Why Resist a Rebel? (8 page)

‘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.

SIX

Dev wasn’t really thinking about where they were going. He just needed to walk.

But soon the rapidly increasing light and numbers of people that surrounded them heralded the direction he’d taken—and he looked up to the many, many steps that led to the opera house. He came to a stop, and took a deep breath.

He didn’t know what to make of what had just happened.

Mostly, he would’ve preferred it hadn’t.

Tonight—and this thing with Ruby—wasn’t supposed to be about any of that.

‘So,’ he said, sounding absolutely normal. He
was
a good actor. ‘Where to now?’

This area was well lit, a flat, paved expanse between the string of restaurants edging the quay and the massive sails of the opera house. Even though it was late, it
was
Sydney on a Saturday night, so there were many people around: most near the water, although some sat in pairs or strings on the steps. But right now, where they stood, they were alone.

She lifted her chin and smiled brightly—but unconvincingly.

She really wasn’t a very good actor.

‘How about we just wander for a bit?’

‘Perfect,’ he said—and it was. He’d half expected sparky, fiery Ruby to reappear, to announce that their date was over, their deal was done, and to disappear into the distance.

At the back of his mind he was bothered that he was so relieved, but, as he’d been doing so often lately, he filed that thought away. For later—and there was always a later.

In unspoken agreement they walked slowly towards the city—the wrought-iron railing that edged the quay to their right, and a line of old-fashioned sphere-topped lamp posts to their left. The breeze was cool off the water, but he welcomed its touch, his body over-warm beneath his open-collar shirt and suit jacket.

Ruby was talking, about
The Land,
about a play she’d seen at the opera house one time, about the rumours of some action-blockbuster sequel being possibly filmed in Sydney next year, and how she hoped to work on it. At first she seemed comfortable with his contribution of nods and murmurs, but eventually she started to draw him into the conversation. Asking questions about Friday’s premiere, about whether it was really as bad as the papers had written today—that kind of thing.

‘It wasn’t my type of film,’ Dev said. ‘Maybe it was brilliant, just not for me.’

‘So you thought it was boring?’ she asked. He glanced at her, noting the sparkle in her eyes.

‘Pretty much.’

She laughed. ‘So weepy family sagas aren’t for you.’

‘No. I’m more an action/thriller kind of guy.’

‘What a surprise,’ she said, teasing him. ‘Although, I had been wondering about that. Why
The Land?
Did you want a change of direction?’

‘No,’ he said, automatically, and harshly enough that Ruby slowed her pace a little, and looked at him curiously. ‘I mean,’ he tried again, ‘yes, that was it exactly.’

‘You don’t sound all that sure.’

He wasn’t. Right now he should be shooting a role he’d jumped at the opportunity to play. A negotiator in a smart, fast-paced hostage drama, a twist on the action-hero-type roles he was known for. But instead the role had been urgently recast, and his contract for his next film, with the now-burnt producer, had been torn to pieces. So here he was.

Only his previously stellar work ethic had prevented the story gaining traction. For now, the people involved had been relatively discreet, and Veronica had so far been able to mostly extinguish the—accurate—rumours.

But Ruby must have heard them—at least a hint of the truth. She watched him with curiosity in her gaze, but not the steeliness of someone determined to ferret out all the dirty details. She’d had all night to ask those questions—to push—but she hadn’t.

He appreciated that.

‘My agent had to twist my arm,’ he said. That was the truth, at least.

He’d agreed only because he couldn’t face another sleepless, pointless night in Hollywood. But he’d only traded it in for more of the same in north-west New South Wales.

Ruby
was the only difference.

‘You live in Sydney, right?’ he asked, changing the subject.

They were walking amongst many people now—couples on dates, families, tourists with massive camera bags. If anyone recognised him, he hadn’t noticed.

‘Not any more,’ she said.

‘Melbourne?’

She shook her head. ‘Not there either.’ There was a smile in her voice.

Before tonight he hadn’t been all that interested in getting to know the woman beside him. His interest in her had not been based around shared interests and the potential for meaningful conversation.

