Why Resist a Rebel? (9 page)

‘Whoops!’ she said, all nervous and breathy, and placed her glass firmly on the table, as if to somehow stabilise her thoughts.

The action was totally ineffective. She took a deep breath, but when she looked up—back into Dev’s eyes—her mind went blank.

About all she was capable of at this moment, it appeared, was looking at Dev. And it
was
at Dev she was looking—not Dev the movie star, but the Dev she’d just had dinner with. This Dev was an enigma—and this Dev, she liked.

He leapt from light to dark, revealing depth—maybe even pain?—that she never would have expected. And then he could slide so easily from teasing to darkly, insistently seductive.

As he was right now. Had he moved closer?

Maybe she had.

He knew she didn’t want this, but in this way, at least, he was no gentleman.

He said he wasn’t a nice person. Was this what he meant? This determined pursuit of a woman—of her—of what he wanted?

No, she decided. Not entirely. There’d been more, much more...

Ruby was losing herself in his eyes, his gorgeous, piercing blue eyes—but dragging her gaze away proved pointless, as she found herself staring at his lips.

It seemed the most natural, obvious thing in the world to lick her own lips in response.

Okay—now he
had
moved. When had he laid his arm across the back of the bench? She hadn’t noticed at the time, but now it seemed a genius move, as it was so easy for his fingers to skim along the delicate, shivery skin of her neck.

Then up, up to her nape, his strong fingers threading through her hair, cupping her skull. But he didn’t pull her towards him. Instead, he held her steady—but it really wasn’t necessary.

As if she were going to duck her head, or look away now?

Then he was closer again, close enough that even in the dim light she could just see the red that was still in his eyes. For a moment she wondered what was wrong, felt a flash of concern for him...

But then that moment was gone, because she’d let her own eyes flutter shut, and all she could concentrate on was the feel of him breathing against her lips. So close, so close...

And then, finally, he kissed her.

For a crazy, silly moment her mind filled with images of Devlin Cooper kissing other women in movies. Of famous, romantic clinches, and of sexy, twisted sheets and picture-perfect lighting.

But then all that evaporated—as it was all make-believe. All utter Hollywood fantasy. This—this kiss—was real.

She was kissing a very real man. A man who had just teased her lower lip with his tongue. She leant into him, wanting more, needing more.

She needed to touch him, and she reached out blindly, her hand landing somewhere on his chest, then creeping up to his shoulders. His other hand was suddenly touching her, too, beginning at her waist, then creeping around to her back, beneath the little jacket she still wore. His hand splayed across her skin, not that she needed any encouragement to move closer.

He tasted like the wine they’d been sharing, like that crisp sorbet. Fresh. Delectable.

His kisses started off practised, but as she kissed him back, letting herself kiss him in the way he was making her feel, his kisses changed. They were less controlled, more desperate.

Ruby leant into him, matching him kiss for kiss, revelling in the feel and taste of his gorgeous, sexy, sinful mouth.

She felt incredible: beautiful, wanted.

She could sit here for ever, kiss him for ever...

But then his lips were away from her mouth, and trailing kisses along her jaw, up to her ear.

His breath was hot against her skin. So hot.

‘Should we go to my room?’

Was that where this night had always been headed? Where they’d been headed since that dusty afternoon they’d first met?

Possibly? Definitely? Ruby didn’t know—didn’t care.

She just knew that standing now—on legs that would wobble—and leaving this bar for his room was the only imaginable option.

And so when he stood, and held out his hand for her, with that question still shining in his eyes, she knew what she was going to—what she had to—say.

‘Yes.’

SEVEN

Dev lay flat on his back on the sofa, staring up, in the dark, at the ceiling.

He was restless. Completely exhausted, but unable to sleep.

He’d tried pacing the considerable length of the penthouse’s living areas, but it hadn’t helped—from his experience pacing never did.

If anything his brain’s wheels and cogs took the opportunity to whir ever faster, cramming his brain with all sorts of thoughts and ideas—leaving nowhere near enough room for sleep to descend.

He rubbed at his forehead, the action near violent. But as if he could simply erase all this crap away.

And it was crap. Useless, pointless, far-too-late-to-do-anything-about crap.

And so
random.
The stuff his subconscious was coming up with, that was building and festering inside him.

Snatches of time from his childhood.

Rare moments alone with his father.

Rarer words of praise—praise well and truly cancelled out with years and years of frustration and disappointment. At his failures—the straight As he never received, the sports he never mastered, the good behaviour he could never maintain.

And then memories of his brothers, so different from him, and yet who he’d admired so hard it hurt. Almost as much as he’d idolised his father—once.

