Why Resist a Rebel - By Leah Ashton Page 0,64

plaster beyond Dev’s shoulder. ‘There is no us,’ she pointed out.

‘There could be,’ he said. ‘I want there to be.’

‘I don’t do relationships,’ she said.

‘Neither do I—don’t you remember?’

That night out on the main street, under the street lamp.

‘We’d need to figure out the details—find a way for our careers to work together—but they can. I don’t care where I live, and I don’t need to cram a million films into each year.’

Ruby sniffed dismissively. ‘So you’ll just hang around whatever place I end up, waiting for me to come home each day from work? Right.’

He shrugged. ‘Why not? I could do with a break. I’ve been filming back to back my whole career. And who knows? I’ve always been interested in production. Maybe I could look into funding a few projects, having a go at being an executive producer or something.’

Ruby tried hard to hate him for having enough money to have these choices. But couldn’t.

Besides, logistics weren’t the real issue. Not at all.

‘No,’ she said. ‘This isn’t what I want.’

Now she met his gaze, so he knew she wasn’t talking about career decisions.

‘Isn’t it?’ he said. He took a few steps forward. Now touching would be really easy—all she had to do was...

She curled her nails into her palms, hoping the tiny bite of pain would bring her back to her senses.

‘No. I like my life. I’m happy just as I am.’

His lips quirked, and the small movement shocked her. ‘Now you’re just being stubborn.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘I am not. I—’

Then he was closer, really close. Still not touching, but crowding her, as he had the day they’d met.

This wasn’t fair. He knew what he did to her, how his nearness loosened her hold on lucidity.

She felt herself faltering, felt herself tilt her chin upwards, her fingers itch to reach out and touch him, regardless of the contradictory indignation that rushed through her veins.

No. She couldn’t let this happen—she couldn’t let her hormones have so much control over her. She was right. She’d made the right decision to walk away. This could never end well; this was all wrong; she didn’t need this; she didn’t need Dev; she didn’t...

‘Love.’

The single world stopped the tumult in her brain. It stopped everything, actually. Ruby’s whole world went perfectly still.

Automatically she opened her mouth. To what? Question? Deny?

But Dev was too quick for her.

‘I figured it out today,’ he said, really softly. ‘That you were right. That is the word to describe this, to describe us. Love.’

‘I never mentioned love. I don’t do love.’

She sounded just as stubborn as Dev had accused her of being. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regroup.

She didn’t know how to deal with this. How to deal with any of this.

She was tempted to repeat what she’d said before, something about the stress that Dev had experienced, about his depression, about how it was natural for him to read more into his feelings for her at such a vulnerable time.

But she couldn’t say that. Firstly because she didn’t believe any of it, but secondly because that neat little explanation didn’t explain her.

It didn’t explain why she’d so haphazardly and unwisely spoken in his trailer. Words she hadn’t planned and a concept she didn’t even know she was capable of considering.

It also didn’t explain the rest. Sharing her past with Dev—not just the version she rolled out to everyone just to get it over with: her foster child upbringing, a hint of her rebellious past. But the real stuff—the stuff that mattered. The stuff that had hurt, that had changed everything—and continued to hurt.

And it didn’t explain why, despite her fear of what was happening with Dev and her ingrained habit of distancing herself from men, she hadn’t run away from him. Not when it counted.

So did that mean she loved him? That she was in love with Dev?

Ruby opened her eyes, incredibly slowly. She looked up at Dev, catching his gaze and holding on tight.

Did he love her? The way he was looking at her right now, it was tempting to believe it.

To imagine that finally it was actually real.

That he was her fairy-tale prince, about to carry her away into the sunset.

Away from her life as she knew it.

To her happy ever after.

That was a fantasy.

Ruby took a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders.

With great difficulty she took a step backwards, the action suddenly the hardest thing she’d ever done.

‘I don’t do love,’ she repeated. ‘This isn’t love.’

Eventually, he nodded. A sharp movement.

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