But at dinner, he’d found himself asking about
her,
and unsurprisingly that had led to him talking about elements of
himself
that he didn’t share with his dates.

Maybe he was just rusty—it had been months since he’d gone out with a woman. Normally he had charming deflections of personal questions down to an art. He certainly didn’t make a habit of welcoming them.

‘If I name every city in the world until you say yes, we could be here a while.’

‘And then you still wouldn’t have an answer.’

They’d reached the end of the walk, and stood between the train station and ferry terminal.

Ruby was looking up at him, grinning—and waiting for him to do something with that non-response.

But he just left her waiting as he looked at her. Leisurely exploring the shape of her eyes, her nose, her lips. Beneath the CBD lights, he could see flecks of green and gold in her eyes he hadn’t noticed before.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, very softly, realising it was true.

Ruby took a rapid step backwards, and wobbled a little on her heels. He reached out automatically, wrapping his fingers around her upper arms to steady her.

For a moment her expression was soft. Inviting...

But then it hardened, and she shook his hands away.

‘Nice try.’

‘It’s the truth,’ he said, but immediately realised he was doing this all wrong as she glared at him. He didn’t know how to handle this, why a compliment had caused this reaction.

‘Look, it’s getting late. Thanks for the lovely dinner. I’m going to head back to my hotel.’

She said all that, but didn’t actually make a move to leave. If she had, he would’ve let her go, but that pause—he decided—was telling.

‘If not Sydney, or Melbourne, or any other city in the world—where
do
you live?’

Ruby blinked as he deftly rewound their conversation. He could see her thinking, could see all sorts of things taking place behind those eyes.

‘Wherever I feel like,’ she said, slowly and eventually. ‘I might stay where I’ve been working for a while. Or fly to stay with a friend for a few weeks. Or maybe just pick somewhere new I haven’t been before, and live there.’

‘But where’s your base? Where you keep all your stuff?’

She shrugged. ‘What stuff?’

‘You don’t own anything?’

‘Nothing I can’t keep in a suitcase.’

He took a moment to process this. ‘Why?’

She smiled. ‘I get asked that a lot. But the way I look at it, it makes sense. I’ve lived in some amazing places, seen incredible things. I’m not tied down—when I get a call offering me a job I can be on set, almost anywhere in the world, basically the very next day.’

‘But don’t you want a house one day?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘What? The great Australian dream of a quarter-acre block with a back pergola and a barbecue?’ She shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’

She spoke with the confidence of someone absolutely sure of their decision. He admired that—her assuredness. But he found it near impossible to believe. Could you really live your life the way she described?

‘Most women your age are thinking marriage and babies. Putting roots down.’

‘You’re older than me,’ she pointed out. ‘Are you putting down roots? Is that what you’re doing at your place in Beverly Hills?’

‘Absolutely not,’ he said. That was the last thing he wanted.

‘Well, there you go.’

He must have looked confused, as she then tried to further explain.

‘Is it so hard to believe? I told you before I’m a foster child, so my only “family” are the various sets of foster carers I called Aunty and Uncle. Nice people—great people—but, trust me, they couldn’t wait to see the back of me, and I don’t blame them. And nearly all my friends work in film, or did work in film, so they are scattered all over the place.’

He assumed he still looked less than convinced, as she rolled her eyes as if completely exasperated with him.

‘No,’ he said, before she tried again. ‘I do get it.’

Didn’t he, after all, live his life in kind of the same way? Yes, he owned his home, but that was a financial decision, not one based on long-term planning—it wasn’t a life goal or anything. He hadn’t extrapolated that purchase into plans for the future: a wife, kids. Anything like that. In fact, he’d only ever had one goal: to act.

And now he wasn’t even sure he had that.

‘Do you want to get a drink somewhere?’ he asked.

Ruby let the invitation bounce about in her brain for a moment.

‘I should go,’ she said. ‘Like I said before. It’s late, I—’

‘But you didn’t go.’

