The snog was just a tease though, as he broke off the kiss and hugged her instead. "I'm sorry that I'm an emotional, violent arsehole drunk. I was having a rough week, and I used you like a human stress toy, treated you terribly. It's no wonder you had a knife hidden..I would be terrified of me, too. But I really am glad you're here. You have no idea what it's been like being here alone, feeling like I was going mad for the company of another human being," he said, his voice serious. Then, he hastily added, "Even if it's only for the time being. It's good to have a woman's company. You are a bright spot in the darkness."

She was surprised by his sudden show of sincerity, and almost felt bad for wondering if he was being honest. How could he lay bare something as intimate as his feelings, when there was all the secrecy surrounding his real name, his profession, and where he lived? The man was playing his cards close to the vest for a reason, but she didn't know what it could possibly be. There could be a number of innocent reasons he might choose to keep these things from her, as simple as wanting to gauge her trust before telling her, perhaps. When she thought of it like that, she supposed it made perfect sense from his perspective to be careful what he told her. Even with their financial arrangement, there was nothing to stop her from leaving when her end of the bargain had been completed and going directly to the police if she knew who he was. Keeping those details a secret ensured that when she did leave, she probably wouldn't be able to find or identify him again, not unless he wanted her to.

Then, a more chilling thought: What if he never actually intends to let me go?

She realized she'd been quiet for a long time since his admission, and he was beginning to get that pained look of a man who's just told a woman that he loves her only to have her respond with either laughter or silence. She cleared her throat, and smiled at him. "I'm sorry, you just caught me off guard. That's the most earnest and sincere thing you've said to me since I've met you, I think. You must be drinking the moonlight tonight."

"The pot is burning," he replied, pointing behind her.

"What? No, I hadn't been smoking today. Already felt kind of like I must be on drugs as it was. A wedding dress fitting in a blindfold and headphones, kind of strange…"

"No, I mean the pot on the stove. It must've overflowed a bit, the burner is smoking," he said, gesturing more urgently.

"Oh!" she said alarmed, but before she could react he had shut off the burner, plucked the stew from the stove, set it on the back burner, and started beating out the low flame with a damp kitchen towel. The flame smouldered and went out.

"Hmm. I guess this means I can say that both you and your cooking are smokin' hot," he chuckled, giving her a cheeky grin.

"Oh, spare me the puns. You've been hanging around your friend Jack too long, I think,"she said, rolling her eyes.

"Stop talking about other men when I'm trying to give you a compliment," he teased, his voice light but firm.

"Stop sending other men to hang out with me, then. He's the only other person I've seen since this whole thing started, of course I'm going to talk to him," she said, poking her tongue out at him.

"Did you ruin dinner?" he asked mildly, taking the lid off the pot to peer at the contents.

"No, I did not ruin dinner," she said indignantly, bumping him out of the way with her hip. She stirred the stew with a big metal spoon, and gave it a taste. "You might want a little extra salt and pepper, but it doesn't taste ruined to me."

"Did you make dessert?" he asked.

"I'm sweet, does that count?" she quipped back at him.

"No, that's okay if you didn't. I had something else in mind, actually...since you like to cook," he said, suddenly sounding a bit shy. "I thought we could make a cake together. It's just...well, I can't lie. You got me thinking the other night, when you said that smoking gets you...anyway, yeah. I have a very good recipe for cannabis oil, and an even better recipe for a flourless chocolate cake. It's a different buzz than smoking, a total body high. You..you might like it."

"Are you some kind of head?" she asked, laughing. He frowned at her, the blush creeping up his collar.

"Hardly, no. I grow because I'm a chemist, and I use it in my research. And as for the cannabis oil...even I was a college boy once. But I actually learned to make it when someone I knew got cancer. They recommended medicinal marijuana for his pain, but he hated smoking, so I came up with the perfect oil recipe and started baking for him instead. Oil aside, my chocolate cake non-cake never fails to impress. Besides...I don't want to drink, and it'd be nice to unwind. It's just a suggestion, though," he said casually.

"I'm game. But first, stew. Real food. Starving. Jack's an alright cook, but his culinary skills are not on par with my own."

"No, no they definitely aren't," the Doctor agreed with a laugh, reaching over her head to get the bowls out of the cabinet. They sat down and ate dinner together, and for all his teasing about how she ruined dinner, it didn't stop him from inhaling three bowls of stew. He probably would've eaten a fourth one, too, if she hadn't raised her eyebrows at him when he'd made to get up and go back for more. Instead, he played it off and put his bowl in the sink, and made a show of washing up instead.

"Isn't that supposed to be my job?" she asked, bringing her bowl and spoon over.

"You cooked, I can clean. Life is about compromise," he said cheerfully, scrubbing out the soup pot.

