Why Resist a Rebel?. Leah Ashton

good old Graeme down to the local bottle shop tomorrow or something.

      But for now, he needed a drink.

      Leaving the script on the chair, he walked through the house, and then straight out of the front door. Graeme was staying in a separate, smaller worker’s cottage closer to the road, but Dev didn’t bother to stop and let him know where he was going.

      He’d been micro-managed quite enough. He could damn well walk into town and get a drink without having to ask anyone’s approval.

      So he did.

      Walking felt good. For once he wasn’t on the lookout for the paparazzi, as, for now, no one knew he was here. His unexpected arrival in Australia would have been noticed, of course, and it wouldn’t take long before the photographers descended. But they hadn’t, not just yet.

      He had no idea what time it was, just that it was dark. Really dark—there were certainly no streetlights, and the moon was little more than a sliver.

      His boots were loud on the bitumen, loud enough to disturb a group of sheep that scattered abruptly behind their barbed-wire fence. Further from the road nestled the occasional house, their windows glowing squares of bright amid the darkness.

      Soon he’d hit the main street, a short stretch of shops, a petrol station, a library. He hadn’t paid much attention when he’d arrived—a mix of jet lag and general lack of interest—but now he took the time to look, slowing his walk down to something approaching an amble.

      Most of the town was silent—blinds were drawn, shops were certainly closed this late. But the one obvious exception was the pub, which, like much of the town, was old and stately—perched two storeys high on a corner, complete with a wide wooden balcony overlooking the street. Tonight the balcony was empty, but noise and music spilled from the open double doors. He quickened his pace, suddenly over all this peace and quiet.

      It was packed. Completely—people were crammed at the bar, around the scattered tall tables and also the lower coffee tables with their surrounding couches and ottomans. It was the cast and crew, obviously, who’d taken the pub over. He’d seen for himself that Lucyville didn’t exactly have a happening restaurant strip. This was the only place to drink—and eat—so here they all were.

      The pub didn’t go quiet or anything at his arrival, but he noticed that he’d been noticed.

      It was a sensation that had once been a novelty, had later annoyed him to the verge of anger—and now that he just accepted. He could hardly complain...he was living his dream and all that.

      Right.

      He found a narrow gap at the bar, resting an arm on the polished surface. The local bartender caught his eye and did a double take, but played it cool. In his experience, most people did, with the occasional crazy person the exception rather than the rule. The paparazzi were far more an issue than Joe Public—no question.

      He ordered his drink, although he wasn’t quick to raise the glass to his lips once it was placed in front of him. Maybe it wasn’t the drink he’d needed, but the walk, the bite of the crisp night air in his lungs?

      Mentally he shook his head. Veronica would love that, be all smug and sure she was right to send him to Australia—while Dev wasn’t so certain.

      What was that saying? Same crap—different bucket.

      His lips tightened into a humourless smile.

      He turned, propping his weight against the bar. As he took a sip of his beer he surveyed the large room. It was a surprisingly eclectic place, with funky modern furniture managing to blend with the polished ancient floorboards and what—he was pretty sure—was the original bar. Not quite the backwater pub he’d been imagining.

      The lighting was soft and the atmosphere relaxed, with the dress code more jeans than cocktail.

      One particular pair of jeans caught his eye. Dark blue denim, moulded over elegantly crossed legs—right in the corner of the pub, the one farthest from him.

      Yet his attention had still been drawn to her, to Ruby.

      Only when he saw her did he realise he’d been looking for her—searching her out in the crowd.

      He watched her as she talked to her friends, wine glass in hand. To all appearances she was focused completely on the conversation taking place around her. She was quick to smile, and quick to interject and trigger a laugh from others. But despite all that, there was the slightest hint of tension to her body.

      She knew he was watching her.

      Beside her, another woman leant over and whispered in her ear, throwing glances in his direction as she did.

      Ruby shook her head emphatically—and Dev was no lip-reader, but he’d put money on the fact she’d just said: No, he’s not.

      Accordingly, he straightened, pushing himself away from the bar.

      He liked nothing more than to prove someone wrong.

      ‘He’s coming over!’

      Every single cell in Ruby’s body—already tingling at what she’d told herself was Dev’s imagined attention—careened up to high alert.

      ‘It’s no big deal. We met before.’ She shrugged deliberately. ‘Maybe he doesn’t know anyone else yet.’

      ‘When did you meet him?’ Selena asked, wide-eyed. ‘And how am I not aware of this?’

      Ruby’s words were carefully cool. ‘When I was walking back to the office. We barely said two words.’

      That, at least, was completely true.

      Her friend had lost interest, anyway, her eyes trained on Dev’s tall frame as he approached.

      ‘Mind if I join you?’

      Dev’s voice was as gorgeously deep and perfect as in every one of his movies. Not for the first time, Ruby questioned her intelligence—how on earth had she not recognised him?

      With a deep breath, she lifted her gaze to meet his. He stood on the other side of the table before them: Ruby, Selena and a couple of girls from the art department. They’d been having an after-dinner drink, all comfy on one big plush purple L-shaped couch—now the other three were alternating between carefully feigned disinterest and slack-jawed adoration. Unheard of for professionals in the film industry who dealt with stars every day.

      But, she supposed, this was Devlin Cooper.

      Everyone else appeared struck dumb and incapable of answering his question—but Dev was looking at her, anyway.

      To say yes, she did mind, was tempting—but more trouble than it was worth. So, reluctantly, she shook her head. ‘Not at all.’

      Dev stepped past the table and sat next to Ruby.

      With great effort, she resisted the temptation to scoot away. Unlike the three other women at the table, she was not going to treat Dev any differently from anyone else on the cast and crew.

      No adoring gaze. No swooning.

      So, although he was close—and the couch definitely no longer felt big—she didn’t move. Didn’t betray one iota of the unexpected heat that had flooded her body.

      ‘You shouldn’t be embarrassed,’ he said, low enough that only she could hear.

      ‘Why would you think I am?’

      Casually, she brought her glass to her lips.

      Did he notice the slightest trembling of her fingers?

      She risked a glance out of the corner of her eye.

      He watched her with a familiar expression. Confident. Knowing.

      Arrogant.

      She sighed. ‘Fine. I was embarrassed. Let me think: running into one of the world’s most famous men, while covered in dirt and looking like crap—and