Why Resist a Rebel

chapter FIVE



Dev was late. Only a few minutes, but late, just the same.

He’d meant to be later, actually, having liked the idea of Ruby sitting alone at the restaurant, getting increasingly frustrated with him.

Simply because he enjoyed the flash of anger in her eyes almost as much as the heat of the attraction she was so determinedly—and continually—ignoring.

But, after a while, he began to feel like a bit of an idiot sitting alone in his penthouse suite, mindlessly watching the Saturday night rugby, when the alternative was spending time with a beautiful...

No, not beautiful. At least not on the standards that Hollywood judged beauty. But a compelling...intriguing woman. Yes, she was that.

Unarguably more interesting than his own company.

But when he was ushered into the private dining area of the exclusive restaurant by an impeccably well-mannered maître d’, he was met by a table exquisitely set for two—but no Ruby.

His lips quirked as he settled into his seat. Interesting.

The restaurant sat right on the edge of Circular Quay, its floor-to-ceiling windows forming a subtly curved wall that provided a spectacular view of the harbour. To the right were the dramatic sails of the opera house. Straight ahead was the incomparable harbour bridge. Lights illuminated the mammoth structure, highlighting its huge metal beams.

He’d eaten at this restaurant before, and had certainly dined against a backdrop of the world’s most beautiful skylines many, many times—but he wouldn’t be human if he wasn’t impressed by sparkling Sydney by night.

It was like nowhere else in the world.

However. Sitting alone in a dining room that could seat thirty—and which he’d had organised for tonight to seat only two—even a remarkable view could quickly become boring.

Which it did.

A waiter came and offered him a taste of the wine he’d selected, then after pouring Dev’s glass he merged once again, silently, into the background.

Minutes passed. Slowly, he assumed, as he refused to succumb and check his watch.

He considered—then dismissed—the possibility that she wasn’t coming at all.

No, she’d be here.

Almost on cue, the door to the private room opened on whisper-smooth hinges. He looked up to watch Ruby being ushered inside. And then kept on looking.

She wore a dress in greens and gold that caught and reflected every bit of light in the room. Her legs were long beneath a skirt that hit at mid thigh, and shown off to perfection by strappy, criss-crossed heels. When his gaze—eventually—met hers, he connected with eyes that were defiant and bold beneath a fringe that was smoother and more perfect than usual: not a golden strand out of place.

Her lips curved in greeting, but he wouldn’t call it a smile.

He stood as she approached the table, and she blinked a couple of times as he did so, her gaze flicking over him for the briefest of instants.

The maître d’ received a genuine smile as he offered Ruby her seat, and he then launched into his spiel, speaking—Dev assumed—of wine and food, but he really wasn’t paying any attention. Instead he took the opportunity to just look at Ruby as she tilted her chin upwards and listened attentively.

This was, after all, about the first time she’d been perfectly still, and silent, in his presence, since their original interlude beside the costume trailer.

Then, she’d been veering towards adorable, while tonight she was polished and perfect. Different, for sure—but equally appealing.

After a short conversation, the maître d’ repeated his vanishing act, and Ruby turned her gaze onto him.

‘You’re late,’ he pointed out.

She nodded. ‘So were you.’

He smiled, surprised. ‘How did you know?’

‘I didn’t. But it seemed the kind of stunt you would pull. You’ve been very consistent in your quest to irritate me.’ Calmly, she reached for her water glass. ‘Not very chivalrous of you, however.’ Another pause. ‘Personally, I am never—intentionally—less than punctual. Time is everything in my job, and I see no reason why it shouldn’t be in the rest of my life.’

Time is everything.

How true. Often, Dev had only recently discovered, you had a lot less time than you thought.

‘So chivalry is important to you, Ruby?’

