Alice sat opposite Patricia in the sort of pretentious restaurant Alice hated and Patricia loved.

Alice didn't count Patricia as a particularly good friend, but occasionally quite enjoyed her company, and they caught up for lunch at least once every couple of weeks. As the fashion and lifestyle editor at the paper, Patricia was always dressed fashionably, although not always attractively, Alice felt. Today, in her Akira unstructured tunic and stripped leggings, she thought Patricia looked like a Japanese schoolgirl gone wrong. But Alice didn't mind the occasional freebies Patricia tossed her way, and she was great to shop with.

The world of journalism being one of the last great bastions of nepotism and in-breeding, Patricia was married to Rowan Gladwell, the lead political correspondent at the paper. And at the moment, more than fashion, more than cosmetics, more than Jimmy Choo shoes, all Patricia wanted was to get pregnant. And that was all she talked about.

"So Rowan's taking this new herbal supplement and my doctor says my ovaries are looking much better this time around and I should have at least two eggs released, so we might even get twins . . . "

Alice tuned in and out. She had been seeing Greg House for just over two weeks and it was incredibly easy to zone out and lose herself in thinking about that instead. It had been a very exhausting, erotic and amusing two weeks. They'd spent every night together except for one – he said he had to spend some time with a friend of his who was going through a rough time. Alice had shrugged and was grateful for a few hours to herself to catch up on a few things. She tried not to admit how wonderful it felt when he crawled into bed with her later that night, cold feet and whisky breath notwithstanding.

He seemed to have practically moved in – he liked her bed better than his, he kept saying. He obviously really liked her entertainment system and – surprisingly, after a careful and nonsexual soak together one evening – the hot tub too. Alice wasn't certain enough yet to make any sort of confident predictions about how he felt about her. But the signs were positive.

Patricia's pregnancy monologue meant Alice hadn't been able to tell her friend that after a lo-o-o-ong dry spell it appeared that she finally had a man in her life.

Alice came back to earth as the waiter brought over their salads and they began eating.

"So, I'm having a dinner party tomorrow night and stupid Ann and Jack have called to cancel. I had the perfect number – eighteen guests – and now it's all spoiled."

Alice hadn't been invited to one of Patricia and Rowan's dinner parties since she became single. At first she'd been hurt, but then she realised it boiled down to her friend's compulsive need for balance and she'd gotten over it.

"That sucks. Have you got any stand bys?"

"No. And Mad-Eye and his wife are coming and I just wanted it to be perfect."

Alice had no interest in discussing a dinner party she wasn't going to be invited to. "So, I've met this guy . . . "

Patricia's eyes grew round she dropped her fork with a dramatic clatter. "Oh my God! Who is he and what does he do?"

It was such a Patricia question. Not, Are you happy? How does he make you feel? Is he good to you?, but a roundabout way of finding out, Is he famous and how much does he earn? Can I benefit from knowing him too?

"His name is Greg House and he's a doctor at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital. He's—"

"Oh, you both must come to the dinner party! I've probably got enough Observer people coming, but I don't have a doctor. That would be ideal."

Alice shook her head. Patricia was so painfully transparent sometimes.

"He's not a fertility doctor. He heads up the diagnostics department."

"Oh Alice, don't be silly, as if I'm going to be asking him for a consult. You'll be my guests!"

Alice nodded, but internally thought yeah, right and made a mental note to warn House. That was if he'd agree to go.

"I'll ask him and let you know."

Patricia smiled. "It'll be great. I can't wait to meet him!"

--

"Huge place," House whispered to Alice as they waited for the door to be opened. "They're both journalists?" Alice could see he was trying to work out how their salaries could possibly equate to a home of this size.

"Yeah, they are, but Patricia is a poor little rich girl. Her father is an oil tycoon."

House raised an eyebrow as if he didn't quite believe her. "Really."

