As for all that other stuff, there's plenty of time for that later.

Chapter 15.

Picture the scene: Soft lighting, the kind you get from nice, expensive lamps placed strategically around the room; ambient chill-out music wafting from concealed speakers, and me and Seb snuggled up together on the big, squidgy sofa.

Two gla.s.ses, forty minutes and quite a lot of kissing later, and I'm in heaven. As second dates go, it can't get much better than this, I muse, nuzzling into his neck and inhaling his familiar aroma of faded aftershave and deodorant. I breathe it in deeply. Forget all those fancy expensive perfumes, this has to be my favourite scent.

'Want some more wine?' murmurs Seb into my ear.

'Mmm, yes please.' Emerging from my dreamy reverie, I sit up tipsily. I feel all fuzzy around the edges, like a pencil drawing that's been smudged with an eraser, rubbing out all the hard lines.

'I love this vintage,' says Seb, reaching for the bottle and pouring me another gla.s.s.

'Mmm, yes, it's delicious.' I take a sip. 'What is it?'

'A Pinot Noir, from one of my favourite vineyards back in the States.'

Somewhere in the back of my mind a vague bell starts ringing, and as he turns to pour himself a gla.s.s, I reach over and pick up the corkscrew that's lying on the table. I glance absently at the cork, at its red-wine-stained bottom and, uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it, turn it over in my fingers to see the embossing on the top: 'Stanly Ranch Pinot Noir 2002'.

I recognise that name.

My mind flashes back to the s...o...b..x I threw on the fire. To its contents. To the wine cork that I kept as a memento. It's the same wine as the bottle we shared the first time we got drunk together. The first time we spent the night together.

The first time we had s.e.x.

'It's getting late . . .'

I tune back in.

'. . . and I was wondering . . .' He pauses, and somewhere deep inside of me I can feel a pulse beating. I know what he's going to say and yet it doesn't make it any less exciting. In fact, it makes it even more exciting. 'Do you want to stay?'

My groin answers for me. It must be telepathic.

'Or I can call you a cab,' he adds quickly, looking unsure.

I once read one of those books about dating, and it had all these rules in it about how to make a man fall in love with you. One of them was that you have to wait until the third date to have s.e.x. Apparently, those are the rules.

I hesitate. This time I want to do it all properly; this time I want to do everything by the book.

Saying that, there are some rules that are made to be broken . . .

Slipping the cork into my pocket, I flash him a smile. 'Do you have a spare toothbrush?'

A new relationship is always a bit nerve-wracking, but there's nothing worse than reaching that tantalising moment when you might sleep together . . . only to realise you're not ready. And I don't mean as in 'things are moving a little too fast and you want to get to know him more first'. I'm talking 'not ready' as in you haven't had a bikini wax since last summer and the regrowth is so bad you'd give Bob Marley a run for his dreadlocks.

Or you're wearing your comfy T-shirt bra and knickers that come in packs of three and are flesh-coloured so you can't see them under your clothes. And not, as is obviously crucial the first time you have s.e.x with a man you are crazy about, the kind of underwear that is supposed to be seen, i.e. little expensive, uncomfortable sc.r.a.ps of frothy lace that get right up your you-know-what and have you wriggling around on the tube like you're dancing the Salsa.

Underwear like the expensive lingerie that Seb bought me last year, I note, doing a little wriggle as I get up from the sofa and follow Seb towards the bedroom. It's too small but I squeezed into it just in case. I admit I also waxed my legs and did all my naughty bits. I even did an all-over body scrub and applied a fake tan. The whole process took hours. I had to set my alarm and get up super-early so I could do the full makeover before I left for work this morning.

And trust me, applying hot wax to your nether regions at 6 a.m. when you've only had a couple of hours' sleep because you've been watching Luke Skywalker take on Darth Vader till gone 3 a.m. is very dangerous. I was so bleary-eyed the wax mistakenly went in some very painful places.

Still, I needed to be prepared this time. I didn't know exactly when s.e.x might strike, but this time I was going to make sure I was primed and ready. Like the Angels, when Charlie gets on the telephone. Last time, our first time wasn't planned at all. It was all very spur of the moment, which was exciting and spontaneous, but I do also remember wishing I'd worn a s.e.xier bra as he fumbled to undo it. And when he pulled off my jeans, all I could think about were my pale, hairy legs, which I'd kept hidden under opaques all winter, and hoped he wouldn't notice them.

And don't even get me started on my bikini line.

But now I've got the benefit of hindsight and a full bikini wax. Not to mention a few condoms that I popped into my bag, I think, with a slight blush of excitement. OK, so I know it's cheating a bit, but I've got a second chance to wow him in the bedroom and I can't wait to make the most of it!

Entering the bedroom, Seb pulls me towards him and, wrapping his arms around me, gives me a long, lingering kiss. I kiss him back, relishing the antic.i.p.ation of what's about to happen next. Surprises are nice, but sometimes it's even nicer to know what's in store.