She took a sip from her water glass, then studied him over the rim. ‘Actually, no,’ she replied, surprising him. She looked out towards the opera house, her forehead wrinkling slightly. ‘I mean, of course being courteous and honourable or gallant—or whatever a chivalrous man is supposed to be—is important.’ She gave him a look that underlined the fact she clearly considered him to be none of those things. ‘But it has to be genuine. Standing up when I approach the table, for example—’ her words were razor sharp ‘—is meaningless. It has to mean something—have a basis in respect—otherwise I’d really rather you didn’t bother.’

‘I respect you,’ he said.

She laughed with not a trace of pretention. ‘I find that very hard to believe.’

‘It’s the truth,’ he said. He wasn’t going to bother explaining himself, but then somehow found himself doing so anyway. ‘I was late because I like seeing you react, not because I don’t value you and your time. I apologise if you feel that way.’

‘I’m sure you agree that distinction is impossible to make from my point of view.’

Dev almost, almost, felt bad about it—but not quite. He was enjoying this—enjoying her—too much.

‘You like pushing my buttons,’ she said. ‘You’re very good at it.’

He shrugged, studying her. ‘So is that what you’re looking for? An honourable, perfectly chivalrous specimen of a man?’

Dev knew he was not that man.

Immediately, she shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I’m looking for no man at all.’

‘You’re focusing on your career?’

Almost silently the maître d’ reappeared and filled her wine glass.

‘Yes, but that’s not the reason. I don’t need a man. At all.’

‘Need, or want?’

She rolled her eyes dismissively. ‘Neither.’

He considered this unexpected announcement as their entrées arrived, but he wasn’t about to question her further. Tonight was not for detailed analysis of their respective relationship goals.

For the record, his was—and had always been—to have no relationship at all. Estelle had been an unexpected exception, a relationship that had evolved, at times—it seemed—almost without his participation. Yes, he’d liked her. Enjoyed his time with her. Maybe considered the idea that he loved her.

But that night she’d left, she’d made it crystal clear that what he felt wasn’t love. How had she put it?

Love is when you share yourself—reveal yourself. Your thoughts, your feelings, your fears. Something. Everything! Not nothing. Not absolutely nothing.

At the time he hadn’t questioned her. But later, when he’d asked himself that question—if that was what he’d done, and who he was—he couldn’t disagree.

They ate their salmon for a while in silence, their knives scraping loudly on the fine bone china.

‘Is this really what you wanted?’ she asked. She was still focused on her meal, her eyes on her plate, not on him.

She meant this date, this time alone with her.

‘Yes.’

Now she glanced up. The harder edge to her gaze from before was gone; now she just looked confused. ‘Seriously? Why on earth would you want to spend an evening with a woman who doesn’t particularly like you?’

‘I thought you said you didn’t know me well enough to dislike me.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ve begun to revise that opinion.’

He smiled. Maybe something resembling his famous Dev Cooper smile, as he didn’t miss the way her cheeks went pink, or how eager she was to look away.

‘You like me.’

Instantly, she met his gaze. ‘Here we go again. It’s getting tedious. Why on earth should I like you?’

‘I’m charming,’ he said.

She snorted. ‘What exactly is your definition of the word? Blackmailing a woman into dating you? Really?’

‘No. I must admit this is not my standard dating procedure.’

‘For the sake of the thousands of women you’ve ever dated, I’m relieved to hear that.’

‘Not thousands,’ he said.

She waved her wine glass in a gesture of dismissal. ‘Hundreds, then.’

No, not that many either. In hindsight, maybe Estelle was not the first to observe his relationship failings. Or, more likely, she was the only one he’d allowed close enough to notice.

A mistake, clearly.

‘I’m not—’ he began, then stopped.

I’m not myself at the moment.

No, there was no need to say that to Ruby. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? For Ruby to be his distraction?

‘You’re not what?’ she asked.

He gave a little shake of his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we’re here now.’ He leant back in his chair a little, studying her. ‘We’re here, in this amazing city, at this amazing restaurant. And you, Ruby Bell, are wearing one amazing dress.’

