nodded at Harry, who raised his wine glass in a salute. 

"Sorry about this, love," he said to me. "I'm just gonna change my top now, as I'm sure I've got splashes of sick on me. Do you wanna come up with me and bring your bag up?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, getting up off the sofa as Harry suddenly snapped his head up and stared at me.

"Won't be a minute," Louis said to the others as he led me out of the room, Harry staring after us with a strange look on his face.

We stopped by the cupboard in the hall and I retrieved my overnight bag, and then I followed Louis up the stairs to the first floor and along the landing to a door at the end of the corridor. It opened into a huge bedroom with enormous windows, a massive bed and another door, presumably leading to an ensuite. The room was decorated in muted beige and grey tones, and was softly lit with the curtains drawn. 

"I've got the smell of vomit stuck up my nose," Louis moaned. "I'm paranoid it's on my clothes."

"I can't smell it," I giggled, setting my bag down on the floor by the bed and feeling a new pinch of nerves as the realisation hit me that we were alone in Louis' bedroom. 

"Thank fuck for that," he chuckled. "I'll just change my tshirt."

Before I had time to prepare myself, he carefully rolled his top up his abdomen before pulling it off over his head and dropping into a white wicker laundry basket next to the bathroom door. 

I tried not to stare, really I did, but I couldn't help it. Louis Tomlinson was standing in front of me in just a pair of skinny jeans and trainers, with a completely bare chest. I'm not a saint.

He grinned as he looked over at me - heavens knows what my face looked like as I gawped at him - and he bent down and pulled a clean tshirt out of a drawer before straightening up again and taking a step towards me as he unfolded it.

I wasn't the most forward person, but something in me took hold of my courage and forced me to take a couple of steps towards him, too. He turned to me as I approached him, meeting my gaze with his own, his blue eyes hooded. I placed my hand on his bare shoulder as he leaned down towards me and pressed his lips against mine, and rested his fingers on my waist. My other hand came up to touch his left shoulder and he pulled my hips towards his, causing our bodies to touch as he slipped his tongue into my mouth, his soft breath tickling my cheek.

I felt a sting of desire at the feel of him against me, and cupped the back of his neck with my hand to pull him closer to me, before letting my other hand trail slowly down the warm skin of his chest to the button of his jeans and back up again. His kiss intensified as his breathing grew harder, and his fingers that had been resting on my waist slipped underneath the hem of my jumper and caressed me delicately. I felt my own breathing increase, and his hand slipped a couple of inches higher to my ribs where he squeezed my side softly and ran his thumb over my flushed skin. I lifted both my arms to rest them on his shoulders, and his hands slid higher still so they were now resting just underneath the wire of my bra. My heart was pounding as I waited to see where he would take this, silently willing him to touch me, and relishing the thrill of the unknown. 

He hesitated a couple of seconds, before swiping both thumbs across my nipples gently, through the thin fabric of my bra. I let out a breath, and he kissed me harder, pushing his hips against mine, nudging me with the beginnings of his own excitement. His thumbs brushed me again, before both of his hands moved up to cup my breasts gently, squeezing softly and putting a gentle pressure on my nipples that sent a dart of longing between my legs. I reached down between us and rubbed my palm against his jeans, finding him already hard, which only intensified my own ache.

He moaned softly into my mouth, pushing himself further forward against my hand, and I responded by curling my fingers around the bulge and squeezing gently.

"You're killing me," he whispered, breaking our kiss for a second but continuing to stroke my breasts through my bra.

"You're killing me more," I whispered back.

"Everyone's downstairs," he groaned.

"I know."

"I don't want to rush this..."

"Me neither."

He kissed me again, and then reluctantly pulled his hands away from under my top. 

"Sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to get carried away."

"Don't apologise," I whispered. "I want it just as badly."

He groaned again, covering his face with his hands and tilting his head back. "Seriously - you don't know what you're doing to me."

"Stop it," I scolded, picking up his clean tshirt from the floor and holding it out to him. "I've been waiting all week for this. We can wait a couple more hours."

He pulled his hands away from his face and smirked at me, one eyebrow raised as he took the tshirt from me. "Been waiting all week, have you?"

Instantly my face felt hot. "You know what I mean," I stammered.

"Yeah," he said, seriously and meaningfully, threading his arms through the holes and pulling it on over his head. "I do."

I took this to mean he had been frustrated too, and we grinned stupidly at each other for a couple of moments.