Who was this alien man and what had he done with the Doctor? Or maybe he really was just a mean drunk, and that was it. She couldn't believe it could ever be anything that simple, though. After he'd finished the dishes, he pulled a jar with a dark green and opaque substance that she assumed was the oil. He pulled out butter, eggs, the vanilla bean paste, semi-sweet chocolate squares, and a bag of plain white sugar that must have been hiding earlier. He premeasured the ingredients with the sort of precision she would expect from a scientist. He grabbed a couple of other things from the cupboard and fridge, and continued making measurements.

"The oil is made with coconut oil. Good for baking, but you have to use some real butter too, for flavor and texture," he explained, melting the butter and oil together in a small saucepan. He chopped up the chunks of chocolate and passed them over to her. "Here, mix these in slowly, and keep stirring until it's melted. Watch the temperature, you don't want it to seize up."

"Look at you, baking a flourless cake. I know men that can't boil toast. What'd you need someone who could cook for?" she asked, teasing.

"I never said I couldn't cook, I just generally prefer to spend my time doing other things. Besides, if you're going to spend that kind of money on a girl, you might as well make sure she can cook and clean."

"Right. Because that's all women are good for is cooking and cleaning," Alba said, poking him in the side.

"I did not say that," he groused. Now it was his turn to play the indignant one as he whisked the eggs, vanilla, and sugar together in a bowl. Though Alba was familiar with the type of torte recipe he was using, she deferred to him, allowing him to guide her through the process rather than interrupting him to tell him she knew how to do it. In less than twenty minutes they had the cake covered in foil and sitting in a water bath in the oven. The Doctor switched it into convection mode, and swore to her it would take less than half an hour for the cake to cook, but an hour for it to set.

"That's a long time to wait for cake when I want it now," she told him solemnly.

"I promise it'll be worth the wait, but if you're really impatient I can put it in the ice box and we can eat it after thirty minutes. It'll be more like chocolate custard than flourless cake, but it'll still be delicious."

"Are you trying to use chocolate and mary jane to seduce me?" she asked him, dragging her finger through what was left of the melted chocolate mixture in the bowl. Before she could bring the finger to her mouth to lick it clean, he caught her hand and did the job for her. Slowly. She watched him do this, lips very slightly parted.

"Yes. Yes I am. Is it working?" he asked her, a twinkle in his eye.

"Not in the slightest," she said, deadpan. "What sort of a chemist are you, anyway?"

"Organic and analytical," he told her, and again she was surprised at his forthrightness, though science had never been her strong subject, so she only had the most basic idea of what that actually meant. "Also, you're a liar. It's totally working."

"How would you know?" she asked him flippantly, although she didn't deny the accusation. He was being downright charming this evening, but she still was cautious around him. His moods had gone from hot and cold so easily before, she wasn't sure that it couldn't happen again.

"Scientist, remember? We're observant. Your pupils are dilated, you're smiling and biting your lips, you're blushing, and I can see your nipples through that dress."

"I just really love chocolate," she told him, maintaining the serious expression on her face. He swiped his own finger through the chocolatey remnants in the bowl, and offered it to her. Wordlessly, she accepted and grasped his hand by the wrist. She popped his finger in her mouth and rolled her tongue around it until all the chocolate was gone. It had a faint, earthy taste from the cannabis oil, but it was almost imperceptible amongst the dark chocolate and other ingredients. At this rate though, she wondered if they would even make it to the actual cake.

"Is it hot in here?" he asked, fanning himself with his hand.

"Probably. The oven is on, after all," she teased, knowing perfectly well that wasn't what he had meant, although now a part of her wanted to see for how long she could prolong his agony, never mind her own.

"You're a cheeky girl," he whispered against her neck, and the things that he was doing there with his lips and tongue felt quite nice.

"No cheekier than you, I'd wager," she said, pulling away from him. He tugged at her imploringly, like a child. She looked at the kitchen timer, and was surprised to see how much time had already gone by. The cake was just about ready to come out of the oven. "Cake is almost done."

"That's not the only thing that's almost done," he muttered under his breath. She pretended not to hear him, and when the timer buzzed she carefully pulled the cake out of its water bath and let it to set on top of the stove. He came up behind her and peered over her shoulder at it when she peeled back the foil. "Looks good. You're really supposed to let it set for a few hours, but if you want to speed set it you can cover it with wax paper and stick it in the ice box."

"Stick it in the ice box, mmm?' she asked, raising her eyebrows at him. It was almost too easy to get him to blush.

"You...are a bad, bad woman," he said, shaking his head as he watched her bend over to pull out the ice box drawer.

"Yeah, well...you picked me," she retorted, glad he couldn't see her smiling.

"That I did," he agreed. "That I did."

While they waited for the cake to set the rest of the way (more at her insistence than his), she put on a fresh kettle and they had tea, trading small talk and witticisms while they waited. She hadn't looked at the clock in a while, but the hour felt late. "You don't have work in the morning, do you?"

"No, thank God," he said, sounding a bit frustrated at the mere mention of his job.