The pink to her cheeks escalated to a blush, but otherwise she gave no indication of being affected by his words.

‘Thank you,’ she said, just a little stiffly.

‘Here’s an idea,’ he said. ‘How about we call a truce? For tonight. For argument’s sake, let’s pretend you don’t hate my guts, or the way we both came to be sitting together at this table.’

She grinned, then looked surprised that she had. ‘I don’t hate you,’ she said. ‘You just haven’t given me a heck of a lot to like.’

‘I’ll try harder,’ he promised.

She held his gaze for a long, long while. Considering his words.

‘Okay,’ she finally conceded. ‘But just for tonight.’

Belatedly, Ruby acknowledged that her dessert plate was completely empty—excluding some melted remnants of sorbet. She could barely remember what it tasted like—she’d been so focused on their conversation.

How had this happened?

A couple of hours ago she’d been dreading this date...

No. That was clearly a lie. Anxiously anticipating was far more on the mark.

But now, she found herself in the midst of a really fantastic evening. Date. A date with a movie star.

Although, oddly, she found she needed to remind herself of that fact every now and again. A little mental pinch of her arm, so to speak.

He was different tonight. Only for a moment earlier, and even then she was unsure whether she’d imagined it, had his gaze darkened. She realised that up until tonight there had been a kind of shadow to Dev. A...burden, maybe?

But tonight he was different. There was more of an openness to his expression. Oddly, as they chatted—initially about the industry but then, thankfully, about basically everything but—Ruby had the sense that the shadow was gradually lifting. She found herself wanting to find opportunities to make him smile again, to laugh.

It was as if he was out of practice.

Ruby gave herself a mental shake.

Oh, no. Now that was wishful thinking. She was putting way too much thought into this.

She needed to keep this simple: it was a date. One date. Only.

They’d just finished trading stories of their varied travel disasters. She’d noticed that Dev hadn’t spoken of that time I was mobbed by fans in Paris or this one time I was invited for afternoon tea with the Queen—it was as if he was distancing himself from what made him so, so different from her. Somehow, he was making himself relatable. A real person.

Was he doing it deliberately?

Yes, for sure. He’d been right before—he was charming, and smart.

But also...it was working. She found herself questioning her opinion of him. She’d certainly relaxed. Something she knew was unwise, but the wine, the food, the lighting, and Dev...yeah, Dev... It was...he was...pretty much an irresistible force.

But not quite.

‘Why film production?’ he asked, changing the direction of their conversation yet again.

Ruby swirled her Shiraz in its oversized glass. ‘Would you believe I’m a failed actor?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he said, immediately.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Is it that obvious?’

He nodded, assessing her. ‘Acting requires a certain...artifice. You—you tell it how it is. You’re not pretending, not hiding what you think.’

She shifted a little in her seat, uncomfortable. ‘You’re saying I’m tactless?’ she said, attempting a teasing tone but failing.

‘Honest,’ he said, disagreeing with her.

His gaze had shifted a little, become more serious. He was watching her closely, and it left her feeling exposed. She didn’t like it.

‘But,’ he said, ‘sometimes you try to hide what you’re not saying: frustration, dismissal...attraction.’

Ruby had a feeling she wasn’t being as successful in that goal as she’d like tonight. What could he see in her expression?

She decided it best not to consider that at all.

‘You’re partly right,’ she said. ‘At school I loved to act, but really I was only playing variations of myself. I wasn’t any good at stepping into another character.’ She laughed. ‘But I still wanted to work in film—you know, delusions of glamour—and I couldn’t wait to travel the world—so, I went to uni, then started at the bottom and worked my way up.’

‘You were good at school?’

She shook her head, laughing. ‘Not at all. I went to uni when I was twenty, after going back to finish Year Twelve. I had a...rebellious phase, I’d guess you’d call it.’

Dev’s eyebrows rose. ‘Really?’