She gave him an appreciative glance. She was wearing a black wrap dress and heels, and she'd told him the men would be wearing suits. He either hadn't listened or didn't care, because he was wearing dark, indigo-blue jeans, a black t-shirt and black blazer. He looked every inch some kind of carefree, glamorous rock star, and Alice was so pleased he was her date.

It didn't take long before they were in a huge dining room and had been introduced to other guests standing around a long, beautifully set table. Taper candles, white flower arrangements and gleaming silver made it look like something from Vogue. And, yes, sure enough, there was the photographer from the Observer, taking some happy snaps that would probably find their way into tomorrow's society column.

House had been seated across from her, Patricia following some no-doubt complex seating arrangement. The table was too wide for them to talk to each other comfortably, so they were left talking to the people either side of them, which unfortunately for Alice meant Rowan on one side and her boss on the other – meaning she had to concentrate hard to remember to call him Michael and not Mad-Eye. She wondered if House was going to do or say something wildly inappropriate, as she'd discovered was his way. She was actually half looking forward to it. But she eavesdropped on his conversation for a while and it seemed that while Patricia, on his left, was trying valiantly to work the conversation around to her fertility treatment, House was ignoring her to talk passionately to another woman Alice didn't know about some medical soap opera. Strange.

Alice took a look around the table and realised that the only married women were the ones whose husbands worked at the Observer. None of the female journalists had husbands, just boyfriends or – in the case of Kim, the entertainment and Hollywood correspondent – lesbian partners. Interesting.

As the evening wore on, and after dessert had been served, the party split naturally into two groups. They were primarily male and female, with the exception of House and Alice. She stayed at the dining table with the men, talking heatedly about the upcoming presidential race and some of the more influential business players in the current Wall Street dramas.

House gave her a cheeky wink as he walked out of the room and Alice felt a stab of arousal, quickly followed by a stab of pity as she watched Patricia slip a hand through his arm. As Patricia led him out to the living room with the other women Alice heard a snippet of their conversation: Patricia asking how many babies he'd delivered.

Alice was loving the fierce debate around the table until Mad-Eye and Rowan's conversation about political donations became extremely aggressive. She wondered what had happened to her, because she used to love a verbal sparring match, but as their anger increased Alice started to feel more and more uncomfortable.

Had her run-in with the therapist actually taught her something? Had the violent and aggressive streak she'd been worried she was cultivating disappeared? If so, that wasn't entirely a bad thing. But she also didn't like to sit there and watch a colleague make a serious career limiting move. Rowan had obviously had just a few too many champagnes and forgotten he was arguing with not just a guest, but his boss.

Alice excused herself to go to the bathroom.

She was right in the middle of peeing when she noticed the handle on the bathroom door turn.

"There's someone in here!" she called out.

Before she could so much as preserve her modesty, the door opened, House snuck in and closed it behind him again, a mischievous expression all over his face.

"Greg!" Alice hissed. She was outraged and embarrassed by the intrusion but she didn't want to alert any of the other party guests to their joint occupation of the bathroom.

"Alice!" he hissed copycat-style, in return. He gave her an appreciative glance and a saucy wink. "Quick, finish up peeing, I need a turn."

His comment only reinforced the fact that she was sitting on the toilet, dress hiked up, panties around her knees.

"What are you doing? Can't I pee in private?"

He looked around, as if half-expecting to find a crowd hidden behind the towel rail. "So it would appear. But why would you want to be lonely?"

Lonely? Alice happened to think that visiting the toilet could – and should – be the loneliest occupation in the world.

She quickly finished peeing, trying to be quiet, as House opened all the bathroom cabinets and peered inside at the various toiletries, cosmetics and medications he found inside.

"Patricia's trying too hard to get pregnant," he announced, pulling out and examining some vial of herbal potion with Chinese characters all over it, just as Alice hoisted her panties and flushed.

"Shh!" Alice couldn't help her response, even though there was no one in the vicinity to overhear. Alice pushed him away so she could wash her hands, and closed the mirrored cabinet door to prevent his further examination. "I know, but it's none of your business."

