Why Resist a Rebel?

by Leah Ashton

  She hadn’t touched her ice cream, and it had begun to run in rivulets down the waffle cone as it melted, trickling stickily onto her hand.

  The breeze whipped off the ocean, and she shivered despite the warm autumn sun.

  Tom was talking about what he did back in Canada.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, cutting him off mid-sentence. ‘I shouldn’t have accepted your invitation. I’m...’ What? Getting over a break up? That didn’t sound right in her head. Too...trivial. So she just finished lamely: ‘...not interested.’

  Ouch. Quite rightly, Tom was less than impressed. He plucked her cone from her fingers, and dumped it, along with his, in a bin, before walking away.

  Ruby felt a little bad, but mostly relieved. Not her proudest moment, but she just couldn’t pretend any more.

  This little side trip to Split for a week before pre-production began in London was not exactly what she needed. It was not the perfect distraction.

  It was not helping her relax and gain some perspective and just, well...get over it.

  Get over Dev.

  She’d been standing looking at nothing out at the ocean, so now she turned away, heading for the small apartment she was staying in, on the second floor of a local family’s stone cottage, right at the end of the Riva.

  Maybe she should move her flight forward. Choosing to be alone was obviously her mistake. Surely her friend Carly wouldn’t mind if she moved in a few days early? And she was fabulous at entertaining her guests. A few nights out with her and then Dev and The Land would all be a distant memory...

  Right. Kind of like how she’d told herself that working for Dev for another week wouldn’t be so bad, even though she’d then spent every hour of her work day preventing herself from throwing herself at him and babbling something ridiculous about having made a terrible mistake...

  It had been most frustrating. She had done the right thing.

  For her.

  She didn’t need Dev. She’d been absolutely happy before she’d met him. She didn’t need Dev to make her life complete, to give her anything in life she wasn’t perfectly capable of achieving herself. Her life was full and lovely and gorgeous—and she didn’t need a partner, and certainly not a husband, to finish it off.

  And she’d hate herself if she ever let herself believe differently.

  It wasn’t peak tourist season in Croatia, and so around her people dotted the Riva, rather than cramming it full. Some were obviously tourists—couples holding hands, families with small crowds of children. Others not so much. An older couple walking in companionable silence, a group of women chatting enthusiastically away.

  I wish Dev were here.

  The thought came out of the blue, and Ruby walked faster, as if to escape her traitorous subconscious.

  The thing was, now wasn’t the first time she’d wished such a thing.

  Like on the plane to Heathrow, where one of the movies was so awful she’d turned in her seat to list all its flaws before realising that it was a stranger snoring softly beside her, and not Dev.

  Or waking up in her gorgeous little Split apartment, the sun flooding through gossamer curtains onto her bed, and she’d turned and reached out for familiar, strong, warm, male skin.

  But all she’d touched was emptiness.

  She really needed to get over this.

  She’d never spent every night with a guy like that—never in her whole life. That had been her mistake. She’d got too used to him, and now he was like a habit. A bad habit.

  That theory didn’t even begin to convince her.

  Ruby undid the latch of the wrought-iron gate that opened to the series of stone steps leading to her apartment.

  As she unearthed her keys from her handbag she remembered her sticky ice-creamy fingers, tacky against the smooth metal.

  What a waste of a perfectly delicious ice cream.

  The random thought made her smile, but she noticed that something was blurring her vision.

  Not tears, at least, not proper ones. These stayed contained within her lashes. Mostly.

  In the bathroom she washed away the remnants of vanilla and caramel, and made the mistake of meeting her own gaze.

  She looked pale, and blotchy—but mostly just miserable.

  Like a woman who’d just walked away from the love of her life.

  And who had absolutely no idea what to do next.

  The sleek, low-slung car slid to a stop at the end of the long red carpet.

  It was still daylight—late afternoon actually. Dev bit back a sigh—these awards nights started early and went notoriously late. He could think of another billion or so places he’d rather be right now.

  Outside, temporary metal fencing kept rows of fans a good distance away, but he could already hear them calling his name. Other cars arrived around him, and women in dresses every colour of the rainbow emerged into the sunlight in front of the glamorous, sprawling Darling Harbour hotel. Their partners in monotonous black provided little more than a neutral backdrop.

  Dev watched as each couple walked only a few metres before television cameras and shiny presenters swooped. Dev knew the drill; he’d been here—or at events just like this one—a thousand times. He knew this stuff, knew the name of the designer of his suit, exactly the right thing to say and how to smile enthusiastically for every single fan’s photo.

  He could do this.

  Graeme twisted in his driver’s seat to look over his shoulder at Dev. Graeme, Dev had decided, was his new Sydney driver. He was a good guy—and he still hadn’t breathed a word of his and Ruby’s relationship. In this industry, such loyalty was very nearly unprecedented.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  Dev shook his head, but Graeme was already climbing out of his seat. ‘I’ll just be a minute,’ he said. Not that another minute would make him look forward to the next handful of hours any more.