Okay. Maybe not so random.

Of course he knew what this was about, it was as obvious as the watches his father had worn, the ones that had cost more than the average person’s yearly wage, and that his father had made sure everyone noticed. But then, who could blame him? He’d worked
damn hard
for his money...

I worked damn hard, Devlin, and not so you could throw it all away. You know nothing about sacrifices—about what I would do for my family. Nothing.

He heard something—footsteps. Soft on the deep carpet.

He turned his head, and watched Ruby as she crept past. He couldn’t see much in the almost pitch blackness, but she was most definitely creeping—her shoes dangling from one hand, each step slow and deliberate.

‘Ruby,’ he whispered. Then watched as she just about jumped out of her skin.

‘Dev!’

He sat up and switched on a lamp, making Ruby blink at him in the sudden light.

She stood stock still, in her fancy dress and jacket—although her hair and make-up were somewhat worse for wear.

The reason for her déshabillé made him smile.

Although when he’d left his bedroom she’d been wearing only a sheet and a half-smile as she’d slept.
That,
he thought, was probably his favourite look for the evening. Or morning? Lord. Who knew what time it was any more?

‘I thought you were asleep,’ she said.

‘Otherwise you would’ve said goodbye?’ His voice was unexpectedly rough, rather than teasing as he’d intended.

‘Yes—’ she said. Then, the words getting increasingly faster, ‘Actually, no. I mean, of course I would’ve said goodbye if you were awake, but I figured it was better if you were asleep. I didn’t particularly want an audience for my walk of shame.’

His mouth quirked at her honesty. ‘Shame, huh?’

She went pink. ‘It’s a turn of phrase. Of course I’m not ashamed. Just...’ Her gaze flicked to the ceiling. ‘This wasn’t how I’d planned for the night to end.’

He didn’t say ‘me, either’, because that wouldn’t have been true.

It was just other elements of the night that had been unexpected, the moments where he’d looked at Ruby and felt...

He scratched absently at his bare chest.

He had no idea what he felt.

Her eyebrows rose, seemingly reading his mind. ‘You are, at the very least, consistent in your arrogance.’

But there was a smile in her voice.

He shrugged unapologetically. ‘I was right.’

She sighed, then readjusted the small gold handbag she had hooked over her shoulder. ‘I should go.’

He nodded.

Dev went to stand, deciding he should at least be
chivalrous
enough to walk her to the door.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the way his legs had been bent on the too-short sofa, his left leg still weak from his accident—but either way, the result was that rather than ending up vertical, instead, he staggered.

Somehow Ruby was beside him, her arm wrapped tightly around his waist, just above the low-slung waistband of his boxer shorts.

‘Careful!’ she said, on a gasp.

Not that her slight weight would’ve made any difference if he’d been about to fall—which he wasn’t. He’d tripped over his own feet—he was clumsy. That was all.

He went to shrug her off, annoyed at himself, and annoyed she’d thought he’d needed help.

‘I’m fine,’ he said. Short and sharp.

But she didn’t let go, not completely. Her grip had loosened, but now her other hand traced over his skin, dipping into the slight hollows above and below his left hip.

‘I didn’t really notice before,’ she said, very softly. ‘It was dark and we were so caught up in the moment I didn’t have much of a chance to look...’

Her fingertips trailed shivery trails across his belly, then up to the corrugation of his abdominal muscles—more defined than ever before. His trainer would be proud.

He meant to push her hand away, but didn’t.

She looked up, straight into his eyes, and he was sure—absolutely positive—she was going to ask him what was wrong.

But at the last minute she didn’t, and instead glanced away. Of all things, there was a grand piano in the corner of the room, and her attention appeared focused on its glossy black surface.

‘I had a tummy bug a few weeks back,’ he said, for some stupid reason feeling the need to provide an explanation. ‘Lost some weight, and it’s taking a while to put back on.’ He shrugged. ‘I have a fast metabolism.’

She looked up at him, and nodded, but didn’t hold his gaze.

Her hand was still exploring, and she’d shifted slightly, so the arm around his waist was now more an embrace as she stood directly in front of him. Her fingers crept up one side of his body, tracing his pectoral muscle, over his flat nipple, then inwards to his breastbone. Then up, up, to the hollow at the base of his throat, across his collarbone, then curling, curling around to his neck.

But now her touch wasn’t so gentle. She slid her fingers along his jaw, tilting his head back to her. His gaze connected with hers, darkest brown and startlingly direct.

‘Is that why you can’t sleep tonight?’ she said, her words laced with scepticism.

