Turning, I shut the door and push the lock. He comes up behind me, his heat and scent making me weak, my blood pounds, sending a drum beat through my temples. I whisper into the woodwork, my throat dry.
"I don't know what I'm doing. This is so wrong. But I need you. I need this."

He forces me to wait for his next touch. My body has disowned me. It's doing what it wants, I'm no longer in control. Breathing into my hair, his body betrays his arousal against my buttocks. Just when I think I'm going to burst with anticipation, his strong, rough hands brush along my sides then slowly move round to the front and rip open the buttons on my jeans. Gasping, I reach back to yank him free from his trousers, free from his boxers. He moans, his teeth lightly nip the nape of my neck. I can't believe what's happening. Am I really the kind of person who does this with a room full of people downstairs? Is that why this is so exciting? No, I'm sure that any place or time with Jack would cause my reaction. In our haste to get to each other we waste no time in taking off our footware or top garments, our trousers and underpants unceremoniously collect around our ankles. He strokes his fingers between my thighs higher and higher, until the wet heat overcomes me. Then he enters me and I call out in lust. My hands grab his hips pushing him to go harder, deeper, faster.

Animal. I am reduced to an animal. I have to be. The rhythm is mine. I need to have this. I have to be taken away. Away from the broken coffee cup. Away from the sad smiles and forced positivity. I have to feel. His breath comes out in sharp bursts as he grunts. into the hair around my neck. My knees shake as I explode. In a matter of seconds it's over.

I look round as Jack pulls out and sits down on the lid of the toilet. He pushes back the sweaty hair from his face and grins, his gorgeous blue eyes twinkle at me.

"Wow, I did not expect that!"

I send Jack out of the bathroom to collect some fresh underwear for me so I can change once I've had a shower. I watch him through a crack in the door as he sneaks across the hallway like a ninja. He disappears into my bedroom, obviously finds what he's looking for and returns to the scene of the crime, knickers on finger point.

Mum has come up too quietly for me to notice, and is now standing at the top of the stairs. She looks blankly at Jack, at the underwear, and at me as I peep round the bathroom door in a state of undress.

"Everyone's gone." She says with a catch in her voice, then she walks past me and enters her bedroom. Slamming the door behind her.

********

Jack stays for a few days. Then we go back to hour long phone calls and pining for each other from a distance. It tears me apart to be separated from him for so long. Not to be able to touch, kiss, hold or love him.

A slow month later, Jack has some good news. An old friend, Ben, has recently moved to Manchester and needs a flatmate to share the cost of renting. So, Jack quits his job on the Scottish island. Luckily he finds a position in a factory and borrows a beer delivery van from his old job, to move his meagre belongings closer to me.

Ben's rented terraced house is not in the best of areas. It's a row of old mill worker's housing which runs up and down both sides of a narrow, busy road. I'm there as often as my full-time bar shifts allow me. My childhood home just has too many reminders, everything has Dad. The garden, the living room, the late-night talks together, as he sat on the end of my bed. These ghosts of his love are haunting and consuming me.

One Monday evening, later that month, on my one and only night off, Jack is cooking me dinner. He's fully settled into the house and tried his best to make it feel like home.

The kitchen is reasonably large, with a French window that opens onto the tiny backyard. The graffiti-clad alley gate is the only way to get into the property, as the front door lock was put out of use by Ben's drunken key assault two weeks ago.

Jack stirs the bubbling pasta sauce. "Pass me that stuff over there, please." He indicates the wilted Greek basil plant on the windowsill.

"This?"

He grimaces and sneers at the leaves as I hand them to him. A faint perfume rising.
"Yeah. I mean, how can you call this basil?" He looks with such disgust at the plant that I almost feel sorry for it. "You should see the basil growing in my Dad's garden. Beautiful!" He pinches his fingers together and kisses the air with them in classic Italian style. "Mmmwaw."

The sauce is smelling good and I swill the red wine round in my glass, watching the master at work. Admiring each movement of his strong shoulders and arms, barely hidden behind his thin, white cotton shirt. I wish that the meal could be over and we could get upstairs and naked as quickly as possible. My lips are aching to get to him.

The backyard gate flies open with a crash, but Jack doesn't look up from his work.
"That's Ben."

Ben has to be the worst flatmate ever. He's always dirty, smelly, brings home and shags anything that doesn't move fast enough to escape, and he's usually plastered. As expected he bursts through the kitchen door reeking of booze and dubious smoke.

"Hey, Jackie boy!"

He then gives a quick rendition of Danny Boy with the name Jackie boy as a substitute. He parks his substantial bottom onto the counter top next to the sink beside the kitchen door.
"Guess what, mate?"

"What?"

"I got kicked out of the restaurant tonight." Ben sounds proud of himself. "I told that ponce of a Chef to stick his job and get a fucking life."

Jack's shoulders drop.
"And how do you think we're going to pay the rent now, you dickless wonder?"

"Fucked if I know, mate." Ben stares out the window, swinging his legs like a little boy. "Hey, by the way, who's that redhead bird I saw here last Saturday night?" He jumps down to sway and hiccup his way to the fridge.

My ears prick up and I stop swirling the glass, my undivided attention on Ben. Did I hear him right?

Jack shakes his head.

