Leah Ashton - Why Resist a Rebel?

‘No,’ Ruby said, but slowed anyway. ‘Paul,’ she said, as way of explanation.

‘Ah,’ Sarah replied, then skipped down from the trailer to fall into step with Ruby as she passed. ‘Just a quick one. I’ve got a call from a concerned parent. They’re worried about how we’re going to get Samuel to cry in tomorrow’s scene.’

By the time she’d reached the last of the row of trailers a minute later, Sarah was on her way with a solution, and Ruby had fielded another phone call on her mobile. Arizona Smith’s assistant wanted to know if there were Ashtanga Yoga classes in Lucyville, the small north-west New South Wales country town in which they were filming.

Given the remote town’s population was just under two thousand people, Ruby considered this unlikely—but still, with a silent sigh, promised to get back to their female lead’s assistant asap.

Ruby broke into a jog as she turned the corner, her gaze trained downward—she wasn’t about to hit the dirt again today—and her brain chock-full of potential ‘developments’ and their hypothetical impact on her already tight schedule.

Consequently, the first she knew of the very large man walking around the corner in the opposite direction was when she slammed straight into him.

‘Ooomph!’ The slightly strangled sound burst from her throat at the impact of her body hitting solid muscle. She barely registered her hands sliding up sun-warmed arms to grip T-shirt clad shoulders for balance, or the way her legs tangled with his.

What she did notice, however, were his hands, strong and firm at her waist, the fingers of one hand hot against bare skin where her T-shirt had ridden an inch or two upwards.

And the scent of his skin, even through the thin layer of cotton, where her face was pressed hard against his chest.

Fresh, clean. Delicious.

Oh, my.

‘Hey,’ he said, his voice deep and a little rough beside her ear. ‘You okay?’

Slowly, slowly, embarrassment began to trickle through her body.

No, not embarrassment—the realisation that she should be embarrassed, that she should be extricating herself from this...clinch...as soon as possible.

‘Mmm-hmm’, she said indistinctly, and didn’t move at all.

His fingers flexed slightly, and she registered that now she was moving. Then her back pressed against the cool metal of the shaded wall of a trailer, and she was sliding downwards. He’d been holding her—her feet dangling. Somehow she’d had no idea of this fact until her ballet flats were again responsible for holding her upright.

Had anyone ever held her so effortlessly?

She was medium height, far from tiny—and yet this man had been holding her in his arms as if she weighed as much as the average lollypop-thin Hollywood lead actress.

Nice.

Again his hands squeezed at her waist.

‘Hey,’ he repeated. ‘You’re worrying me here. Are you hurt?’

She blinked and finally lifted her head from his chest. She tried to look at him, to figure out who he was—but his face was mostly in shadow, the sunlight a white glare behind him.

But something about the angle of his jaw was familiar.

Who was he? He was fit, but he wasn’t one of the grips. Some of the guys in Props were pretty tall, but Ruby honestly couldn’t imagine enjoying being held in the arms of any of them. Which she was, undeniably, doing right now. Enjoying this.

She shook her head, trying to focus. ‘Just a bit dazed, I think,’ she managed. Belatedly, she acknowledged that was true. With every second, the fog was dissipating. But it was a gradual transition.

Right now, she found herself perfectly happy where she was. Standing right where she was.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

She could barely make out the slightest curve to his lips, but it was there. ‘I’ll survive.’

His grip on her softened a little as he seemed to realise she wasn’t in any imminent danger. But he didn’t let her go. Her hands still rested on his shoulders, but removing them wasn’t even a consideration.

A cloud shifted or something, and the shadows lightened. Now she could make out the square line of his jaw, covered liberally in stubble; the sculpted straightness of his nose, and the almost horizontal slashes of his eyebrows. But even this close—close enough that the action of breathing almost brought her chest up against his—she couldn’t quite make out the colour of his gaze.

A gaze that she knew was trained on her, exploring her face—her eyes, her lips...

Ruby closed her eyes tight shut, trying to assemble her thoughts. Trying to assemble herself, actually.

The fog had cleared. Reality was re-entering—her reality. Straightforward, straight-talking Ruby Bell. Who was not taken to romantic notions or embracing total strangers.

He wasn’t crew. He must be an extra, some random guy minding his own business before she’d literally thrown herself into his arms.

Inwardly, she cringed. Too late, mortification hit. Hard.

Rational, no-nonsense words were right on the tip of her tongue as she opened her eyes.

But instead of speaking, she sucked in a sharp breath.

He’d moved closer. So, so close.

The man didn’t look worried now. He looked almost...predatory. In a very, very good way.

She swallowed. Once, twice.

He smiled.

Beneath traitorous fingers that had crept along his shoulders to his nape, his overlong hair was coarse beneath her fingertips.

‘You,’ he said, his breath fanning against her cheek, ‘are quite the welcoming party.’

Ruby felt overwhelmed by him. His size, his devastating looks, his nearness. She barely made out what he’d said. ‘Pardon?’

He didn’t repeat himself, he just watched her, his gaze locked onto hers.

Whatever she’d been going to say—the words had evaporated.

All she seemed capable of was staring at him. Into those eyes, those amazing, piercing...familiar blue eyes.

Finally it clicked into place.

‘Has anyone ever told you, you look just like Devlin Cooper?’ she said. Babbled, maybe. God. She didn’t know what was going on.

One of his hands had released her waist, and he ran a finger down her cheek and along her jaw. She shivered.

‘A couple of times,’ he said, the words as dry as the grass they stood upon.

No, not quite like the famous Devlin Cooper. This man had dark circles beneath his eyes, and his darkest blond hair was far too long. He was too tall, surely, as well—she’d met enough leading men to know the average Hollywood star was far shorter than they looked on screen. And, she acknowledged, there was a sparseness to his width—he was muscled, but he didn’t have the bulk of the movie star. He looked like Devlin Cooper might look if turned into one of those method actors who lost bucket-loads of weight for a role. Not that Ruby could imagine that ever happening—Devlin Cooper was more generic-action-blockbuster-star than the Oscar-worthy-art-house type.

But as the man’s fingers tipped her chin upwards any thought of Devlin Cooper was obliterated. Once again it was just her, and this man, and this amazing, crazy tension that crackled between them. She’d never felt anything like it.

She was sure she’d never wanted anything more than to discover what was going to happen next.

He leant forward, closing the gap between their lips until it was almost non-existent...

Something—a voice nearby maybe—made Ruby jump, and the sound of her shoulders bouncing against the trailer was loud in the silence. A silence she was suddenly terribly aware of.

That rapidly forgotten wave of mortification crashed back over her, this time impossible to ignore. With it, other—less pleasant—sensations than his touch shoved their way to the fore. The fact she was covered in dirt and drying coffee. The fact her whole body suddenly appeared capable of a head to toe, hot, appalled blush.