Her hands are sweaty with nerves as she steps out of the penthouse, and she wipes them on the legs of her jeans. It’s Victor’s own fault, she tells herself. He deserves this.

Not for a second does she bother to lie to herself about where she’s going, and what she’ll do once she gets there.

Earlier, she phoned Tracey in LA, who has access to all the accommodation bookings for the Vegas shoot.

“Trace,” she’d said, making her voice as casual as possible. “I’ve got a delivery guy here for Damien Thomas. The doorman is an imbecile, he sent him up to the penthouse. You don’t happen to have the number for Thomas’s apartment?”

Tracey found it straight away. Loft #1305, which is below Viv and Victor’s floor, on the opposite side of the building. Armed with that information, Viv got ready. She went easy on the makeup. Damien has seen her painted and made up on set; it’s good to mix it up a little. She’d already washed her hair in the shower when she came home, and let it dry into soft waves in the warm air on the balcony. Then she chose a tight pair of three-quarter length denims and her favorite white top that leaves her midriff bare.

Now she flicks the mass of sweet-smelling hair over her shoulder and presses the button for the elevator. The halls are very quiet. Except old Luke, who plays the Emperor and lives on the twelfth floor, it’s only Damien, Victor and herself here at the moment. A few more units will fill up in the next couple of weeks when more of Dark Core’s top-billed actors start filming. The rest of the cast have to make do with hotel rooms along the Strip.

But even if someone saw Viv going into Damien’s apartment, there’s nothing wrong with that. She tells herself that she’s the director’s wife; it’s unremarkable for her to visit her fellow actor in the evening. To drive home that alibi to anyone slow on the uptake, Viv has brought along some scripts for the upcoming days, which she holds against her chest, titles facing outward.

The ruse isn’t necessary. She meets nobody, and in no time she’s standing outside Damien’s door. She knocks.

Damien’s face shows his surprise as he opens the door. “Viv!”

“Hey,” she beams, pulling a bottle of champagne from behind the scripts. “You survived the first day in hell. We need to celebrate that!” She waits a moment for him to get over his astonishment, but he seems a little slow tonight and doesn’t move. Finally, she prompts, “Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure,” Damien says. “Of course.” He steps aside, and Viv walks past him into the apartment.

All the units look similar, with floor-to-ceiling windows and gleaming marble floors. But this one only has one bedroom, and the living/dining/open plan kitchen area is smaller than the one in Viv and Victor’s penthouse.

Viv walks into the living space and places the champagne on the dining table. Damien goes into the kitchen, rummages for a moment, then appears holding two champagne flutes.

“Thanks for the champagne. But we can’t let this become a habit, though, booze every worknight.”

“No,” she agrees. He doesn’t need to know that a bottle on standby is pretty normal for her. He takes the Veuve Clicquot and pops the cork. Viv can’t help noticing his broad shoulders again, naked arms muscular and strong in a white undershirt, which he wears over black sweatpants. His skin is pale for someone with such dark hair. He pours the two glasses and hands one to Viv. When their eyes meet, she notices that he looks tired and a little drawn. But he smiles at her now and raises his glass.

“To your first day on set,” Viv says. “And to many more.” While getting ready, she’s had one glass of champagne already, so she needs to pace herself now or risk appearing drunk. After a couple of sips, she puts the glass down on the table. Damien motions to the sofa, and she sits, glancing up at him. “So, how did you like your first day in purgatory?”

Damien chuckles. He puts his glass on the table too, then joins her, one leg folded under him on the sofa so he can face her. “If purgatory is anything like this gig, I can’t sin enough in this lifetime,” he says, his gaze full of unmistakable meaning.

Viv laughs, the pealing sound echoing around the bare space. She feels a little dazed. Maybe she’s tipsier than she thought.

Holding Damien’s gaze, she puts a hand on his knee. “Isn’t it awfully hot in that costume?”

Damien shrugs. There’s a glint in his eyes, and he moves a little closer. Viv presses on. “I was worried you’d get heat stroke,” she says, scooting toward him. It’s a complete lie; she wasn’t worried at all. It just popped into her head, and it sounded good. She considers him from under her lashes, letting her hand travel up his leg. “And what would we do then?”

