Disclaimer: All characters belong to Fox. Not I.

Been persuaded to continue this. Thanks to all reviewers and readers so far.

II

"Are those guys…" Chase's floppy hair fell over his head as he nodded towards House's office.

The unfinished question hung in the stagnant heat as Foreman followed Chase's eye line and clocked the svelte silhouette of Cameron behind the glass.

Foreman watched as she walked over to where House sat watching General Hospital and then she moved behind the whiteboard and out of view.

He cringed and gathered his files together. "I certainly hope not. A hundred dollars says they're not."

Chase looked down and sulked. Little boy lost. Little boy in a very bad mood: "Not sure I want to take that bet."

"Come on man," Foreman reasoned, "You get a hundred dollars even if you don't get the girl."

"I don't want the girl!" Chase protested and then: "Fine!"

He opened his wallet to check its contents.

Cameron moved in front of the TV.

House sighed and moved his legs off the footstool, avoiding eye contact. "You want to sit?"

She didn't reply. Her eyes flashed over his body. His hunched shoulders. His lips caressing an ice cream cone. She was inches away from him but whole worlds of touch and taste.

"So," she mused, "tell me how good it was."

"What?" He paused, a dribble of ice cream falling onto his shirt. His low lidded eyes met hers.

"Last night."

"Yeah," He turned to his desk and disposed of the cone in a Kleenex as he continued to speak carefully, "It was hot. What do you think?"

He leant over her and threw the Kleenex in the trash.

The heat wasn't going to let up. It had made everyone lazy. She had started to wear less clothes. Replacing her lab coat (when she wasn't with a patient) with a small tank top and her bare arms got goose bumps whenever he spoke to her. This wasn't lost on him.

He moved to lean against his desk. Wondering about running his finger down her slender arm. Thinking about the effect it might have.

He saw everything in her eyes and it was immediately reflected back to her in his own gaze. Her naivety, her girlish hopes, her pretend confidence, the sad truth that she really was in love with him.

She suddenly lost her nerve. She couldn't cope with the details. Maybe she'd already gone too far.

"Cameron," House stepped into the elevator that morning. "I had a dream about you last night."

She rolled her eyes and stared straight ahead as the doors closed.

House looked her over. Pleased that she wasn't back in her sensible shirts. "You're supposed to say 'did you?' and then I say: 'No, you wouldn't let me.' You're no fun!"

The lift started to move and her stomach lurched as it always did so early in the morning.

House shifted his cane against the movement and the back of his hand brushed against her own.

She looked at him suspiciously: "I wouldn't let you?"

He shook his head. "Even in my dreams you're the moral princess."

She snorted and he smirked slightly.

The elevator stopped and he stepped out first and then looked back at her:

"You wouldn't let me video you but you were so hot in the sack."

She stood. Embarrassed. Nurses crashing into each other behind her. Armfuls of paper floating to the floor.

"So it was good. It. Me. Us." She was pushing him. She focused on the mess of his unopened post.

"Oh you were good." He was playing a game and now he wasn't even sure if the dream had been real or if it was just something he'd made up on the spot to make her chest rise and fall like that as she tried to catch her breath.

"You were wearing those little gym shorts and your hair was all…" He moved his hand to almost touch the loose curls around her shoulders but let his hand stay, lingering above the strap of her vest.

The cell phone on his desk suddenly rang and she jumped a little, bringing her hand to her chest to feel her racing heart.

He ignored the phone and finally let his hand brush her shoulder. Her knees almost buckled and she put her hand out onto his desk to support herself.

He raised his eyebrow: "Feeling a little hot, Doctor Cameron?"

Her eyelids fluttered as she tried to maintain some control. She slowly brought her eyes back to his. The connection. The power. The throb. The need.

"That's what I said to you last night." He lazily ran his fingers down her arm and came to rest at her palm. He pulled her closer to him so that her forehead bumped his nose. He ran his index finger over her palm and she shivered.

"And then?" She whispered.

"And then –" he paused. His eyes darkening. "And then I went down on you."

"House!" She breathed. Trying to scold him but unable to get the words out.

She looked down at his finger rubbing her palm. He was just playing with her. Teasing her. Seeing how far he could push things. Neither of them could find a valid reason to break this contact.

"And then…" She instinctively drew even closer to him until his mouth came to rest in the dip of her neck. "Then you turned into Angelina Jolie."

He almost kissed her. The brush of his lips, the graze of his chin, on the skin of her neck. It was sweet and painful.

She pulled away quickly.

"Funny," she replied, removing herself from the situation, "You always turn into Brad Pitt."

"Hm," He said, regaining his composure quickly, like it had never happened. Like what had just occurred had been another dream:

"I'd have been more interested if I turned into Angelina Jolie."

"I bet you would." She managed to smile although her lips quivered like she'd been sucking on ice.

She headed back into the safety of the other room where Chase eyed her suspiciously as she asked him if he'd like a coffee.