Why Resist a Rebel - By Leah Ashton Page 0,10
at Dev, but thankfully he didn’t move.
Not that she expected him to follow her. She wasn’t an idiot. He could have any woman in this bar. Pretty much any woman in the world.
For some reason she’d piqued his interest, but she had no doubt it was fleeting—the novelty of the crazy dusty coffee lady or something.
Outside, the early October evening was cool, and so Ruby hugged herself, rubbing her goose-pimpling arms. She was staying at the town motel, not even a hundred-metre walk down the main street.
Only a few steps in that direction, she heard someone else leave the bar behind her, their boots loud on the wooden steps.
It was difficult, but as it turned out not impossible, to keep her eyes pointed forward. It could be anyone.
‘Ruby.’
Or it could be Dev.
She should’ve sighed—and been annoyed or disappointed. But instead her tummy lightened and she realised she was smiling.
Ugh.
She kept on walking.
In moments, following the thud of loping strides on bitumen, he was beside her, keeping pace with her no-nonsense walk. For long seconds, they walked in silence.
Really uncomfortable, charged silence.
‘So—’ he began.
‘This isn’t an act, you know,’ Ruby interrupted. ‘I’m not playing hard to get. I’m not interested.’
He gave a surprised bark of laughter. ‘Right.’
Ruby slowed to a stop, her whole body stiff with annoyance. She stood beneath a street lamp that illuminated the gate to the Lucyville Motel and its chipped and faded sign.
‘You sound so sure,’ she said. ‘That’s incredibly presumptuous.’
‘Am I wrong?’
Ruby sighed. ‘Does every woman you meet really collapse into a pathetic puddle of lust at your feet?’
‘You did,’ he pointed out.
Her cheeks went hot, but Ruby hoped her blush was hidden in the shadows.
‘I was light-headed. Confused. Definitely not myself.’ She paused for emphasis. ‘Trust me. You’re wasting your time. I’m not interested.’
A little, nagging voice at the back of her mind kept trying to distract her: Oh, my God, it’s Devlin Cooper! The movie star!
Maybe that was why she didn’t turn and walk away immediately.
‘You’re serious?’
His genuine confusion was rather endearing. Unbelievably conceited, but endearing.
‘Uh-huh,’ she said, nodding. ‘Is that so hard to believe?’
She knew he was about to say yes, when he seemed to realise what he was about to say. Instead, his grin, revealed by the streetlight, was bemused.
He shifted his weight to one leg, and crossed his arms. He still wore the same sexy ancient-looking jeans from before, but he’d traded his ruined T-shirt for its twin in navy blue. The action of crossing his arms only further defined the muscles of his forearms and biceps.
It also defined the unexpectedly sharp angles of his elbows and the lack of flesh beyond his lean musculature.
She knew she was not the only person to notice. The film set’s grapevine was, as always, efficient, creating all sorts of theories for his unexpected weight loss.
Did you hear? His girlfriend left him—you know? That model.
I heard it’s drugs. Ice. He’s been photographed at every club in Hollywood.
He’s sick. I know! That’s why he’s come back to Australia. To spend time with his family.
Not that Ruby believed a word of it. Gossip, in her experience, was about as accurate and true to life as the typical airbrushed movie poster.
What happened to you?
But of course the question remained unsaid. It was none of her business.
Dev studied Ruby in the limited moonlight. His gaze traced the angles of her cheekbones, the straightness of her nose and the firm set of her determined mouth.
Lord, she was...pretty?
Yes. Hot?
Yes.
But that, in itself, wasn’t it...
And different. Very, very, different.
That was why he was standing out in the deserted, frankly cold, street. That was why he’d done something he couldn’t remember doing in a very long time: he’d chased after a woman.
It was an unexpected novelty.
He liked it.
For the first time in months something—someone—had caught his interest. Ruby Bell—the cute little production co-ordinator on a dinky little Aussie film—intrigued him.
‘So what is it, exactly, that you find so repulsive about me?’ he asked.
She shrugged, dismissing his question. ‘I don’t know you well enough to form an opinion—repulsive or otherwise.’
‘But isn’t that why you’re not interested?’ he asked. Not that he believed her statement to be true. ‘Because you think you know me?’
From his movies, from his interviews, from the rubbish they published in glossy magazines and newspapers that should know better. Devlin Cooper the star—the persona. Not the person.
She shook her head. ‘This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had. How could I possibly know you?’
He blinked. She’d just surprised him—for the second