He stands helpless in the face of her anger, struggling to find words that might calm her down or stop her leaving.
"Leanne needs me…" he says plaintively, as she pauses in the doorway.
"Yeah well, go to her then." she snaps back. Then looking him up and down, she delivers her parting shot.
"Either that or decide what you need."
Then she storms out of his flat, slamming the door hard behind her.
With the battle still raging inside him, he leans his hands against the wall. Bowing his head, he lets out a deep sigh of unfulfilled desire, his mind wracked with guilt for going too far, his body screaming in frustration at not going nearly far enough.
Still breathless from their kisses, his lips burning, his emotions raw, he wonders how everything could change in just a few minutes.
He hears her steps down the stairs, another door slamming. The door where he'd found Leanne, when she'd fallen down those stairs. When she'd lost their baby.
Leanne. He feels sick. Sick that he forgot himself, that he gave in to temptation. That he just betrayed her when she's still in hospital, needing him most.
And even more sick, as he fights his strong urge to rush to the window and call Carla back. To finish what they'd just started.
He hates himself. After everything, he'd turned his life around. He'd built a family. He'd sworn to be faithful to his wife.
So how has he just been kissing Carla?
He almost laughs. The word seems so inadequate to describe what has just happened.
But it was Carla who started it. Suddenly he blames her completely. She offered him something he couldn't turn down, in a moment he couldn't think clearly.
He's so angry with her. At least he should be. But he knows deep down he isn't. It's too dangerous to ask himself why.
He walks to the sink, splashing his face with cold water. Then realising his thirst, he fills a glass and downs it. Then another. His cravings aren't really for water, but there's no booze in the flat. And his other craving is impossible to satisfy now she's gone.
He leans back against the counter, trying to think clearly. Has he really been unfaithful? It was just a kiss. He stopped it in time.
No-one ever has to know. Carla would want that even less than he did. They could still forget about it completely.
Except for the ache of desire he still feels, the quickening of his heart as he thinks about her. And the memories that became real again the moment his eyes close.
She pulled him towards her, her hands in his hair, grasping his body as her lips met his. Her kisses were frenzied but gentle, unbearably seductive.
Within a few seconds he felt all her hunger for him, her deep need, all the feelings he'd made her suppress eight months ago. But more than that, he realised he felt it too.
Shaking his head, he brings himself back to the moment. He has to stop this. He's aroused again just thinking about her. Just minutes ago he cheated on his wife. How could he betray her again in his imagination?
In an attempt to cool himself down, he heads to the bathroom, starting the shower running. Not quite cold, but definitely lukewarm. He strips his clothes off quickly and steps in.
But right away he realises it's a mistake.
Feeling the water trickling down his body, he aches for her touch. His nakedness only enhances his desire as his mind starts to wander again, his imagination on fire.