Why Resist a Rebel - By Leah Ashton Page 0,28

the opera house. He came to a stop, and took a deep breath.

He didn’t know what to make of what had just happened.

Mostly, he would’ve preferred it hadn’t.

Tonight—and this thing with Ruby—wasn’t supposed to be about any of that.

‘So,’ he said, sounding absolutely normal. He was a good actor. ‘Where to now?’

This area was well lit, a flat, paved expanse between the string of restaurants edging the quay and the massive sails of the opera house. Even though it was late, it was Sydney on a Saturday night, so there were many people around: most near the water, although some sat in pairs or strings on the steps. But right now, where they stood, they were alone.

She lifted her chin and smiled brightly—but unconvincingly.

She really wasn’t a very good actor.

‘How about we just wander for a bit?’

‘Perfect,’ he said—and it was. He’d half expected sparky, fiery Ruby to reappear, to announce that their date was over, their deal was done, and to disappear into the distance.

At the back of his mind he was bothered that he was so relieved, but, as he’d been doing so often lately, he filed that thought away. For later—and there was always a later.

In unspoken agreement they walked slowly towards the city—the wrought-iron railing that edged the quay to their right, and a line of old-fashioned sphere-topped lamp posts to their left. The breeze was cool off the water, but he welcomed its touch, his body over-warm beneath his open-collar shirt and suit jacket.

Ruby was talking, about The Land, about a play she’d seen at the opera house one time, about the rumours of some action-blockbuster sequel being possibly filmed in Sydney next year, and how she hoped to work on it. At first she seemed comfortable with his contribution of nods and murmurs, but eventually she started to draw him into the conversation. Asking questions about Friday’s premiere, about whether it was really as bad as the papers had written today—that kind of thing.

‘It wasn’t my type of film,’ Dev said. ‘Maybe it was brilliant, just not for me.’

‘So you thought it was boring?’ she asked. He glanced at her, noting the sparkle in her eyes.

‘Pretty much.’

She laughed. ‘So weepy family sagas aren’t for you.’

‘No. I’m more an action/thriller kind of guy.’

‘What a surprise,’ she said, teasing him. ‘Although, I had been wondering about that. Why The Land? Did you want a change of direction?’

‘No,’ he said, automatically, and harshly enough that Ruby slowed her pace a little, and looked at him curiously. ‘I mean,’ he tried again, ‘yes, that was it exactly.’

‘You don’t sound all that sure.’

He wasn’t. Right now he should be shooting a role he’d jumped at the opportunity to play. A negotiator in a smart, fast-paced hostage drama, a twist on the action-hero-type roles he was known for. But instead the role had been urgently recast, and his contract for his next film, with the now-burnt producer, had been torn to pieces. So here he was.

Only his previously stellar work ethic had prevented the story gaining traction. For now, the people involved had been relatively discreet, and Veronica had so far been able to mostly extinguish the—accurate—rumours.

But Ruby must have heard them—at least a hint of the truth. She watched him with curiosity in her gaze, but not the steeliness of someone determined to ferret out all the dirty details. She’d had all night to ask those questions—to push—but she hadn’t.

He appreciated that.

‘My agent had to twist my arm,’ he said. That was the truth, at least.

He’d agreed only because he couldn’t face another sleepless, pointless night in Hollywood. But he’d only traded it in for more of the same in north-west New South Wales.

Ruby was the only difference.

‘You live in Sydney, right?’ he asked, changing the subject.

They were walking amongst many people now—couples on dates, families, tourists with massive camera bags. If anyone recognised him, he hadn’t noticed.

‘Not any more,’ she said.

‘Melbourne?’

She shook her head. ‘Not there either.’ There was a smile in her voice.

Before tonight he hadn’t been all that interested in getting to know the woman beside him. His interest in her had not been based around shared interests and the potential for meaningful conversation.

But at dinner, he’d found himself asking about her, and unsurprisingly that had led to him talking about elements of himself that he didn’t share with his dates.

Maybe he was just rusty—it had been months since he’d gone out with a woman. Normally he had charming deflections of personal questions down to an