  Besides, he was perfectly capable of opening his own door.

  But—it was too late, and he straightened his shoulders, and brushed imaginary lint off his extremely sharp designer suit.

  He could do this, he repeated, looking towards the red carpet, and the many ascending steps it richly covered.

  Then the other door opened—the door across from him, facing the street—and he twisted around, surprised.

  ‘Graeme, you may need a bit more practise opening—’ he began, but the words stuck in his throat as a woman slid onto the leather seat beside him, and Graeme shut the door firmly behind her.

  Ruby.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, very softly.

  She wore a long dress in red—a deeper red than the carpet—a red that matched her name. It flowed over her body, slinky in all the right places, and with a V neckline that was...remarkable.

  Her blonde hair was perfectly sleek, her make-up immaculate, her lips—of course—ruby red. It was Hollywood glamour—red-carpet glamour.

  ‘Hi,’ he managed, although it took quite a bit of concentration.

  Her lips curved into a smile, but it was only fleeting. She caught his gaze with hers, and didn’t look away.

  Her gaze might have been rock steady, but uncertainty was obvious in her chocolate eyes, in her shallow breathing, and her fingers that twisted themselves in the delicate fabric of her dress.

  ‘I thought that if I was with you, that if I needed you...’ she took a deep breath ‘...that I would lose myself.’

  He nodded, knowing now was not the time to speak.

  ‘I used to confuse sex with intimacy, and I’ve worked really hard not to make that mistake again. And I haven’t. But now I’ve made a different one—I’ve confused intimacy with just sex. A fling. It’s taken me a few weeks to figure that one out.’

  He could see the depth of emotion in her eyes, and he desperately wanted to move closer—to reach out—to touch her. But he didn’t move. He needed to let her finish.

  ‘I tried to ignore it, even when it was happening. I tried to pretend that I didn’t care, that I didn’t w
orry about you more than I can remember worrying about anyone—ever. I kept a distance between us, I closed my eyes and pretended you weren’t hurting, because then I wouldn’t need to admit that I hurt, too. For you.’

  And for herself, too.

  ‘I’m not familiar with love, you know?’ Now she looked away, but only for a moment. ‘I don’t know how to recognise it—how to filter it out from my ancient habits—to distinguish it from misguided infatuation or fantastical daydreams. But when I wasn’t with you, when I walked away from you—that didn’t make it easier. What I felt didn’t go away, not even a little bit. What I was feeling for you ruined everything.’

  But she was smiling, and he realised he was smiling, too.

  ‘I don’t want this, you know?’ She nodded out of the door, towards the hordes of people and the observant cameramen who were trying to peer through the black tinted windows. ‘But I didn’t want this even without the movie-star thing. Even if you worked in Props, or wrote scripts, or didn’t even work in film at all.’

  ‘Me either,’ he said. ‘I thought I was good at going it alone. That I had it all sorted, the best way to live my life.’

  ‘Me too!’ she agreed, and laughed briefly. ‘And it’s risky changing direction.’

  ‘What if I decide this way is better? Then what happens if it doesn’t work out?’

  Ruby nodded, her eyes widening in surprise. ‘Exactly. It’s scary.’

  Dev shrugged. ‘I decided it was worth the risk.’

  And it was. Even when she’d said no, it had still been worth it. Even though it had sucked. Really, really sucked.

  His life wasn’t going to be about regrets any longer. Except—even then, when he’d laid his heart on the line—he hadn’t been entirely an open book. He’d still withheld one thing.

  ‘I love you, Ruby Bell.’

  Quick as a flash, she replied, ‘I love you too, Devlin Cooper.’

  Then for long moments they smiled huge, idiotic grins at each other.

  Over her shoulder a camera flash momentarily stole his attention, bringing him abruptly back to reality—to his reality.

  ‘What about the paparazzi, Ruby? The gossip and the rumours? With me, it’s as good as guaranteed.’

  She shocked him when she shrugged. ‘I used to think that I had to prove something to the gossips—prove them right or prove them wrong. But you know what? I don’t care any more. You arrived on set amidst a storm of rumours, and you didn’t change one thing—you didn’t react, you didn’t engage, you didn’t deny. You were just you.’ She paused, then reached out to grip his hand. ‘People can say whatever they like about me, or you, or us—but I know the truth. We do. And I’ve decided that’s all that matters. I’m in control of my life, no one else.’

  She was amazing. If he hadn’t fallen long ago, just that would’ve pushed him over the edge.

  ‘Do you want to walk the red carpet with me, Ruby?’

  She nodded, and amongst a sea of camera flashes he opened his door, and stepped out, only to turn and offer her his hand.

  She slid across the seats, and swung her gold stiletto heels onto the red carpet. He bent closer to whisper in her ear.

  ‘This is serious, you know that? For ever stuff. Happy every after, like in the movies.’

  ‘No,’ she said, so firmly he went still. He caught her gaze as she looked up at him from the car’s leather interior. ‘Not like in the movies,’ she said, ‘and not like in fairy tales.’