"We should probably go downstairs," I said. "Your friends will be wondering where we are."

"Yeah," he grinned, before leaning forward again and kissing me one last time. "Come on then. I need a beer."

I followed him back downstairs and into the lounge again, where a few of Tommy's mates had also gathered, and ended up perched on the arm of the sofa next to Harry while Louis fetched a beer from the kitchen.

"So... you're here with Louis?" Harry said after a moment, leaning in towards me and speaking quietly.

I made the mistake of looking into his eyes again, and felt a hot flush creeping up my neck.

"Um, yeah. I suppose you could say that," I answered timidly.

"I'm sorry," he said smoothly. "I never made the connection. Louis had told me about you while we were touring, but I didn't realise who you were when I first arrived."

"Oh, um, that's OK," I said awkwardly. I hadn't been expecting a formal introduction, especially as I'd only known Louis five minutes. 

"It's nice to meet you properly," he said. "Louis was quite taken with you, although he would never admit it."

"Really?" I squeaked, hating my voice for betraying me like this.

"Yeah, definitely. He's good at playing it cool, though. Don't be fooled."

"OK," I chuckled. "I'll bear that in mind."

"See that you do," Harry grinned from behind his wine glass. 

I grinned back, unable to hide my giddiness when he was looking at me like that, and picked up my own glass of wine that I had left at the side of the sofa. 

Louis reappeared with a two beers and a new bottle of Pinot Grigio, and topped up my drink before passing the wine round to the others. He then came and stood next to me by the sofa and we spent the next couple of hours chatting and laughing as a large group. The Pinot helped put me at ease: eventually my heart stopped thumping each time anyone connected to One Direction looked at me, and I began to relax. Each time Louis caught my eye he could barely conceal his smirk, and each time he smirked at me I felt my cheeks getting warm, and a flutter of excitement in my stomach. A couple of times he rested his hand on my waist or my back, and if his fingers accidentally (or deliberately) brushed against my bare skin I couldn't stop the goosebumps from rising, which only made his eyes adopt an even more smoldering look as he surveyed me with satisfaction. I could only conclude he knew exactly what he was doing to me, and was enjoying every second.

Most of Louis' and Tommy's mates left after midnight, but it was nearing 2am before Lou and Harry got up to leave. 

"I'll just see them out," Louis said, standing up from the seat he had taken next to me for the last hour. "Do you want another drink?"

"Just some water," I said, standing up too. "I can get it myself, it's no bother."

"It was great meeting you," Harry said, leaning around Louis towards me. 

"You too," I said, feeling a jolt in my stomach as he took a step towards me. He put his hand on my waist and leaned forward to give me a kiss on the cheek. His lips were soft against my skin, and his scent made me feel lightheaded. I kissed the air beside his cheek in return, and he pulled away and smiled at me. 

"Maybe I'll see you soon," he said, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"You never know," I replied, because I couldn't think of anything cool or witty to say back to him.

Lou gave me a kiss on the cheek too, and Louis escorted them down the hallway to the front door as I turned and went into the kitchen to get myself a glass of water, my heart pounding and my head spinning. I had just spent a whole evening in the company of two members of One Direction - I felt as though I could fly. (Although my poor little inner fangirl was pretty much slumped on the floor, half dead in elated disbelief.) I filled a clean glass from the tap and leaned back against the sink to drink it, enjoying the relief from the heat in my face. I drank it in several gulps, and just as I was putting it down on the counter Louis entered the kitchen.

"You OK?" he asked.

"Yeah, just needed a soft drink," I replied, as he arrived at my side and slid an arm around my waist. 

He leaned forward and kissed me softly on the lips, lingering for longer than I expected. I kissed him back and turned to face him, sliding my arms up around his neck as he slipped his tongue in my mouth.

We kissed like this for a minute, desire igniting in my veins again as he pulled my body against his, tucking his hands into the back pockets of my jeans.

"Only a couple of Lottie's friends are left," he murmured, pulling away from the kiss momentarily, and giving me a look so sultry it literally made my knees weak. "I'm ready to call it a night, if you are?"

I knew what this meant, and after several weeks of imagining this moment there was no way I was about to say no. The heat and the chemistry between us was undeniable, and I couldn't pretend I wasn't desperate to know just how explosive we would be together when we both gave in to our own desires.

I nodded, and he smiled mischievously as me, sending a stab of excitement to my very core. It looked as though I was finally about to find out.