Why Resist a Rebel - By Leah Ashton Page 0,38

and it was clearly empty. The hallway beckoned, and she broke into a run, throwing open doors as she went.

Bedroom—empty.

Study—empty

What would she know, or could she know, really, about Dev?

She thought of his gaunt frame, the sometimes emptiness in his gaze. Not all the time, and certainly not when he’d been looking straight at her—but there’d been moments when there’d been depth and flickers of so much...

No. She needed to stop that, needed to stop imagining things that weren’t there. Romanticising no more than a forgettable collection of moments in time.

And she would forget them, eventually.

Right now she needed to focus—on her job, why she was here. She needed to find Dev and get him on set.

Her phone trilled its message notification, but she didn’t bother to check. She knew what it was—Paul. Wanting to know where she was, and why she wasn’t on set with Dev already. Five minutes ago, even.

Another room—a larger space, a sitting room. Also empty.

The next—a bedroom.

Occupied.

The door creaked on old hinges as she flung it all the way open, and rattled a vase on a side table when it smacked against the wall.

Then she was at the bed, kneeling on the soft mattress as she reached across the wide expanse to grab onto a bare male shoulder. And shake it—hard.

‘Dev! Wake up.’

A sheet was twisted around his legs, and his skin was covered in goose pimples in the freezing room, the air-conditioning unit on the wall bizarrely turned on high.

She shook him again. ‘Damn it, Dev!’

Her heart raced, her breath caught in her throat.

Then all of a sudden he moved, rolling effortlessly onto his back, his eyes opening slowly.

Ruby let out her breath in a huge sigh of relief, dropping her hands onto her knees. For a minute or so she just took deep breaths, staring down at her own hands as they gripped her jeans.

‘You scared me half to death,’ she eventually managed.

He reached up, rubbing at his eyes, his movements deliberate and heavy. He turned his head on the pillow to look at her, his lips tipping up into a smile.

‘Good morning,’ he said, all husky and unbelievably sexy.

‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘It is not a good morning, Mr Cooper. You’re late.’

He blinked, obviously confused. Rather than reply, he reached for her, his fingers grazing along the denim covering her thigh.

‘Come here,’ he said.

She scooted back, but probably not as fast as she should. He grabbed her hand before she slid off the bed, tugging her towards him with a strength she hadn’t expected. Or maybe it was just that she didn’t resist.

Somehow she was right up beside him, leaning over him, her legs pressed up against the bare skin of his waist, and his hip where his tracksuit bottoms had slid down just a little.

She looked down at him, at his incredibly handsome face—even in the gloom and with pillow creases on one cheek—and forgot what she’d been about to say.

He still held her hand, clasped on top of her legs, and a finger traced hypnotic patterns across the delicate bones beneath her knuckles.

His other hand reached across his body, to touch her other arm where it hung uselessly beside her—neither touching him nor pushing him away. His touch slid upwards, feather light, following the shape of her wrist, her forearm, her elbow, then jumping across, and around her, to her back. And then—he pulled her against him.

She gasped as she fell, landing across his chest. He was warm now, hot, in fact, and her body was fast catching up as his hands travelled across her back.

Ruby looked directly into his eyes, eyes that were anything but empty. A gaze that she found compelled her, questioned her, wanted her.

So she leant towards him, towards all that, then closer, closer, their kiss mere millimetres, mere milliseconds away...

And then she was gone—off the bed and metres away, her back to him as she took deep, deep, what-the-hell-am-I-doing? breaths.

She shouldn’t be doing this. No. She couldn’t.

Then behind her, he laughed. A low, unexpected sound that reverberated all the way down to her toes.

She spun around, her nails digging into her palms as her hands formed into furious fists. ‘What’s so funny?’

He’d sat up, his shoulders propped against the wrought-iron bed head. His gaze flicked over her, from her long boots and jeans up to her layers of vests and thin wool jumpers to keep her warm in the cool spring air.

‘You,’ he said. ‘This. What is your problem?’

‘My problem?’ Ruby said, and then swallowed,