“I don’t know,” Damien says, his eyes narrowing as her fingers make their way up his thigh. “What would you do with me?”

Viv’s hand alights on the front of his sweatpants. Without another word, she leans forward and kisses him. Her fingers tighten on what she can tell is already a sizeable erection, and he moans against her lips.

His hand reaches around her, travels up her back and alights on her neck. His tongue explores Viv’s mouth. He tastes of champagne and of cigarettes. His hand on her neck is warm and strong, and he starts bucking his hips as the bulge grows under her hand. His fingers play with her hair, then brush the top of her spine, and electric currents race all the way into the tips of her toes.

Finally, he pulls away. “Wow,” he murmurs, studying her face. A small smile plays around his mouth. “I didn’t expect that.” The hand not on her neck caresses Viv’s face, then cups her chin. His thumb, the broad tip of it soft like silk, glides over her lips. She kisses it.

“What about your husband?” Damien asks.

“What about him?” Viv raises an eyebrow. “If you want to invite him, we’ll have to postpone this a few days.”

Damien chuckles. “No thanks.”

“Don’t worry,” she murmurs. “Nobody will know.”

“All right,” he agrees. “C’mon.” He gets up and pulls her to her feet. They kiss again, and Damien’s hands slide under her short top, first up her back, then around to the front. He cups her breasts, which are bare. That’s why she likes this top. Her boobs look great in it even without a bra. Her nipples are hard under his caress. He smiles again and leans into her. His pelvis presses into her hip, and she can tell he’s ready. She hums against his mouth.

On the way to the bedroom they lose their clothes. When he lowers her onto the bed they’re both naked. Her groin throbs with heat, and his cock sticks out, rock hard. He crawls onto the bed, kissing her belly, her ribs, slowly working his way up. He straddles her legs, kisses her left breast and sucks on the nipple. Viv moans.

Then his lips are on hers again, and his leg forces its way between her knees. Viv moans again, grinding against his thigh as he lies on top of her.

He reaches into the nightstand and pulls out condoms. As he rolls onto his side to put one on, she grins at him. “You’ve only been here a day, and you’ve already unpacked those for easy access.”

He chuckles. “I like everything in its place.”

They talk no more. The throbbing inside Viv reaches critical levels. She needs to feel him inside her. He soon lies on top of her again, and she spreads her legs. His hands glide between her legs, and Viv shudders with pleasure. Guiding himself with his hand, he enters her, his eyes squeezed shut. Viv gasps.

He starts to move, and Viv forgets everything outside herself. His cock is thick, and she feels so full, and so aroused. Her back arches after only a couple of minutes. She’s really close.

Then his fingers are on her clit, and Viv whimpers. His head comes down, his mouth is near her ear, breathing hard, and his hair tickles her bare and glistening skin.

He cries out as he comes, and a moment later, grinding hard against his fingers, she follows suit. For a few moments, they let the endorphins wash over them, panting, clinging on to each other. Then he rolls off her and flops down on the mattress. With a sigh and a small laugh, he pulls her into his arms, and she nuzzles close. They lie for a few minutes, not speaking and savoring the afterglow.

The temptation to go to sleep right away is very great. But Viv has too much discipline for that. If she’s seen coming from Damien’s apartment now, at eleven p.m., nobody will think anything of it. But if someone catches her in the morning, she won’t be able to explain it away.

So, with a sigh, she pushes herself up and off the bed, and starts pulling on her clothes. Damien stays where he is, watching her.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says, and when she looks up at him, he winks.

Viv laughs. “Hardly possible,” she says and slips her top over her head. “See you in makeup tomorrow morning. Don’t be late!”

She blows him a kiss and leaves the bedroom without another word. Out in the living room she locates her shoes and pulls them on. Then she picks up the scripts from the coffee table and smooths down her hair.

Without checking that the coast is clear she walks from the apartment. In Viv’s experience, acting as if she has every right to be in any given place, is the best way of not arousing suspicion. She waits for the elevator, smiling to herself, her body and mind satisfied.

Maybe this desert gig is worth a few weeks of sand and discomfort, after all.