Why Resist a Rebel

chapter 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 appeal—she’d conceded.

So really, she should still be totally prepared to see him now. Yet, when she did—carefully only in her peripheral vision—she felt herself react, despite her best intentions. She wouldn’t say her heart leapt—or anything so ridiculous—but there was definitely a lightness to her belly, and her skin went warm. She was unquestionably aware of him.

He sat at a rough-hewn kitchen table, his legs outstretched and his booted-feet crossed. He held a cardboard cup of coffee as he chatted to the director, that man’s trademark baseball cap pulled down low.

If Dev was aware of her, there was absolutely no evidence of it. In his soft cream shirt, pushed up to his elbows and open at his throat, he looked the very epitome of relaxed. Not at all bothered that the woman he’d slept with not even forty-eight hours ago was five metres away.

Had he even noticed she was there?

Who cared if he did?

She was loitering—she’d done what she was here to do. She should leave.

So she did, circumventing the gaffer and the director of photography and their vigorous discussion about the room’s lighting as she stepped out into the farmhouse hallway. The whole time—and it really bothered her she’d noticed this—Dev didn’t as much as glance in her direction.

She made herself walk briskly to her car, as she really did need to get back to Unit Base, after all. She slid into her seat and slammed the door firmly behind her.

But instead of putting the key in the ignition, she found herself just sitting there for a moment, staring at the house.

What was she waiting for? For Dev to come charging out of the house, to wrench open the white hire-car door and pull her into his arms?

Certainly not. That was the last thing she wanted. No one could know what had happened between them. Ever.

It was good he’d ignored her. Perfect. Exactly what she wanted. She’d been relieved this morning when he’d cancelled her babysitting services—so what was different now?

Maybe because she was so much better at logical thought without Devlin Cooper in the vicinity.

She started the car, and drove carefully over a paddock rife with dips and potholes, her lips curving into a smile that was sadder than she would’ve liked.

Because really, this was laughable—that she cared that he’d so blatantly ignored her. That she’d created depth and layers and a connection with Devlin Cooper.

When of course, absolutely none of it—just like that early-nineteen-hundreds kitchen he’d been sitting in—had been real.

The unexpected creak of the cottage’s front door opening had Ruby nearly leaping out of her chair. She glanced up at the loudly ticking clock on the production office wall: seven minutes past nine.

It was late. Very late. Even Paul had left twenty minutes ago.

It must be one of the security guards, checking up on her. As she came to that logical conclusion she let out a breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding, and smiled.

Who else would it be? The boogie monster?

‘It’s just me, Craig!’ she called out to the slowly approaching footsteps. ‘I’ll just be a few more minutes.’

Her laptop made its little ‘new email’ pinging sound, and so her gaze was drawn in that direction as a man stepped into the doorway.

‘Craig’s having a beer with my driver, but I’ll be sure to let him know.’

Ruby’s gaze darted up—not that she needed the visual to confirm who that unmistakeable voice belonged to.

He’d propped himself up against the door’s chipped architraving, as casual as you liked, in jeans and a black zip-up jumper.

For a moment her body reacted just as it had that afternoon in the farmhouse—every cell, every single part of her, suddenly on high alert. And for the same amount of time she was irrationally pleased to see him—long enough for her lips to form into the beginnings of a smile.

And then reality hit. The smile dropped, and Ruby stood up—abruptly enough that her chair skittered backwards on the floorboards.

‘What are you doing here?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Visiting you.’

‘Why?’

Dev crossed his arms. ‘Because I wanted to.’

Ruby realised she was wringing her hands and so pressed her palms down hard against the outside of her thighs. ‘But today—’ she began, then cut her words off as she realised where she was going.

He shrugged. ‘I assumed the rules still applied—that you wanted no one on set to know.’

She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I mean, of course I don’t want anyone to know, but I don’t care that you ignored me. It was good, actually.’

Her words were all rambling and jumbled, and she sighed, resisting the urge to run her hands through her hair.

What was it about Dev?