She smiled, pleased she’d surprised him. ‘Most definitely. A combination of a few things, but mostly I think I was just a pretty unhappy teenager.’ She paused, not sure how much to share. But then, it was no secret. ‘I was a foster child, and ended up going through a few different families as a teenager. For some reason I just couldn’t stay away from trouble.’

He just nodded as he absorbed her words—he didn’t look shocked, or pitying or anything like that. Which she appreciated. Her childhood at times had been difficult, but it could have been a lot worse.

‘You were looking for attention,’ he said, and now it was Ruby’s turn to be surprised.

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I figured that out, eventually.’

Although that really was too simplistic. It had been more than that.

She’d wanted to be wanted. To be needed. Even if it was painfully temporary.

‘Don’t look so surprised,’ he said. ‘I’m no expert in psychoanalysis or whatever—I can just relate. It’s why I started to act. My family is overflowing with academic over-achievers. But I hated school—hated sitting still. But acting...acting I could do. It was the one thing I was actually pretty good at.’

He’d grown up to be a lot more than a pretty good actor.

‘Your family must be really proud of you.’

The little pang of jealousy she felt, imagining Dev’s proud family, was unexpected. That was a very old dream—one based on stability, and comfort and permanence. She’d dreamt up castles in the sky, with her own prince and toothpaste-advertisement-perfect family. But she’d traded it in long ago: for a life that was dynamic, exciting and unencumbered. Free.

‘Not particularly,’ he said, his tone perfectly flat.

His words jolted her out of the little fairy tale she’d been imagining.

‘Your family isn’t proud of their world-famous son? I find that hard to believe.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe they are. I don’t have that much to do with them.’

She was going to ask more, but he suddenly pushed his chair back, scraping it on the wooden floorboards.

‘You ready to go?’

He didn’t bother waiting for her to reply; he’d already stood up.

‘I thought we’d agreed to leave separately?’ she asked. All in aid of not being photographed together.

Dev shoved a hand through his hair, then, without a word, walked out of the dining room.

Ruby didn’t have enough time to wonder if he’d just left, kind of balancing out being, well, nice, for the past few hours—when he returned.

‘The staff assure me there’s been no sign of paparazzi, so I reckon we can risk it.’

She nodded. Really, there was no reason to leave together at all. But still—they did.

As they left she was hyperaware of him walking closely behind her—down the stairs, then to a private exit that avoided the busy main restaurant. His proximity made her skin prickle, but in the nicest possible way.

It was probably the wine, but she felt a little fuzzy-headed as she shrugged on her coat, so she was careful not to look at him. All of a sudden the reasons why she’d refused the date felt just out of reach.

He held the door open for her, and he caught her gaze as she stepped outside.

Something of her thoughts must have been evident in her expression.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

They’d taken a few steps down the near-deserted back street before she replied. ‘You confuse me,’ she said. ‘I had you pegged as an arrogant bastard, but tonight you’ve—almost—been nice.’

The warmth of his hand on her froze her mid-stride. He turned to face her, his fingers brushing down the outside of her arm, touching skin when the three-quarter sleeves ended. His fingers tangled with hers, tugging her a half-step forward.

She had to look up to meet his gaze. They were between streetlights, so his face was a combination of shadows, the darkest beneath his eyes.

‘No, Ruby,’ he said. Quiet but firm. ‘I think you had it right the other day, in my trailer.’

She racked her brain, trying to remember what she’d said—her forgetfulness a combination of being so red-hot angry at the time she’d barely known what she’d been saying, but more so just being so, so close to Dev. It was a miracle she could think at all.

‘I’m not a very nice person.’

Then he’d dropped her hand, and was somehow instantly three steps away.

Her instinct was to disagree, to reassure him with meaningless words. But she couldn’t, because he wasn’t talking about blackmailing her for a date, or being deliberately late to dinner—he wasn’t talking about her at all.

And because she didn’t understand, and because in that moment there was something in him she recognised, she didn’t say a word.

Instead she moved to his side, and together, silently, they started walking.