Why Resist a Rebel - By Leah Ashton Page 0,34

that his characters—but not Dev—possessed. Considerate, kind...or even brave, and mysterious...

Naked, his leanness was blatantly obvious—with every breath each rib was brought into sharp relief. But maybe it was just what he said? A brief illness?

But none of the rumours rang true to Ruby. She didn’t believe that he’d been sick, and if he pined for his supermodel ex, he was hiding it remarkably well. And party drugs? It just didn’t fit.

She was sure there was something more—something darker. That there were layers to Devlin Cooper.

Or—maybe she should look at this more objectively.

He’d pursued her relentlessly, had arrogantly assumed he’d get her into bed on the first night—and then promptly had, by being the perfect, charming date. In order to get just what he’d wanted, he’d become her ideal leading man.

He’d done what he was good at—act.

Yes. That was what had happened.

Here was no tortured soul—but simply an arrogant movie star.

So, silently, Ruby dressed, and, again in bare feet, made her escape.

She appreciated the lady at the concierge desk who raised not an eyebrow at her attire, and called her a taxi. Minutes later she was at her hotel, lying flat on her unslept-on bed.

She expected to be full of regret. She certainly should be.

She expected to be berating herself. Furious with herself.

And, she was—that was exactly what her brain was repeating in her head: that she’d made a mistake, that she’d been an idiot, what had she been thinking?

But instead all she could feel were memories of that moment she’d stared up into his eyes after he’d nearly fallen. Or out in the street outside the restaurant. Or the way he’d looked at her just before he’d kissed her in the bar.

Pain, passion. And lust, yes...but it had still been...special. In her heart—no matter what her brain was saying—she believed that she was different, that last night was special.

‘And how stupid is that?’ she said, aloud, and headed for a long, hot, shower.

EIGHT

With a less than elegant—but effective—movement, Ruby slammed the car door closed with her hip. She considered attempting to push the lock button on her key ring, but after thinking about how she would do that without putting down the pile of papers in her arms—and potentially seeing them fly off over the horizon in the stiff breeze—she decided her hire car was safe enough in a paddock in the middle of nowhere.

In her arms she balanced a reprint of this afternoon’s sides, in blue to indicate they were the corrected versions. Today they were filming at the old farmhouse, a couple of kilometres from Unit Base. Really a farming family’s actual home, they’d had to repaint the exterior to a less modern hue, and redecorate a handful of rooms—all of which would be returned back to their exact original state once filming was over. So, when she jogged up the wooden steps and through the propped-open front door, she walked into a home without a trace of the twenty-first century—at least not the parts that the cameras would see.

It was an aspect of filming Ruby had always enjoyed—this game of smoke and mirrors. When watching a finished film it never failed to amaze her that it made no difference she knew a staircase led to nowhere, or that a two-hundred-year-old stone cottage had really been built inside a sound studio. In the world of the film it was all real—and so she believed it, too.

Inside she stepped carefully over thick cables that criss-crossed the floor, the bright lights providing welcome warmth after the chill of the breeze outside. She squeezed between the crowds of crew until she found the on-set production assistant, who took the sides gratefully, and quickly filled Ruby in on the latest on-set dramas.

Of course Dev was there; she knew exactly which actors were filming today, so it wasn’t a surprise to see him.

She’d been ready to see him this morning. To meet him at his car as had become customary. She’d practised talking him through his day, her standard nothing statements about being available to help him with anything—et cetera, et cetera. She’d been prepared, and totally fine about it—or at least had told herself that—but then she’d arrived at his car and he hadn’t been there. And not in his trailer, either.

Graeme had been waiting, instead. To explain that Dev had arrived early, and would no longer require her assistance on set. Given his week of perfect punctuality—but mostly because not having to see Dev multiple times a day had massive