"She should be cutting back on the Perrier Jouet," he declared.

"Give her a break. She's really stressed. They've been trying for almost a year. And keep your voice down. I don't want people to know we're in here together."

"Okay," House said in a loud stage whisper. "How big is this bathroom anyway?"

Alice had to agree. Her place was big enough, but Patricia and Rowan's mansion was excessive. The bathroom they were in was probably bigger than her bedroom.

"These towels are amazingly soft too," House said with awe, handing one over to Alice for her to dry her hands.

She shook her head and chuckled as she took the towel. "You are such a girl."

"Am not!"

"Shh!" she warned again. "You are so. You're out there with the gals, gossiping away. What are you talking about anyway?"

"Soap operas mostly," House admitted. "I got bored with all the politics. I'd far rather discuss whether Sonia's quads have one or two fathers or if Rick's going to marry Brianna, than who's going to end up winning an arbitrary popularity contest. They're both fiction."

Alice took in a breath, about to defend democracy, when she thought better of such a futile exercise and closed her mouth.

House grabbed her now-dry hands and pulled her over to where he was leaning against the counter. He dragged her into a kiss, his hands dropping to her ass, holding her against him. Alice could feel evidence of his growing arousal pressing into her stomach, even as his tongue entered her mouth, sliding against hers.

"Wait, what? Why are you doing this?" Alice pulled back, feeling faintly dazed. This was not what she'd expected from her trip to the bathroom.

"After dissecting all the recent plotlines on Prescription Passion, us womenfolk were talking about assembling Ikea furniture," House explained, while nibbling his way down her neck. His hands continued to massage and rub her ass cheeks and Alice could feel herself starting to breathe more heavily. "And thinking about all that insert tab A into slot B was making me horny."

"You naturally started thinking about tab G and slot A?" Alice guessed.

"Exactly."

There was a quiet rap at the door. "Alice are you in there?"

Alice gave House a wide-eyed glare. He just grinned. "Yes Patricia. Uh, I'm just fixing my makeup. Maybe you'd like to use another bathroom?"

"Oh." The voice from the other side of the door was clearly unconvinced. "All right. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. My allergies just made my eyes water and I've got raccoon rings from my mascara," Alice improvised wildly. House gave her an encouraging grin.

"Well, okay. There's a new Chanel make-up remover in the third drawer if you need it."

"Thanks." Alice put a finger to House's lips until she heard the retreating click-clack of their hostess's heels down the hallway.

"Greg, these people are my colleagues," Alice whispered furiously. "I can't just disappear into a bathroom and, oh—" Alice's lecture was suddenly halted by the rapid progress of his hand up her leg.

"Oh?" House continued the progress of his hand. "What do you mean by 'oh'?"

"Oh," Alice said, stalling for time, wondering what she did mean. His hands were quickly distracting her. One was still grabbing her ass; the other had just started to make its way inside her panties. "How quick do you think we could be?" she asked breathlessly.

"Pretty quick, I reckon." His hand pressed against her mound, cupping her with the heat of his palm.

Alice drew in a breath. She'd gone from zero to sixty in a few seconds flat. She thought "pretty quick" was a fairly accurate estimation of the situation.

She reached for his belt buckle and the sound of the metal clinking as she undid it sent a shiver down her spine.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'?" he asked and spun them around, leaning her against the no-doubt expensive marble counter and pressing into her again for another kiss.

Alice decided not to answer, not wanting to verbalise her acquiescence, trying hard to deny the fact that she was submitting to him so easily. Two and a half weeks with this man and Alice felt like a teenager, her libido running rampantly out of control.

His jeans slipped to the floor and his boxers followed, and with House's encouragement her panties quickly traced their trajectory. He continued to rub her, his clever fingers having quickly learned her body, bringing her close to her peak.

Alice wrapped her hand around his penis, stroking him, the heat and hardness under her fingers proving just as arousing as his ministrations to her.

