Somehow we were driving again, even faster, then we were parked on a trash-strewn street, he was opening a graffitied metal front door and we were going up some concrete stairs. His apartment was tiny and untidy, full of books and piles of manuscripts. Then we were lying on his bed, facing each other.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he murmured, stroking along my hairline with his thumb, sending little shivers through me.

All my life I’ve been cautious and held off on things until I’m sure they’re right. But this could not happen fast enough.

I’m sure.

‘You’ve just broken up with your husband…’

I had no interest in playing games, holding on, hoping to drive him mad. I wanted this and I wanted it now.

‘It’s been six weeks. And it’s been over for much longer than that.’ I was breathless. Not just with longing, but with fear that he was going to turn me down.

‘Because I am bad news,’ he said gently.

‘So you’ve already told me. D’you want me to sign a disclaimer clause?’

He laughed, and I took his hand and placed it on my shin. ‘Show me again how to get to your apartment from Santa Monica.’

‘I can do better than that.’

He pulled off his T-shirt and his chest was shiny-smooth and hairless. Then went the rest of his clothes, to reveal a body that was narrow-hipped and sinewy, and blessed with that perfect, olive skin. If I tell you that he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen, I’m probably exaggerating, but you get the picture.

Then he was helping me out of my dress and telling me how much he wanted me.

Claire had told me about the first time she’d had sex after she’d split up with James, how nervous she’d been with the new person. And after I’d left Garv, I’d found it impossible to imagine ever sleeping with another man – literally impossible. But this was a lot easier than I’d ever expected.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered, gently unknotting my ‘Halston scarf from around my neck, then just as gently tying it around my wrist – then tying the other end to his bedpost. Oh my God! ‘Stay there,’ he ordered, disappearing and – oh, Jesus! – returning with slender ropes. ‘This OK?’ he asked, tying my other wrist to the other side of the bed.

‘Don’t know. I’ve never done it before.’

‘’Bout time you did,’ he laughed, then he was holding my foot in his hand and attaching a rope to my ankle. Soon all four limbs were tied and I was spread-eagled on the bed.

And now I was afraid. What if he was a serial killer? What if he was going to torture and kill me?

Then he was inching his way up my leg with his tongue, taking his own sweet time, lingering on my kneecap, and by the time he’d got to my thigh, I’d decided that if he was a serial killer, I didn’t care. Up, up, he moved, still not high enough, up a little more, then back a bit – I nearly choked – then finally he’d arrived where I wanted him to be.

I’d forgotten how fabulous sex could be. Put it this way, it had been a long time since Garv and I had had sex on the kitchen table. (The fact that we were still waiting for it to be delivered didn’t help, of course.) This was pure, selfish pleasure, all for me. The circles began to build, pleasure stacking and intensifying, reaching for the almost unbearable sweetness until it got to the top. I quivered on it, helpless, until the burst dispersed and I returned to myself, striving for breath.

‘You’re very good at this,’ I half-laughed.

He grinned and drawled, ‘I practise a lot.’

Then he was kneeling between my legs with an impressive, angry-looking hard-on and swinging the tip against me, then removing it, then it was in half an inch, then out again, then in a bit more, then out again, and all I wanted him to do was thrust right up into me and fill the need. But in the midst of it all was the worry about contraception – the last thing I needed was to get pregnant by Troy.

Then he was pulling a foil square from a drawer, rolling a condom on in one fast, unbroken motion, then he was plunging into me, and it was wild. Though my arms and legs were tied, I flipped with desire beneath him. Then he was whimpering, ‘Oh Jesus, oh Jesus.’ His eyes shut, his head arched back. At the moment of climax his body spasmed into paralysis and nothing moved except his spurts pumping inside me.

Limbs suddenly floppy and weak, he collapsed on to me, our chests heaving. Then he pulled himself up on to his elbows and looked at me with amusement. ‘Jeez,’ he said, softly. ‘You love this, doancha?’

He untied me, and the second time we took it slower – a lot slower. Side by side, barely moving, locked at the groin, we ground further into each other with the smallest of actions and I stared into his eyes and forgot who I was.

The sun was already starting to come up when we got to sleep, then suddenly I was awake and the yellow light of full-on morning was filling the room. Panicked, I turned my head on the pillow and there he was. Awake and watching me. He rolled closer, fixed me with sleepy green eyes and said, ‘Our first morning together.’

His lazy drawl made everything sound like a joke so I laughed, then moved my hands under the sheet until I found what I wanted – velvety skin over iron – and slithered down the bed to it. ‘Your turn.’

Afterwards he insisted on returning the favour, then said with a regretful sigh, ‘I’d love to do this all day, but I got work to do. C’mon, I’ll drive you home.’

Coming out of his apartment, we stumbled across a cluster of tourists, laden with maps and Leicas, wandering around the manky streets looking bewildered. Wasn’t Hollywood supposed to be glamorous? As we climbed into Troy’s jeep they studied us over-hopefully, desperate for us to be famous, and we pulled away with them still staring hard.

On the drive to Santa Monica, neither of us spoke. I had my eyes closed as I basked in a great sense of well-being. Then Troy’s voice was saying, ‘Wake up, Irish, we’re home.’

I opened my eyes. We were outside Emily’s and all the Drummers to the Rhythm of Life were streaming out of Mike and Charmaine’s and into waiting Mercs and Lexuses.

I roused myself. ‘Thanks for the lift, and the party and, you know… everything.’

‘My pleasure.’ He slid a hand under my hair to the nape of my neck, and touched a brief kiss to my mouth.