I know.
She wasn’t sure why. It had been the right thing to do—the right time to go. When he’d called her beautiful, she’d been momentarily lost. Lost in the moment and the pull of his warmth, and the appreciation she’d seen in his gaze. So, so tempting...

But then she’d remembered where she was—
who
he was—and why this was all a very, very bad idea.

‘I should go,’ she repeated. She’d meant to be more firm this time, but she wasn’t—not at all.

‘Probably,’ he agreed. ‘Based on what you’ve told me before—you should.’

He’d moved a little closer.
God.
He was good. He knew what he did to her when he was close. She could see it in everything he did—that arrogance, that confidence.

But unexpectedly, right now, it wasn’t pushing her away.

Maybe because tonight she’d seen that confidence contrasted with moments of...not quite vulnerability, but
exposure.
He’d been raw, as if she was seeing Dev Cooper the man, not the actor.

And she’d found herself interested in that man. Oh, she’d always been
attracted
to Dev, by his looks, his charisma, by the persona his career had created. But that type of attraction was—with difficulty—possible to push aside. To be logical about. To walk away from, with the strict rules she lived by providing the impetus.

But
this
Dev. This Dev she couldn’t so easily define. This Dev she wanted to know.

This Dev she wanted to understand.

No, thank you
.
But thank you for dinner...

It was suddenly impossible to say anything. She couldn’t agree, but there was no other option.

So she was a coward and did nothing at all. But her expression must have portrayed her acquiescence, as he smiled—then grabbed her hand and tugged her after him.

They left Circular Quay, then headed a short way up Macquarie Street.

‘Where are we going?’ Ruby asked, belatedly.

He came to a stop. ‘We’re here,’ he said. ‘My hotel.’

They stood beneath a curved red awning—on red carpet, no less. A suited doorman stood only metres away, but when she glanced at him, he was carefully paying them no attention.

‘This isn’t cool, Dev, you said—’

‘There’s a bar on the ground floor, and the staff will guarantee we won’t be disturbed—and certainly that no photos will be taken.’ His lips quirked upwards—wickedly. ‘I’m not inviting you to share a bottle of champagne as we roll about on my bed, Ruby.’

She knew she’d gone as red as the carpet. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Of course not.’

‘Shall we?’ he said, gesturing at the brass-handled doors.

She nodded, and soon they’d made their way through the marble-floored foyer with its sumptuous oriental carpets to the hotel bar—a classic, traditional space. Full of heavy, antique wooden furniture, stunning silk wallpaper and chandeliers dangling with crystals, it was softly lit. A handful of people perched on bar stools, and a couple shared a drink at one table. Along one wall stretched a bench seat, upholstered in delicately patterned black and cream fabric. After Dev asked what she’d like to drink, she made a beeline in that direction, sinking gratefully into the soft cushioning, right in the corner of the room.

She watched Dev as he walked across the bar with their drinks. He wore a dark suit, but no tie, and a crisp white shirt that was slightly unbuttoned. Somehow he made his outfit look casual and effortless, not formal at all. As if he’d happily wear the same outfit to do his grocery shopping, without a trace of self-consciousness.

The bar definitely was lit for mood, Ruby decided, but even so she was struck again by his unexpected gauntness. He didn’t look unwell—just lean. But then, he’d eaten every bite of food in every course tonight...maybe he
had
been sick just like that rumour said? And now he was still putting weight back on. Or something.

She considered asking him, then immediately dismissed the possibility. Whatever had happened outside the restaurant—that moment—told her whatever was going on with Dev, whatever his private pain was, he would not discuss it tonight.

Besides—why would he? She was some random woman he’d even more randomly invited out for dinner.

She would never ask him those questions. They had this one night only.

He sat down, right next to her on the bench seat, rather than across the other side of the table as she’d expected.

Really?
No. She hadn’t honestly believed he’d do that. Of course he sat next to her, not quite touching—but touching was a very, very near thing.

He handed Ruby her wine glass, catching her gaze as he did so.

It was rather dark in this corner of the bar, she realised. Dark and...private.

His fingers brushed against hers and she jumped a little, making her wine splash about in its glass.