"Work been stressful lately?" she asked conversationally, although she of course had her own ulterior motives for asking..

"You could say that, yeah," he said, and his tone indicated that the subject was closed.

Now she was even more intrigued. He'd had no problem sharing that he was a chemist with her, but evidently he didn't want to go into anything more specific than that. Again, she couldn't help but wonder exactly what his job entailed that he was so secretive about it. Then, something that Jack had said to her popped into her head. She debated bringing it up, not wanting to possibly get Jack in trouble. He had told her that in order for the Doctor to retain control of his finances, he had to be married, but it had sounded like he had started to say business instead. Thinking better than to risk betraying her only confidant, she decided not to mention it, although she wondered if maybe that was how the Doctor had come by his wealth; he owned his own chemical business of some sort?

"It should be set up enough that we can eat it now, if you'd like," he said, interrupting her musings.

"If I'd like? Why else have I been sitting here, if not for cake?" she asked, throwing up her arms in mock upset.

"For the witty repartee, I figured," he said, getting up to retrieve the pan from the icebox. He cut them each a small sliver from the cake and put the portions in small bowls. He was right about doing the quick set-the texture was more French custard than flourless cake, but he hadn't lied when he'd said it was delicious. She had finished her slice in no time at all.

"So you didn't like it all I guess?" he asked her sarcastically.

"No. Definitely not," she said, licking the fork.

He gave her an amused eyebrow raise, and finished his own slice. "It can take up to an hour to kick in sometimes, depending on how fast your metabolism is."

"I could always speed up the process by eating another slice of cake," she suggested.

"Let's see how you make it through this one first," he said, depositing their bowls in the sink. "May I suggest we move to the library? Music and possibly a nightcap? The nightcap being in the singular," he added for clarity's sake.

"I don't suppose why not," she said, and she wasn't sure if the bubbly, giddy feeling she was starting to get in her stomach were the cake, or just him. He walked her out of the kitchen with his arm arm around her waist.

"Shall I light a fire?" he asked her when they got to the library.

"Do you think we'll be spending that much time here?" she asked him honestly.

"I suppose not," he replied, instead choosing to drop a record onto the player. As the music queued up, he offered her his hand. "May I?"

Alba laughed nervously. "I'm not all that good of a formal dancer."

His eyes were already dancing, and she felt her stomach drop into her knees when he lowered that smoldering gaze to her own. "And this isn't a formal dance. The trick is just to keep moving your feet," he said, pulling her to him.

Together they swayed slowly in front of the fireplace. He let his hands come to rest on her hips, and she leaned her head against his chest. Something in the gesture felt very comfortable and familiar, and she sighed, almost contentedly if she was being honest with herself. This had been a semi-normal evening, minus the Dutch-style dessert. Dinner, dessert, and dancing. With her husband-to-be. Two weeks ago she'd been a shop girl, and now...this. It still felt surreal, like any moment someone would either wake her up or tell it had all been part of some very terrible reality TV show (she had seen stranger, including the one where the lady married a giant cat).

The sensations of his lips pressed against her own and his hips tilting to meet hers felt real enough, though. She clung tighter to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and parting her lips just slightly. His ran his tongue across her bottom lip and nipped her gently, eliciting a low, throaty growl from her in response. His fingers were lightly tracing the curve of her spine, and she felt one of his hands slip down the open back of her dress to cup her arse before moving back up to rest on her hip again. They were less dancing now, more so holding each other in an embrace that was becoming increasingly salacious. He nestled his head in the crook of her neck and just barely brushed his lips across her collarbones, sending a shiver up her spine and making the heat in her belly tense and coil. His one hand crept up to bury itself in her hair, keeping her face upturned, her lips pressed against his, his mouth tasting her own hungrily, but not forcefully.

Finally, he pulled back from her, his breathing a bit ragged. "Come to bed with me."

"In your bedroom? Like to sleep?" she asked, eyes going wide. She still hadn't even found the front door yet, let alone seen his bedroom. It was a prospect that both thrilled and terrified her.

"Yes in my bedroom, and no, not to sleep. Not right away, anyway," he said, giving her that wide, toothy grin that she now wasn't sure if it made her uncomfortable or aroused. "So...are you coming?"

"Do I have a choice?" she asked, feeling a sudden germ of doubt curling within her. What if his bedroom was the room where he kept the whips and chains and Iron Maiden? Just because he'd seemed almost normal tonight didn't mean she had so quickly forgotten the way he had been with her before.

"Well yes...of course you do. I don't want to make you feel like you don't. We can play at being husband and wife without having to be intimate with each other, but I thought it was kind of obvious. There's something between us, and you feel it too."

She resisted the urge to tell him that there was something between them, and it was currently poking her in the stomach. There was no fire burning in the library, at least not in the real sense of the word, but there was a heat and energy that was palpable coming off the two of them.

"So what do you say?" he coaxed, tracing the curve of her jaw with his thumb.

"Yes."