‘That’s really none of your business.’

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then shook her head a little. ‘No, of course not.’

He felt her begin to withdraw from him, her heat moving away.

His arms, that up to now hadn’t moved from his sides, were suddenly around her, tugging her against him.

Her gaze fluttered up, her eyes widening. ‘Dev?’

He didn’t bother to explain—didn’t even know how he would.

All he knew was that he wasn’t ready for her to go yet.

So he leant towards her, and covered her lips with a kiss to silence her questions.

A crack between the heavy brocade curtains allowed the smallest slither of early morning light into Dev’s bedroom.

Ruby lay on her side, her head propped up on one arm, staring at Dev’s back as he slept facing away from her. Where the light hit his skin glowed a delicious olive: from the point of his shoulder it edged the side of his body, tapering gradually down from broad chest to narrow hips. There a sheet was bunched up, tangled around and over his legs.

He slept soundly, his breathing deep and regular.

Given their conversation of a few hours ago, she’d tried to wake him—to say goodbye. But he’d barely stirred when she’d gently touched—and later pushed—his shoulder, so she’d given up. Besides, given the shadows beneath his eyes that Hair and Make-up were spending so much effort covering up, he needed his sleep.

But she’d found getting out of his bed more difficult than she’d expected.

Before, when she’d woken alone, it had been easy. She’d basically leapt out of bed as her eyes had opened in the unfamiliar room—and reality had smacked her, hard.

What had she done?

No longer did a gaze she’d practically fallen into, or a touch that had made her whole body zap and tingle with electricity—let alone a kiss that was nothing like anything she’d ever experienced—cloud her judgment.

Now she could see the night for what it was. Not romantic, and surprising, and unexpected.

But a mistake.

Escaping had been the only option. Shoving the whole night somewhere right, right at the back of her mind where
one
day she might look back fondly and remember her date with a movie star.

Ha! More likely she’d remember what an idiot she was for falling for it.

Hadn’t she gone beyond this? Beyond being impressed by looks, and a smile, and strength? Beyond decisions that were based on daydreams and chemical attraction—not sense and logic?

Apparently not—as she hadn’t moved.

Dev moved though, and rolled onto his back.

In a flash Ruby was out of the bed, backing away until her heels hit the carpeted half-dozen steps that led to the penthouse’s sunken bedroom.

But Dev slept on.

As she watched his chest rise up and down, Ruby felt like a complete idiot. So she didn’t want him to wake up to see her still here but she
also
didn’t want to leave?

She ran both hands through her hair in despair.

This was typical—there was
something
about Dev that had her thinking and acting in contradictions.

Maybe that
something
is how he looked at me last night? The way he kissed me?

Ugh! No, she wasn’t going to do this to herself.

She was pretty sure she knew what she was doing—she was superimposing the heroes Dev had portrayed in his movies onto the man himself. Giving him traits that his characters—but not Dev—possessed.
Considerate, kind...or even brave, and mysterious...

Naked, his leanness was blatantly obvious—with every breath each rib was brought into sharp relief. But maybe it was just what he said? A brief illness?

But none of the rumours rang true to Ruby. She didn’t believe that he’d been sick, and if he pined for his supermodel ex, he was hiding it remarkably well. And party drugs? It just didn’t fit.

She was sure there was something more—something darker. That there were layers to Devlin Cooper.

Or—maybe she should look at this more objectively.

He’d pursued her relentlessly, had arrogantly assumed he’d get her into bed on the first night—and then promptly had, by being the perfect, charming date. In order to get just what he’d wanted, he’d become her ideal leading man.

He’d done what he was good at—act.

Yes. That was what had happened.

Here was no tortured soul—but simply an arrogant movie star.

So, silently, Ruby dressed, and, again in bare feet, made her escape.

She appreciated the lady at the concierge desk who raised not an eyebrow at her attire, and called her a taxi. Minutes later she was at her hotel, lying flat on her unslept-on bed.

She expected to be full of regret. She certainly should be.

She expected to be berating herself. Furious with herself.

And, she was—that was exactly what her brain was repeating in her head: that she’d made a mistake, that she’d been an idiot, what had she been thinking?

But instead all she could
feel
were memories of that moment she’d stared up into his eyes after he’d nearly fallen. Or out in the street outside the restaurant. Or the way he’d looked at her just before he’d kissed her in the bar.

Pain, passion. And lust, yes...but it had still been...special. In her heart—no matter what her brain was saying—she believed that she was different, that last night was special.

‘And how stupid is that?’ she said, aloud, and headed for a long, hot, shower.