Now Dev pushed away from the doorway. ‘I wasn’t ignoring you, Ruby,’ he said, his voice low as he walked towards her. ‘In fact, I don’t think it would be possible for me to ignore you.’

He stood on the other side of her desk, watching her. He was so close, close enough that too many memories of Saturday night rushed right back to the surface, despite many hours of determinedly burying them all.

Most clear was the feel of his hands on her. Skimming across her skin, pressed against her back, gentle as they traced her curves.

She shivered, and that unwanted response snapped her back to the present.

‘You should go,’ she said. Very calmly.

He blinked, obviously surprised. ‘Why?’

She laughed. ‘Come on, we both know what Saturday was. You don’t need to spell it out to me. I get it.’

‘Get what?’ he said, his forehead forming into furrows.

She sighed loudly. ‘That it was a one-off.’

‘You think I came here tonight to tell you that?’

‘Why else would you be here?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, his gaze flicking to her lips. ‘Maybe I was hoping for another kiss.’

It was so unexpected that Ruby was momentarily shocked silent. Another kiss.

It was...almost romantic. Somehow he’d taken what they had: a one-night stand—something you’d never associate with anything sweet or innocent, or meaningful—and ended up with that. A request for a kiss.

‘That would be taking a couple of steps backwards, wouldn’t it?’ She spoke harshly, deliberately implying a tawdriness that the night they’d shared deserved.

He took a step back, as if she’d shoved him away with actions, and not only words.

His eyes were wide, and he went to speak—but then stopped.

His gaze sharpened. Darkened.

‘Don’t work too late,’ he said.

Then turned on his heel, and left.

All week, his mum kept calling.

And every time, he let it ring out. She left messages, but after a while he didn’t bother listening to those, either.

Couldn’t listen, maybe?

It didn’t matter.

He knew what she was calling about. The funeral. It had been more than three months now.

That first call, the worst one, hadn’t been from his mum, but from his eldest brother, Jared. He was a doctor, a surgeon, actually, and he’d been using his doctor voice when Dev had answered his phone. As always, Dev had been on edge, used to his brother’s patronising calls, his regular requests to visit home more often. That his mum missed him.

Never his dad.

But this call had been different. The doctor-voice had been the thinnest of veneers, and it had taken no time at all for Jared to crack. And that was when Dev had finally understood that something was very, very wrong.

A heart attack. No warning. Nothing that could be done.

Dad’s dead. The funeral’s next week. You can stay with Mum. It would be good for her, she’s...lost.

Except he wasn’t going to the funeral. And he didn’t.

He was pathetic not to answer her calls, or to listen to her messages. Pathetic and weak and useless.

But he just couldn’t do it—he just couldn’t deal with it. Not yet.

It was ringing now, as it had every day since he’d arrived in Australia. Dev couldn’t stand it, so he pushed away from his dining-room table to where his phone sat on the kitchen bench, and declined the call.

Gutless.

That was what he was.

Eventually he walked to his bedroom, around his bed and straight to the en suite. The tray of sleeping tablets was looking bare. He knew he shouldn’t be taking them every night, his doctor had warned him of the dangers, of the side effects—but he couldn’t risk what happened on his last film again. Back then, each night, he’d had every intention of making it to set the next morning. He’d had his alarm set well before his call, he’d reread his script—everything. Then sleep wouldn’t come at all, or he’d wait too late to take the tablet that would lead to oblivion. And by the time he woke up it was too late. Or—worse—he did wake up in time, but in the raw of the morning, before he’d had a chance to wake up, to remind himself who he was, how hard he’d worked, what he’d achieved...he honestly didn’t care. He didn’t care enough to get out of bed, to get to set. He didn’t care about anything.

But this film was different. The mornings hadn’t changed, not really—more often than not he slept through his alarm, or threw it across the room—but when Graeme knocked on the door he’d drag himself out of bed, and with every step he’d get a tighter grip of what he was doing, where he had to be, what he was doing that day.

He had his pride. He was a professional, and a damned good actor. A whole film crew was waiting for him.

Or at least it had been different. These last few days when Graeme had knocked, getting out of bed had been harder. He’d needed even more coffee once he’d hit Unit Base—enough that his own coffee machine had materialised in his trailer.

