A different type of tension stiffened her body. Yes, her stupid, apparently one-track body was all a-flutter with Mr Hot Movie Star so near. But now she could add affronted frustration into the mix.
She didn’t know what she wanted—an apology? Sympathy? A yeah, I can see how that might’ve sucked for you, even?
‘But you only gave it a nine,’ he said, placing his beer on one of the discarded coasters on the table.
‘A what?’ she asked, confused.
‘On your embarrassment scale,’ he said. ‘Only a nine...’ He looked contemplative for a moment, then leant closer, close enough that it was impossible for her to look anywhere but straight into his eyes. ‘So I was wondering—what would’ve made it a ten?’
Immediately, and most definitely without her volition, her gaze dropped from his piercing blue eyes to his lips.
Lips that immediately quirked into a grin the second she realised what she’d done. What she’d just revealed.
He leant even closer again. The touch of his breath on the sensitive skin beneath her ear made her shiver.
Logically she knew she should pull away, that she should laugh loudly, or say something—do something—to stop this way too intimate moment. A moment she knew was being watched—and if people were watching, then people would gossip.
And there were few things Ruby hated more than gossip: being the subject of or the proliferation of it.
For she had far too much experience in the former. Enough to last a lifetime.
‘You know,’ he said, his words somehow vibrating through her body—her stupidly frozen body, ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever been embarrassed when I’ve kissed them. In fact, I’m quite sure I’ve never received a complaint.’
Oh, she was so sure he hadn’t...
‘I was working,’ she said, each word stiff and awkward.
So he had been going to kiss her—and she realised it was no surprise. Some part of her had known, had known there was no other way to interpret those few minutes, even though her rational self had had so much difficulty believing it.
But knowing she hadn’t imagined it and wanting it to have happened were entirely different things.
‘I kiss people all the time at work,’ he replied, with a spark of humour in his eyes that was new, and unexpected.
Ruby found herself forcing back a grin, surprised at the shift in atmosphere. ‘It’s a bit different when you’re following a script.’
‘Ah,’ he said, his lips quirking up. ‘Not always.’
Now she laughed out loud, shaking her head. ‘I bet.’
Their laughter should’ve diluted the tension, but if anything the air between them thickened.
With great effort, Ruby turned away slightly, taking a long, long sip of her wine—not that she tasted a thing. Her brain whirred at a million miles an hour—or maybe it wasn’t whirring at all, considering all it seemed to be able to do was wonder how Dev’s lips would feel against hers...
No.
‘Well,’ she said, finally, her gaze swinging back to meet his. Firmly. ‘Script or otherwise, I don’t kiss anyone at work.’ She paused, then added in a tone that was perfectly matter-of-fact and perfectly polite, ‘It’s late. I need to go. It was nice to talk to you when I wasn’t covered in dirt. And I’m sorry about your T-shirt.’
Ruby stood up and placed her wine glass on the table with movements she hoped looked casual. She glanced at her friends, who all stared at her wide-eyed.
She’d need to set them all straight tomorrow. Dev Cooper was so not her type it was ridiculous.
She managed some goodbyes, hooked her handbag over her shoulder, and then headed for the door. The entire time she risked barely a glance at Dev, but thankfully he didn’t move.
Not that she expected him to follow her. She wasn’t an idiot. He could have any woman in this bar. Pretty much any woman in the world.
For some reason she’d piqued his interest, but she had no doubt it was fleeting—the novelty of the crazy dusty coffee lady or something.
Outside, the early October evening was cool, and so Ruby hugged herself, rubbing her goose-pimpling arms. She was staying at the town motel, not even a hundred-metre walk down the main street.
Only a few steps in that direction, she heard someone else leave the bar behind her, their boots loud on the wooden steps.
It was difficult, but as it turned out not impossible, to keep her eyes pointed forward. It could be anyone.
‘Ruby.’
Or it could be Dev.
She should’ve sighed—and been annoyed or disappointed. But instead her tummy lightened and she realised she was smiling.
Ugh.
She kept on walking.
In moments, following the thud of loping strides on bitumen, he was beside her, keeping pace with her no-nonsense walk. For long seconds, they walked in silence.
Really uncomfortable, charged silence.
‘So—’ he began.
‘This isn’t an act, you know,’ Ruby interrupted. ‘I’m not playing hard to get. I’m not interested.’
He gave a surprised bark of laughter. ‘Right.’
Ruby slowed to a stop, her whole body stiff with annoyance. She stood beneath a street lamp that illuminated the gate to the Lucyville Motel and its chipped and faded sign.
‘You sound so sure,’ she said. ‘That’s incredibly presumptuous.’
‘Am I wrong?’
Ruby sighed. ‘Does every woman you meet really collapse into a pathetic puddle of lust at your feet?’
‘You did,’ he pointed out.
Her cheeks went hot, but Ruby hoped her blush was hidden in the shadows.
‘I was light-headed. Confused. Definitely not myself.’ She paused for emphasis. ‘Trust me. You’re wasting your time. I’m not interested.’
A little, nagging voice at the back of her mind kept trying to distract her: Oh, my God, it’s Devlin Cooper! The movie star!
Maybe that was why she didn’t turn and walk away immediately.
‘You’re serious?’
His genuine confusion was rather endearing. Unbelievably conceited, but endearing.
‘Uh-huh,’ she said, nodding. ‘Is that so hard to believe?’
She knew he was about to say yes, when he seemed to realise what he was about to say. Instead, his grin, revealed by the streetlight, was bemused.
He shifted his weight to one leg, and crossed his arms. He still wore the same sexy ancient-looking jeans from before, but he’d traded his ruined T-shirt for its twin in navy blue. The action of crossing his arms only further defined the muscles of his forearms and biceps.
It also defined the unexpectedly sharp angles of his elbows and the lack of flesh beyond his lean musculature.
She knew she was not the only person to notice. The film set’s grapevine was, as always, efficient, creating all sorts of theories for his unexpected weight loss.
Did you hear? His girlfriend left him—you know? That model.
I heard it’s drugs. Ice. He’s been photographed at every club in Hollywood.
He’s sick. I know!