Once her breathing began to hitch, House encouraged Alice to raise her dress and perch on the edge of the cool stone counter. She did as he instructed, sitting up on the edge, wrapping her legs around the back of his, tugging gently to pull him to her. He slipped one finger inside her, to make sure she was ready for him, then pulled out and placed his cock against her entrance.

"Ready?" he whispered in her ear.

"Yeah. Gentle," Alice instructed quietly.

"Gentle?" he frowned at her.

"I don't want to yell out. So don't go too hard."

"Alice, Alice, Alice," he tutted. "I never would have picked you for a prude."

Alice thought about correcting him, but he began to sink inside her, gently and slowly, just as she had requested.

But if she'd thought that might prevent her from crying out she was wrong; the gradual assault on her senses was mind blowing, and Alice wanted to scream in anticipation, eagerness and sheer pleasure.

"Oh, God," she groaned, trying to bury her face in his shoulder to muffle her voice.

"Can you lift your legs higher?" House asked, his voice strangled.

"Why?" Alice asked, before House nodded to his left and Alice realised there was a full-length mirror capturing their movements and reflecting it back. She lifted her legs and suddenly they could both see the place where their bodies joined, his cock emerging, hot and wet, before plunging back into her again.

They both groaned. Loudly.

"Shh," Alice hushed, but she was too entranced by what she was seeing to care too much.

Their eyes locked in the mirror for a moment and they moved together slowly. Then, instantly, they both froze at the unmistakable sound of high heels clacking down the hallway, receding from the door. Someone had come to the bathroom and then walked away. If the person had knocked or said anything, neither of them had noticed. Alice could only hope that they hadn't heard anything too incriminating.

"I locked the door," House said into Alice's ear.

"Good."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Are you out of your mind?"

It took every bit of strength Alice had built up in years of yoga and pilates to maintain her position, but with him pumping in and out of her, the strain in her abdominal muscles wasn't her highest priority.

"Touch yourself," House instructed.

"What?" Alice's brain wasn't working on all cylinders.

"I can't . . . " House's arms were braced on the counter either side of her hips, keeping him balanced and giving him leverage to thrust into her. And, she figured hazily, making up for the fact that his right leg didn't work so well. " . . . And I'm not going to last much longer."

"Don't hold on," Alice pleaded. "Come, come in me."

He didn't need further encouragement, and with a low, guttural groan she could feel him freeze and then shoot, pushing into her three, four more times as he let go.

"Oh, God," he sighed, leaning into her. "I think we built a bookcase."

Alice gave him a moment and then shrugged against him. "The bookcase doesn't have shelves yet."

"Oh yeah." He pulled her black knit top open, revealing one lace-covered breast and leant down to kiss the already perky tip. He picked up her right hand and placed it between them, pulling out of her and drawing back just a little to give her room. "You do it. Touch yourself while I watch."

Alice hooked her feet on a couple of drawer handles beneath her, keeping her knees spread. She stroked herself, marvelling at how wet and swollen she was, how her body had responded to his invasion. Soon her fingers were concentrated on her clit, rubbing increasingly tight circles – she'd already been so close, it wasn't going to take much.

He continued to nibble and suckle at her breast through the lace of her bra, his eyes unabashedly gazing at her in the mirror. She met his eyes and held them until it became too much, she threw her head back, closed her eyes, and surrendered to the orgasm that clenched her insides and throbbed through her body. The movements of her fingers, the pressure of his mouth and the tingle left behind by his hard cock moving inside her all seemed to connect, spiralling the pleasure within her.

She bit her lip to stop from crying out, feeling her body shudder against his. He stepped closer to her, pulling her into his embrace, and she allowed her strained muscles to relax, collapsing into his arms, unable to hold herself up a moment a longer.

"That was so hot," he whispered in her ear, stroking a lock of hair back from her now shiny face. "You look so beautiful when you come."

Alice basked in his compliments and his warm strength as he held her. Slowly sense returned and she remembered she was in her colleague's bathroom, during a dinner party with workmates – including her boss! – right outside. She took in a shaky breath.