'I'll just go freshen up,' I say flirtily, breaking away finally.

'Sure,' he gives me an easy smile. 'The en-suite's just through here.' He pads across the thick carpet and pushes open the door to a limestone bathroom. 'There are fresh towels on the shelf next to the sink.'

'Great,' I smile back, shimmying past him.

'And here's a spare toothbrush.' Pulling open a drawer, he hands me one of those travel ones you get when you fly transatlantic. Seb's always going away on business and has dozens of them, along with eye masks and all these lovely toiletries they give you for free when you fly club cla.s.s and stay in five-star hotels. Not that I know personally, of course the only travelling I do for work is with my Oyster card, I reflect, reminded of my own rubbish career and quickly batting it away.

'Thanks,' I say, taking it from him. 'Won't be a min.'

Shooing him out in a teasing way, I close the door and lean against it. I feel a bit woozy from all that red wine and for a moment I remain there, letting the events of the evening sink in . . . the movie . . . the wine . . . and now here I am. Back here again. About to have s.e.x with Seb for the first time. Again.

How fantastic is that?

Feeling the frisson of excitement building, I wipe away smudged eyeliner and pull out my lip gloss. So far the evening has been awesome, as Seb puts it, and I want tonight to be perfect, faultless, like a gold-medal Olympic athlete. In my head I get an image of judges holding up score cards . . . only instead of perfect sixes they have big fat zeros as my performance is terrible.

Hang on, what's all that about? Quickly I scrub that image from my brain. It must be just nerves talking. Seb and I always had a good s.e.x life. At least I thought we did. Saying that, since we broke up I confess there've been times I've wondered if I could have done a few things differently. Like, for example, what if the times he wanted to have s.e.x and I said I was tired and had to get up early for work I'd been all ripe and up for it and reaching for the ma.s.sage oil? And not setting the alarm and reaching for my earplugs.

Or what if I'd worn s.e.xy lingerie all the time, even those nipple ta.s.sels he once bought me? And not thought they were a joke and hooted with laughter when I unwrapped them, and which Flea thought were little black mice and promptly tried to eat.

And then there was that time once in the middle of foreplay, Seb told me I needed to let go, so I did and promptly fell off the bed. Which, looking back now, wasn't what he meant, I don't think.

Unexpectedly I feel a bit anxious. Maybe that was the reason we broke up but he never told me? Maybe I wasn't s.e.xy enough. Maybe I didn't satisfy him s.e.xually? Maybe my stomach knots I was bad in bed. Hurriedly I force myself to dismiss the thought. No, that's rubbish. We had a great time together in the bedroom. Admittedly, like most couples, it took a little while for us to find our groove, to experiment, to discover what each other liked and didn't like, but that's normal.

But this time around there's not going to be any fumbling or nervousness, I remind myself firmly. We're going to have mind-blowing s.e.x right from the start as and this is the brilliant bit about getting to date Seb again I already know what turns him on. I've already learned all the tricks!

Applying my lip gloss, I pout at myself in the mirror. For instance, I know that Seb really likes it when I . . . I trail off, unable to finish the thought. I frown. That's funny, my mind's gone all fuzzy. Must be all that red wine, I'm always hopeless after a few gla.s.ses. Giving myself a little sobering shake, I blot my lips with a bit of loo roll (well, I don't want to look like I'm wearing make-up) and think about the thing I do with my . . . Crikey, I really must be drunk. I can't even remember that either!

I swear, it's that third gla.s.s of wine. Once, after sharing a bottle of Pinot Grigio with Fiona, I forgot where we'd parked the car. We spent ages looking, until one of us sobered up enough to remember that we don't actually have a car.

I know, maybe if I just imagine having s.e.x with Seb generally it will come flooding back. It usually does, I muse, thinking about the nights I've spent alone in my bed since we broke up. Well, a single girl's got to have a little bit of light relief. Closing my eyes, I visualise Seb with no clothes (this is how I always start the fantasy), then brace myself for all the X-rated memories to come surging back . . . except, that's weird, nothing's happening . . .

Suddenly I freeze. My mind's gone blank! I can't remember anything. Panicked, I scrabble around for even a single X-rated memory but I can't find one. My anxiety increases. I can't have drunk that much. It's as though I've suddenly got amnesia. s.e.x amnesia.

Abruptly a thought strikes. Oh my G.o.d, that's it! I haven't just erased our past.

I've erased our s.e.x life!

I snap my eyes wide open. f.u.c.k, what am I going to do?

Then it hits me. My diary.

Diving into my bag, I rummage around inside. I've been carrying it around with me all week, ever since our first date, and grabbing the dog-eared pages I pull it out and plonk myself on the loo to read it. Right, OK. I start flicking through the pages. Come on, come on, I must have written about s.e.x somewhere. I must have.

'Hey, are you OK in there?'

Seb's voice makes me jump. s.h.i.t. He can probably hear the pages rustling and is wondering what the h.e.l.l I'm doing in here.

