Tristan on a Harley (Louisiana Knights Book 3)

by Jennifer Blake

  She wanted whatever she might be allowed from this mock engagement, all the sweet joy and passion that she’d found in his arms and might again, however fleetingly. At the same time, she felt a profound connection of mind and soul to him, as if he’d somehow become half her whole.

  It was that last which made her toss and turn. She couldn’t see how this was going to turn out, feared the physical accord between them could never lead to anything more. If it ended when the movie was done, she wasn’t sure she could stay in Chamelot. As painful as it might be, she would have to go.

  She’d done that after her mother died, simply walked away and left everything behind—the apartment in the old house they’d shared, their ratty furniture, most of her clothes, the degrees and job prospects she’d earned as a prodigy. Over a period of four or five years she’d slowly worked her way upriver, but diverted to investigate Chamelot for no reason other than she liked the name. Staying had never been in the plan. After her car died on her, she’d intended to work long enough to get it fixed then move on. Somehow, it hadn’t happened that way.

  She’d started over once before with nothing except hope and a willingness to work. She could do it again if she had to, surely she could.

  Oh, but she wouldn’t be completely alone. No way could she leave Midnight behind, now that he was a part of her life. She certainly couldn’t take him back to where she’d found him; it would be too much like abandoning him, as her mother, however unwillingly, had abandoned her.

  No, the two of them could hit the road and just keep going.

  The only problem was that she hadn’t known before what was missing from her life: this sleepy little river town and its warm and friendly people, the coffee shop and its regulars, the man who owned it and the tenuous yet heart-satisfying connection between them. Now she did.

  The sharp click of stilettos on the building’s concrete floor snapped her out of her reverie. She looked around to see Bettina, Derek’s tall blonde assistant, bearing down on her. She was almost glad to see her, since it was possible she was coming to tell her the rehearsal was called off.

  “First you were late, and now you’re early,” the woman said with glacial annoyance. “It would be helpful if you could at least be consistent.”

  All right, so she wasn’t glad to see her. “I don’t believe the crew would consider it too helpful if I was consistently late with their breakfast.”

  “I see. If you had told me you would be bringing it when I called, I might have arranged something so you didn’t sit here in the way.”

  She was hardly in the way, since half the tables around her were empty. Zeni arched a brow and waited to see what the assistant wanted. It wasn’t long in coming.

  “Before you see Derek, I need to lay out a few ground rules.” Bettina pulled out a chair and perched on the edge of it as if she had no time to waste.

  Zeni was willing to allow that the woman was probably doing her job; still, her attitude was beyond irritating. “Rules for what?”

  “Your relationship with Derek. It will be to your advantage if you cooperate fully in whatever he asks of you.”

  “No doubt, since he’s the director.”

  Bettina narrowed her eyes. “That isn’t what I meant. Most women who work—closely—with him are thrilled with the experience, and find him to be very generous when their time together is over. It can be a positive career move, as well as a pleasurable one.”

  “Are you saying—” Zeni was afraid she knew, but needed to be certain.

  “Don’t be stupid. Derek is a sensual man and an excellent actor who prefers a high degree of realism in his scenes. It gives him an edge, one that translates well to the screen.”

  “In other words, he gets a charge out of making it with the women who are cast opposite him, even the bit players.” Zeni had grown used to plain speaking in her exchanges with Trey. It came in handy now.

  “If you want to put it that way.”

  “And you would be familiar with this method of his firsthand, having worked with him in television?”

  Bettina’s smile was a mere lifting of her upper lip. “I’ve probably benefited more than anyone else, though you must realize the intimate association between Derek and myself did not end when Rifle Fire was finally canceled.”

  “The two of you are still a couple then.” That was certainly what the rumor mill had said, though Zeni had wondered after her costume meeting with Derek.

  “Naturally.”

  “And yet—”

  The look Bettina gave her was pitying. “We have an open arrangement, with sex as one of many benefits. We are partners, and the film we are making is of paramount importance to both of us. As Derek’s personal assistant, it’s my job to see that he has whatever he needs to do his best work.”

  Zeni’s laugh held an element of disbelief. “Some job.”

  “You can say whatever you like,” Bettina told her with chilly hauteur, “as long as you give him whatever he likes.”

  “I don’t believe I can do—”

  Bettina held up a hand to interrupt as she glanced toward the building’s open doorway. “Here comes Derek now. Remember what I’ve told you.” As she got to her feet she added, “Your boyfriend called to say we should find someone else to play his part. Under the circumstances, that was probably a wise decision.”

  “My fiancé,” Zeni corrected, and was glad beyond words that she had that claim on Trey, at least for now.

  “Are you talking about Benedict?” Derek asked as he joined them. “Such a shame that he’s bowing out, but I’m sure we can work around it.”

  “I’ll leave you to get on with it,” Bettina said.

  Derek gave her an absent nod. If he noticed the intimate little smile she sent him before walking away, it wasn’t apparent. Nor was there any sign that he knew how Bettina had been attempting to smooth the way toward his next conquest. That last was the only reason Zeni was able to remain at the table with him when he took the chair his special assistant had been using.

  “Finding another man to take Trey’s place shouldn’t be a problem,” Zeni suggested, thinking another warm body present during the rehearsal sounded like an excellent idea. “I mean, all he has to do is stand there.”

  Derek’s smile was brief. “But the part isn’t at all necessary.”

  It seemed Trey could be right, that adding him to the scene had been a petty attempt at payback, if not a rather snide joke. She hadn’t blamed Trey for opting out of it before; now she was actively glad.