He swallowed the tablet, then cupped his hands under the running tap to collect enough water to wash it down. Water trickled down his neck, then down his bare chest, forming damp, dark spots along the waistband of his tracksuit pants.

He leant forward, staring into his eyes. Under the harsh lights, his eyes were red despite all the drops that Hair and Make-up were giving him. His face was a jumble of sharp angles and shadows, his skin dull...

This had to end.

He was over this. Over it, over it, over it, over it...

Tomorrow would be different.

He switched off the lights and flopped onto his bed, his skin too hot and his legs too restless to cover himself with even a sheet.

Tomorrow would be different.

If he kept saying it, one day it would actually be true.

Ruby hammered on Dev’s front door. It was a really lovely door, with panels of stained glass, and part of her worried that she’d damage it. Only a very small part, though. A much bigger part of her wanted Dev to get his backside to Unit Base. Pronto.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Graeme beside her. ‘It won’t break.’

He stepped forward with an air of much experience and put her hammering to shame, rattling the door with his heavy-fisted knocks.

The delicate glass held. The noise was deafening. But there was still no sign of Dev.

‘Do you have a key?’ she asked, trying to peer through the multicoloured glass.

‘No,’ he said.

Ruby took a step back and put her hands on her hips as she surveyed the house.

Paul had called her to his office barely thirty minutes ago, and she’d shot out of her office and to Dev’s cottage in record time. Unfortunately, Dev’s call had been ten minutes prior to Paul’s ‘Where the hell is Devlin Cooper?’ rant, and with every minute that passed—and with a twenty-minute drive back to Unit Base...

Basically she needed Dev out of his house and into his car now.

There were only two windows on the front of the sandstone cottage, edged in dark red brick. Both were closed, and a quick test proved they weren’t going to open easily. The white-painted veranda wrapped around the side of the house, and Ruby followed it, stopping at each window to check for an entry point. So far—no luck.

The back of the house was a modern extension, with the veranda opening out into a deck with views to the mountains—not that Ruby paid any attention to it. Instead she zeroed into a flash of pale colour—curtains that were flapping through a small gap in the sliding doors. It was only a small gap—did that mean Dev hadn’t closed it properly when he’d left? Or when he’d returned?

Ruby hoped like heck it was the latter, because he certainly wasn’t on set—her phone had remained silent—so if he wasn’t in the house she had no idea where on earth to look for him next.

She had to push the door open to create a space large enough to walk through. She stepped through the curtain, pausing a moment to untangle herself from the heavy fabric. Inside it was dark—gloomy despite the sunny day outside. And silent—completely silent.

For the first time it occurred to Ruby that maybe Dev hadn’t simply slept in. She’d immediately assumed he was lounging about, deciding he had more important things to do than—you know—his job.

‘Dev?’ she called out. Or meant to. Instead she managed little more than a whisper.

She cleared her throat, and tried again. ‘Dev?’

Again—silence. This shouldn’t be surprising given the noise she and Graeme had been making was infinitely louder, and had certainly elicited no response.

But still, only now did Ruby worry.

What if the rumours were true?

She knew many celebrities kept their addictions well hidden—many more did not—but Dev... She just couldn’t believe it. She’d spent a night with him—surely she would’ve guessed?

She stood in the lounge room, 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, trying to relocate her brain—and, while she was at it, any sense of professionalism she still possessed. ‘The only problem I have is that you were required on set—’ she pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the time ‘—over an hour ago.’

For the shortest of moments his eyes flickered, and his expression shifted. He looked—surprised? Disappointed? Angry?

Then it had all disappeared to be replaced by a look she was all too familiar with—arrogance.

He tilted his head back, so it rested against the wall. Then slowly and deliberately, he turned his head towards her, every pore of his body oozing exactly how little he cared.

It was all very...practised.

Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she met his, trying to see past this hastily erected façade, trying to figure out...Dev, really.

No. She didn’t have time for this.

‘I need you to get a move on, Mr Cooper. So we don’t lose the whole morning.’

He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can see how you would need that.’