Hastily I turn on the taps.

'Um . . . yes, fine . . .' I call out, trying to sound all light and breezy, and not pinned to the loo with panic that I'm about to have s.e.x with Seb for the first time, and I can't remember the last time, I think, my mind tangling itself in knots.

Oh hang on, what's this . . .

Dear Diary, Slept with Seb for the first time!!!! I was really nervous but it was amazing, though I wish I'd known we were going to do it as I'd have shaved my legs! And done a fake tan. I spent the whole time feeling self-conscious and hiding underneath the duvet, which spoiled things a bit as it can be very hot underneath a duvet. And very dark. There was a lot of fumbling around and at one point we got all tangled up and b.u.mped our heads together and nearly knocked each other out.

I feel a beat of relief. Well, at least I don't have to worry about that happening. This time I'm going to prance naked around the bedroom with the lights on. I'm going to be confident, proactive.

A seductress.

Well, that was the idea, I think with a stab of panic as I feel the entire evening I've rehea.r.s.ed in my head beginning to quickly unravel into a disaster. I keep reading.

. . . and it was a bit embarra.s.sing as I wore the ring that Fiona bought me for my birthday last year, the one with the big blue stone, and it got caught on his you-know-what . . .

I glance down at my finger. The big blue ring stares back at me. s.h.i.t. I'd better take that off. I try to pull it off but it's stuck. Soaping it up I try and squeeze it over the knuckle. Abruptly it flies off across the bathroom and rattles around on the floor. d.a.m.n! Where's it gone?

But I don't have time to look for it just now, I'll have to find it later. I need to crack on. I need to read up on some tricks. Find out what he likes, and doesn't like, what turns him on. And turns him off. Panic grips. What if I start talking dirty and he tells me to shut up? What if he's a b.u.m man not a b.o.o.bs man and I get it the wrong way round?

s.n.a.t.c.hing up the diary, I flick much further on.

We've been seeing each other three months now and the s.e.x just gets better and better! Tonight when we were in bed I drove Seb wild when I . . .

I break off, blushing.

Golly, I can't remember writing that. It's like something from a Jackie Collins bonkbuster! Feeling my face go all hot, I turn the page to keep reading.

Abruptly my right mind comes flying in through the window. Tess, what are you doing? There's a hot, s.e.xy man out there! The man you're in love with. The man you've spent the last few months missing so much you even resorted to wrapping one of his old T-shirts around your pillow. One that he'd taken off after the gym and was unwashed.

And now he's here. On the other side of the door. All ripe and ready to jump on you, and you're sitting on the loo reading your old diary? You're not cramming for an exam! You're about to have s.e.x with Seb, which you've done hundreds of times. Stop worrying, it's just nerves. It'll be like riding a bike, you've just got to get back on. So to speak.

Brought to my senses I jump up from the loo and, stuffing the diary in my bag, quickly clean my teeth, flick my hair, and adjust my bra so the lacy bits show and go back into the bedroom.

Seb is sitting on the edge of the bed in just his jeans, waiting for me. My stomach does a cartwheel. I'd forgotten how good he looks with no top on.

'Hey, I missed you,' he drawls lazily, his eyes sweeping over me.

Me too, answers my groin. Trust me, ten weeks has felt like a very long time.

'So . . . um, do you want to use the bathroom?' I say, hovering in the doorway. But before I can finish, he loops his arms around my waist, pulls me down onto the bed and runs his hands underneath my top.

'Mmm, your skin is so soft,' he murmurs.

'Is it?' I reply, trying to sound surprised and not think about all those hours spent salt-scrubbing and moisturising.

'. . . and so tanned, have you been away?'

'No, nowhere,' I say innocently.

Well, Boots doesn't count, does it?

He starts kissing my neck and unb.u.t.toning my shirt. 'Wow,' he says approvingly when he sees my peek-a-boo bra, 's.e.xy.'

'Oh it's nothing special, just something I threw on,' I say nonchalantly, as his tongue brushes my nipple and I feel a shiver of desire. G.o.d, how I've missed this. Lying tangled together on top of the duvet, our breathing quickens and I can feel the excitement building as we take it in turns to remove each other's clothing.

Until now I'm unb.u.t.toning the fly of his jeans and, remembering my diary, I'm tracing my hands over his washboard stomach and expertly moving my mouth lower and lower . . .

He lets out a gasp of pleasure.

I pause, teasingly, and smile to myself. What was I worrying about?

Suddenly it's all coming back to me . . .

Chapter 16.

The next morning I'm woken by Seb kissing my face. All warm and snuggled up in bed, I feel soft feathery kisses on my eyelids, tracing a path across my cheeks, stirring me from the depths of sleep.

'Hey, sleepyhead,' he whispers in my ear.

Mmmm. Lovely. This is my kind of alarm clock.

I feel his teeth gently teasing my earlobe and a delicious shiver runs up my spine, sending little darts of joy all over my body.

'Time to wake up.'