"You'd better leave first," she said, straightening up. "I have to clean up. We don't want to walk out together."

He nodded and stepped back, pulling on his boxers and jeans, refastening his belt and tucking in his t-shirt. Alice grabbed a handful of tissues to wipe herself then retrieved her panties. She found a washcloth and, wetting it with cold water, pressed it to her face carefully to try to bring down the blush of her cheeks without messing up her makeup too much.

He gave her a knee-melting smile as he opened the door, stepped outside and closed it again.

Alice sighed and looked at herself in the mirror. She wondered if there was even half a chance that everyone wouldn't know exactly what she'd just been up to when she walked out of there.

Then the door opened again. It was House.

"I forgot. I actually came in here to pee," he said sheepishly.

Alice shook her head at him. "You're an idiot."

"Maybe. But a sexy one, you have to admit."

"Yeah, I probably do."

She walked to the door, to give him the privacy he'd not allowed her. He grabbed her hand as she passed.

"Can we go soon?" The whining tone would have done a toddler proud.

"You really are a fifteen-year-old boy inside a fifty-year-old man, aren't you?"

"Hey, I'm not fifty."

"Yet. Tick tock, old man."

"Get out." He shooed her out the door and Alice didn't bother commenting further.

She carefully made her way out to the party, hoping to find a conversation to blend into, to find a way make it look like she'd been there for some time. Luckily the party had broken up further and there were no longer just the two male and female camps in the dining and living rooms. There was a small group of smokers out in the yard, and a handful of women in the kitchen, talking, watching the hired help clean up.

Alice headed for the kitchen, figuring it was her best bet for blending in – or at least looking as if she'd come from a heated discussion in the living room instead of heated sex in the bathroom.

She worked her way over and managed to join in on a conversation about a celebrity chef's new restaurant that one of the women had just been to – and rated very poorly. The group began to splinter into separate conversations and one by one the women drifted off to other rooms in the house. As soon as Alice and Patricia were alone, Patricia put a hand on Alice's elbow and dragged her over to the refrigerator where she retrieved yet another bottle of expensive French champagne.

Alice couldn't help thinking that House was right, if Patricia really wanted to conceive, perhaps she should be taking it easier with the booze.

"You just had sex in my bathroom, didn't you?" Patricia asked in a whisper.

"Of course not!" Alice prided herself on being a very good liar. However she felt this wasn't her best performance.

Patricia giggled, obviously not taking Alice's denial seriously. "You naughty, naughty girl." She poured them each a glass of champagne and held it up for them to clink in cheers. Her face sobered as she gave Alice a serious look. "If you get pregnant before I do, I'll never forgive you."

Alice was just taking a sip as Patricia spoke and almost choked on her mouthful. She covered it with a sarcastic laugh. "Patricia, I'm not . . . we're not . . . " Alice searched for a more definitive response. "We've only been going out for a couple of weeks! It's way too soon to even think about anything like that."

Patricia narrowed her eyes and then held her glass in the air in triumph, spilling a little. "Ha! But you want to. Already! I can see it in your eyes. You've got that broody look. He must have matching sperm."

"What?" Alice asked despite herself. She was quite sure she didn't want to be having this discussion. She already knew way too many details about Patricia and Rowan's sex life thanks to Patricia's earnest conversations over lunch. She had no wish to put her own and House's reproductive systems under the same scrutiny.

"I've been reading about it – it's a new theory, there are some eggs and sperm that are just meant to be together."

Alice frowned. "Like gamete soul mates?"

"Exactly. So even if the doctor's say a person is infertile, it might just be because their eggs or sperm don't match with their partner. Apparently once you meet someone who 'matches' you, your body responds and there's a really strong drive to get pregnant." She lowered her voice and gave Alice a conspiratorial look. "And it makes you very, you know, unable to resist temptation."

Alice thought it all sounded pretty doubtful. "And this was in a medical journal?"