Dev didn’t move.

Ruby stepped forward, and Dev’s gaze dipped to her still-fisted fingers. ‘Exactly what do you think you’re going to do with those?’

Instantly her fingers were flat against her thighs.

‘Are you unwell, Mr Cooper?’

He shook his head. ‘I think you’re quite aware how healthy I am.’

Ruby’s cheeks went hot, but she pushed on, now right beside the edge of the bed. ‘Then I really need you to get out of bed immediately. A lot of people are waiting for you.’

He shrugged. Then he looked pointedly at her hands—again fisted. But this time she made no move to relax them. Much more of this and she might well actually hit him.

‘Mr Cooper. I’m sure you’re aware of your contractual obligations.’

‘Of course,’ he said, with a nod. But then did not elaborate further.

Ruby swallowed a sigh. He knew the deal—this far into filming and with Arizona due to leave the country, there was no way that Paul could replace Dev. Besides, it wasn’t as if there were a bevy of other A-list actors banging down the producer’s door.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Let’s get to the point. I want you on set as soon as possible. You—for reasons unknown—have chosen to stay in bed today. And—inexplicably—despite the dozens of people relying on the success of this film, wish to stay here.’

‘I’d agree with that assessment.’ His voice was as dry as dust, his expression patently unmoved.

‘So tell me,’ she said, making absolutely no attempt to sound professional any more, ‘what exactly do I need to do to get you out of this room?’

At this, he smiled. A real smile—a delicious smile. A smile that moved the heat still in her cheeks to somewhere low in her belly. It was a visceral reaction she couldn’t have prevented if she tried.

And Ruby had the sudden realisation that this was where Dev had been heading the whole time. To this question.

‘A favour,’ he said.

He’d locked his gaze to hers. A gaze she didn’t have a hope of interpreting.

Why did she even bother? Hadn’t she decided he was just an actor, portraying whatever emotion or personality that would get what he wanted out of a situation?

‘What type of favour exactly?’

Another shrug. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’

She gaped at him. ‘You don’t seriously expect me to agree to that?’

He didn’t say a word, just looked at her. Then, after a while, slid down along the mattress until his head hit the pillow. Then, as calmly as you liked, turned onto his side. His back to her.

Ruby’s mind raced, considering her options.

Could she go and find Graeme? Get him to somehow strongarm Dev out to the car?

A quick glance at Dev, and his muscled physique and sheer size nixed that idea. No, that wouldn’t work.

She could call Paul?

And...what? Her job was to solve problems. Paul expected her to solve things—once he gave her a problem, quite simply it ceased to be his. It was her problem.

‘It can’t be illegal,’ she said, finally.

He casually turned over, to smile that devastating smile at her yet again, his chin propped on one hand.

My God. She was helpless to prevent the rapid acceleration of her heat—even at completely inappropriate moments, her body reacted to him.

‘It won’t be.’

‘And it can’t be a...’ Ruby had to look away, staring at the elaborate cornicing above the curtains ‘...a kiss,’ she said. Then faster, ‘Or anything else like that.’

In seconds he was up, out of bed, standing right in front of her, forcing her to look at him. The emptiness had gone, but what he’d exposed was impossible to interpret.

‘Is that how little you—?’ he started. Then stopped.

Then in a different, heavier tone, the shutters firmly up again, he spoke. ‘No.’

Ruby backed away, needing to put space between them.

‘So you’ll come now? Right this instant?’

He nodded.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Fine. A favour. Done.’

She thought she’d get that smile again—but didn’t. He just kept looking at her, revealing not a thing.

So she backed away even further, right outside the room and into the hallway.

‘You’ve got two minutes to meet me out the front,’ she said, briskly. Like Production Co-ordinator Ruby, not the Ruby who’d very nearly kissed Devlin Cooper again.

She didn’t wait around for him to respond, she was just out of there. Away from him, away from the mass of confusion and attraction and questions and heat that was every encounter with Dev.

Outside, on the decking, she stared up at the cloudless sky. Just stared and stared and stared.

And wondered what on earth she’d just agreed to.

What on earth she’d just done.