Ben looks me up and down while trying to undo a bottle of water.
"This one's a bit of a stunner, mate. Don't know why you need two?"

Jack slams down the wooden spoon, spraying tomato sauce up the kitchen counters. He leaps over to his flatmate and shoves Ben through into the living room.

"Get the fuck upstairs, you stupid git!"

I find out at a much later date that Jack found Ben passed out on the bathroom floor after he'd tried to use the sink as a toilet.

Once Jack returns, I attempt to hide the jealous, insecure emotions welling up inside of me. I take over the stirring of the sauce, my hand gripping the wooden spoon so tightly its making my knuckles sore.

"So - " I serve up the pasta and pour on the sauce, wanting to get to the bottom of Ben's comments. "Who's the mysterious redhead then?" My teeth grind together and I know I'm on the verge of tears. Jack's reaction to Ben's implications have unbalanced me more than anything the idiot could have said.

Jack sits down at the table for two. "Nobody really."

What the hell?

Was I going to have to drag it out of him?
"You mean there was or maybe is a redhead?" My stomach is starting to churn.

Jack looks down at his dinner, then pushes it away.
"Look, I didn't want to tell you this way, but anyway, Christine and I are finished."

"I'm sorry?" Oh no. This can't be the way this is going to go, not now. Not when I think I'm falling in love with him.

"She was my girlfriend in Scotland and I couldn't find the words to finish things."

"I'm confused. What exactly are you telling me? That she still thought she was your girlfriend on Saturday?" I try to catch his eye, to see if I can read something more there. Maybe this is all a joke.

"No. She came over to bring some of my stuff back."

"So you were living together? I thought you had that staff room at the hotel?" Things need to be explained, and quick, before my imagination has time to conjour up all kinds of images. Too late.

Jack shakes his head, takes a large gulp of wine and stands up. Leaning on the back of the chair he rocks back and forth in visible discomfort.
"No. That was the cook's room. He was out at his mum's for the night. You know, that night, our first night, he said I could use it."

"Oh!" I'm stunned, barely able to force the words out.
Has this all been a lie?
"So, she's been holding onto your stuff since that night?"

"No."

"What? You went back to living with her?"

"I couldn't find a way to tell her that wouldn't make her feel bad."

"So you never actually broke up with her?"

"Now I have."

"Am I supposed to be grateful for that? When exactly did you tell her?"

"Last week." He pulls a painful expression as he must know what's coming.

"Well, that's just great!"

I get up and grab my bag to go, knocking the wine glass over. I take pleasure in the crash it makes as it smashes on the floor.
"And you know what the best part is?" I think I'm going to be sick.
"I accepted a job offer in Manchester this morning, so that we can spend more time together, you bastard." I smile sharply and slap his hand away when he reaches out to stop me leaving. Throw on my jacket, I storm out the backdoor.

********

It takes ten days for Jack to persuade me to be in the same room with him again. Constant phone calls, flowers and even a play request on the local radio station. The 'Hothouse Flowers' song, "Don't go," which had been playing on the jukebox downstairs in the hotel, that morning after our first night together. He knew the bar where I worked in Manchester centre and that they always played a certain radio station during the day shifts.

Eventually I give in, not sure if it was the smart or stupid thing to do, and here I am sat on the same dining chair as that fateful Monday night, feeling bitter and not much happier than ten days ago. Although, I'm hoping if I give him the chance I'll hear a better version of the explanation. I miss him. I'm addicted to this man, his body, his eyes, his laugh, his passion. I can't seem to shake myself free.

"Okay. Can I start by saying that I'm so, so sorry. You won't believe how much I've missed you, Jill."

That sounds sincere at least.

"Me too." Then, remembering our last encounter I ask. "Should we be expecting boisterous Ben at any point?"

Jack frowns.
"No. The bastard's gone back to live with his ex. He can't find a new job."

"Oh, that's not good."

"Yeah, I may have to go back too, if I can't get someone else in to help with the rent."

"Ah." I change the subject back to the task in hand. I have to get to the bottom of this if we are to have a future, and God knows, I want one with him in it.
"Anymore visits from the lovely Christine?"

"No."

"Have you heard from her?"

"No."

Jack gets up and comes to me. He crouches down onto his haunches and comes as close as possible, catching my eye line. His proximity makes me nervous, I know how his body feels, what his mouth tastes like, he's close enough to kiss.

He gazes into my eyes, steady and honest.
"I missed you, I love you."

I'm beginning to melt, and I know I'm going to give in to my craving.

As I suspected, a few hours later, I find myself getting dressed in his bedroom, ready to make my way home. It's dark outside and the next-door neighbour has the TV softly echoing through the walls.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Jack says from the bed. His sexy torso on display, his arms crossed behind his head, a smile of satisfaction on his handsome face. I wish I could crawl back on top of him again.

"No, not unless you can wait up till 2.00 am for me? Aren't you on nightshift tomorrow?"

And so, from here on in, the pattern of our lives change to fit around each other. I move in a week later. A month after that we start planning our wedding. As Gran says, life's too short for messing around and dilly-dallying.

We plan together for the big day, I'm surprised how involved he wants to be in the preparation. Mum gleefully assists in dress fittings and books the town hall civil ceremony. I am now ready for every possible event but one. Meeting the Italians.