"Something like that," Patricia said airily. "So, anyway, if he's got matching sperm it doesn't matter how long you're together, you just immediately know you want to get pregnant. And it says that the natural forces governing the matching process can even overcome contraception."

"What, sperm can somehow jump through latex when they sense a matching egg?" Alice didn't mean to sound so cynical; she knew that Patricia's desperation to get pregnant probably meant she would do naked fertility moon dances in the mall if she thought it might help.

"I'm just telling you what I read. And – seriously – if you get pregnant before I do, I won't speak to you again."

Alice gave a Patricia's arm a squeeze. "Patricia, there's no way I'm having Greg House's baby. Not yet, anyway. You don't have to worry about that."

Patricia held up a hand, obviously not convinced. "Fine, I—"

"Just as well. My sperm is very picky." House's voice interrupted.

Alice spun around as if she'd been caught red-handed at a murder scene. She flushed and was immediately annoyed with herself. What did it matter if he'd overheard her say she wasn't planning to get pregnant?

"Uh . . . We were just talking about . . . it doesn't matter. Would you like another drink?" Alice reached for the bottle.

Patricia sidled up to House. "So, Greg, you escaped earlier just as I was asking you about whether you do any diagnosis work in fertility issues. Because I—"

House ignored Patricia and answered Alice's question. "No more champagne for me, thanks. Honey, would you mind if we headed off? I have a headache."

Alice's mouth hung open. First at the fact that he called her "honey", it sounded weird and just plain wrong coming from him. Second at the tone in his voice: "good little husband" would have been Alice's best description. Perhaps hanging out with the wives for the evening had had an impact on him. Or perhaps he just really was that desperate to get away from Patricia.

He gave her a look and she saw right through him, the lie, the dare, the act he was putting on. She shook her head to clear it and put down her glass and the bottle of champagne.

"Oh, of course, sweetheart," Alice played right back. "Patricia, you don't mind if we head off a little early?"

"No, no. Go look after your man," she encouraged and Alice cringed. Greg House was not "her man" and she had a feeling he'd resist any attempt to be "looked after".

In the cab on the way home, Alice felt the need to clarify the conversation he'd overheard. She didn't want him to be insulted by what she said, or concerned that she was one of those women desperate for a sperm donor.

"Patricia knew what we were doing in the bathroom, I think she heard us," Alice said guiltily. She immediately realised that she should have known better than to expect embarrassment from him.

"Maybe it will give her ideas," House replied. "Or at least make her a little horny. Perhaps Rowan has a chance of getting lucky tonight even if she's not ovulating."

"Well, it made her tell me about this new study she'd read about. Apparently there are sperm and eggs that 'match' and when two people meet who have matching cells it's very hard for them to keep their hands off each other and very easy for them to get pregnant. And vice versa."

"Sounds like bullshit to me."

"You haven't read anything like that?"

"No. Getting pregnant has nothing to do with 'matching' anything. Just ask a sixteen year old who got herself knocked up behind the bike sheds at school."

"Yeah, but a sixteen year old can get pregnant easily."

"Exactly. And a forty-three year old can't. Patricia should spend less time and money on the wacky remedies and just relax and have more sex."

"Yeah, I don't think she likes that bit." Alice had been wondering about that for a while. "She thought I wanted to get pregnant, that's what you overheard."

"And do you?" He turned to look at her.

Alice swallowed. She didn't want to lie, but she didn't want to send him running for the hills either. "Not with someone I've only known for a couple of weeks," she said.

He gave her a sly smile. "I have no objection to being used for practice. But I'd expect to be consulted well before you decided to turn professional."

Alice was relieved he was joking about it. It was too soon to get into any of that with him.

"Sounds good to me. Was the bathroom enough practice for tonight, or do you think there are still some finer points we need to go over?" Alice couldn't help rubbing her legs together as she spoke. The results of their bathroom rendezvous had made her panties and inner thighs wet and sticky, but there was a strange pleasure in the discomfort.

He reached over and squeezed her thigh. "Why do you think I wanted to leave?"