  Finally she reached out to take his hand, letting him pull her to her feet.

  They stood together, side by side, the red carpet before them, fans screaming, cameras as good as shoved in their faces. But all he was aware of was Ruby, of her hand in his, and the look in her eyes as she looked up at him. With love, and with everything she had to give.

  He knew he was looking at her in exactly the same way.

  ‘This is real life,’ she said.

  * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Taming of a Wild Child by Kimberly Lang.

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  ONE

  The only thing worse than waking up naked in a strange bed was realizing there was someone else sleeping in the bed, too.

  Someone male.

  The bright light on the other side of her eyelids sent pain streaking through Lorelei LaBlanc’s head as she tried to piece together exactly what the hell was going on...and who she’d just spent the night with.

  She forced herself to lie still; jumping right up might wake her companion, and she didn’t want to get straight into a confrontation before she had a handle on things.

  Think, Lorelei, think.

  She had a hangover that would slay a mule, and it hurt to think. How much champagne had she consumed in the end?

  Connor and Vivi’s wedding had gone off without a hitch; all of the four hundred guests had had a fabulous time. The church had never looked better, and the hotel had outdone itself with both the decor and the food. She’d been at the head table for dinner, but once the dancing had begun and the champagne had really started flowing... Well, that was where things began to get a little fuzzy. She remembered having a small, good-natured disagreement with Donovan St. James over...

  Her eyes flew open.

  Oh. My. God.

  Bits and pieces of the night before came rushing at her with distressing speed and clarity.

  Carefully, so as not to aggravate her hangover, she rolled slowly to her other side. Sure enough, Donovan lay there on his back, bare-chested, with only a sheet covering his hips and one leg. His hands were stacked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.

  She swore under her breath.

  “Right there with you, Princess.”

  The amused sigh in Donovan’s voice put her nerves on edge. “What the hell happened last night?”

  He had the gall to look pointedly at the tangled sheets—which she was currently trying to pull over herself in a belated attempt at modesty—and raise an eyebrow. She really wasn’t ready to go to the whole we had sex bit just yet. She cleared her throat. “I mean, how? Why?”

  “How? Buckets of champagne. And there were tequila shots involved. As for why...” He shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me.”

  Tequila explained a lot. Jose Cuervo was not her friend. I’ve done some stupid stuff in my life, but this? With Donovan St. James? And now? A chill ran down her spine. If she’d publicly done something... Oh, her family was really going to kill her this time. Her sister would be first in line.

  “Please just tell me we didn’t make a scene at the reception,” she whispered.

  “I don’t think so. It’s a little blurry, but I think the reception was pretty much over before...”

  That alleviated a bit of her immediate worry; being stupid wasn’t quite so bad as long as there wasn’t an audience for the stupidity. Now, though, she had to face the fact she’d had sex with Donovan St. James.

  No red-blooded woman would question her taste. Donovan had poster-boy good looks: deep green eyes, inky black hair with a slight wave that he wore long enough to look a little dangerous, and skin the color of the café au lait she desperately needed to combat this monster hangover. The high cheekbones and square jaw now shadowed with dark stubble spoke to a heritage as mixed as New Orleans its
elf—if one could pick the best bits and discard the rest.

  Donovan definitely rated high on the hummina scale. Good looks, though, were pretty much all he had going for him, in her opinion. Why had he even been invited to the wedding? It must have been a professional or courtesy invite. At least a hundred of the guests had fallen into that category. But the St. James family was the worst kind of nouveau riche—using money to buy influence and respectability—and if Donovan had any class at all, he’d have RSVP’d no to what had obviously only been a polite gesture.

  But money couldn’t buy class, that was for sure.

  And she’d slept with him. She must have reached an astonishingly new level of intoxication to completely lose all her self-respect. I am never drinking again.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Lorelei. I’m not real keen on this new development, either.”

  Donovan sat up—slowly, she noted, implying his hangover was equally as miserable as hers—and reached for his clothes. Lorelei averted her eyes, but not before she got a good long look at broad shoulders, a trim waist and a very nice, very firm butt. Donovan ticked up another notch on that hummina scale before she noticed the red claw marks marring his back.

  She’d enjoyed herself, it seemed. Pity she didn’t have a better recollection of what had led to those marks. Although she felt like hell, underneath the hangover was a pleasant muscle soreness that spoke to a good time.

  The silence felt awkward and uncomfortable. Despite her reputation, Lorelei wasn’t an expert on morning-after protocols, but she’d brazen through this somehow. Clutching the sheet to her breasts, she let it trail behind her as she grabbed her dress off the floor and headed for the bathroom. She thought she might have heard a sigh as the door closed behind her.

  The sight in the mirror was not pretty. Lorelei splashed water on her face and tried to wipe away the worst of the mascara circles under her eyes. Then she finger-combed her hair until it didn’t look quite so wild and made use of the mini-bottle of mouthwash provided by the hotel. Feeling marginally human, she righted her dress and slipped into it.