  She wished she’d never agreed to play Zenobia; she wouldn’t have if she’d seen the script ahead of time. And she would refuse the part this minute if she didn’t have such a strong sense of responsibility.

  Letting people down was something she avoided at all costs. That was a reaction from childhood, she knew. Her mother had been artistic, charming, charismatic, and beloved by all, but it was a mistake to depend on her. A promise to her had been only a possibility; nothing was certain until it happened. Disappointments without number—birthday parties that never happened, permission slips never signed, shopping trips that never took, school programs and graduations never attended—had made Zeni her complete opposite.

  “It might not be necessary,” she said with a tight smile, “but another character of some kind might add interest.”

  “You have a specific role in mind, maybe a handmaiden?” Derek asked, sitting back in his chair.

  That had not been Zeni’s first thought, but it would do. “Sounds reasonable for the time and place.”

  “On second thought, forget it. Putting out another call for such a minor part would be ridiculous.”

  “I could probably recruit someone.” Gloria was a possibility, though Zeni knew she would have to talk her helper at the Watering Hole into the role. Regardless, a handmaiden, even in exotic dress, might be too much like a maid for her to stomach.

  “I’ll think about it. Meanwhile—”

  He paused as the cleaner
who had just finished clearing the nearest table came toward them. A rather plain girl with nondescript features and dishwater blonde hair, she halted beside Derek with a half-filled trash bag in one hand and a wet cloth in the other. The frown he turned on her warned against interruption, but she seemed oblivious.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Peabody, but I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said, her voice breathless and eyes pleading. “I could be a handmaiden if you need one. I was in our school play last year, and I—”

  “No,” he said in icy rejection, his features set and mouth turned down at the corners. “You aren’t the right type.”

  “Oh, but if you’d only give me a chance!”

  “I said no. Get on with your job.”

  “I—yes. Yes, sir.” The girl’s face turned red in blotches and tears spilled over her eyelids. She backed away half a dozen steps. Turning, she ran toward the makeshift kitchen area.

  Zeni watched the girl’s flight in helpless sympathy before turning to Derek. “Was it necessary to be so rude?”

  “It was, yes. Otherwise she’d have stood there for ages, yammering on and on about her part in this ridiculous school play as if that gave her some kind of experience. She was a dog. Even if I wanted a handmaiden, I’d never choose her.”

  “I can’t see that she has to be especially attractive for such an unimportant part.”

  “You wouldn’t, since you aren’t in the business.” His lips curled at one corner. “She needs to be decorative for this dream sequence in particular and the movie in general. More than that, I like the people around me to be attractive, even if they can’t all be as beautiful as you.”

  “If that is supposed to make me feel grateful for being chosen, I can’t say it does.”

  His face took on a pained look. “You aren’t one of those women’s libbers, are you?”

  “I don’t have to be an advocate for women’s liberation to feel for another female. That girl just wanted a hearing.”

  “Sorry, but all women aren’t born equal, my darling Zeni. Some start out ahead of the game, genetically more attractive to the males of the species.”

  She was no doubt supposed to be flattered. Instead, she was disgusted by the blatant egocentricity. It seemed all females in Derek’s movies were chosen for their suitability as his bed partners, with talent being optional. And what did that say about his selection of her?

  It had been no slip of the tongue, it seemed, when he called her his Zenobia.

  “Enough of this,” he said in brisk dismissal, as if destroying someone’s hopes was less than nothing. “You read the script, correct? What did you think of the dream sequence? Ready to give it a run-through?”

  “Now?” She glanced around at the people occupying the surrounding tables.

  “Not here, of course. Some place where we will have the necessary privacy. Perhaps my motor home?”

  Derek’s smile was too expectant, too certain she must feel the same anticipation that he did.

  He was deluded. “Certainly not.”

  “Not that I’d object,” he said, his expression verging on the lascivious. “Tables can have their uses during—intimate—rehearsals, as can desks and sofas.”

  She could feel a flush creeping up her chest and neck to her cheekbones, one brought on by anger and remembrance. The vivid images in her head that involved a table had nothing to do with the director and everything to do with a certain biker with strong thigh muscles.

  “I do object,” she answered in clipped tones. “That scene isn’t—well, I’m not comfortable with it.”

  “But it’s an act.”

  “Even so.”

  “The set will be closed if that’s the way you want it. But the pretense is nothing that hasn’t been done a thousand times over in the past few decades. It’s supposed to be hot. As I told you before—”

  “I remember. It’s a football player’s wet dream, and all that. Regardless, I’d still like to see it toned down.”

  His tolerant air turned into petulance. “Playing prude again, I see.”

  The way she had played that scene with Trey came unbidden to her mind. She’d been far from a prude then. Not that she had any intention of duplicating the action with Derek.

  “I’m not at all prudish in private. In public is something else again. Is there nothing that can be done with the scene?”

  His bottom lip protruded another quarter of an inch and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think so. It was written to create a particular effect. Changing it could change the whole dynamic of the movie.”

  “Oh, come on. It can’t be that important.”

  He looked stunned, as if it’d been so long since someone called him on one of his pronouncements that he couldn’t believe it was happening. “I assure you it is. I like you as Zenobia, but you aren’t irreplaceable, darling Zeni. Either you play the part the way it’s written, including every action, or you don’t play it at all.”

  He thought he had her. The triumph he expected from his ultimatum colored his voice.

  He was wrong.

  “Not a problem.” She rose to her feet. “I’m sure you can find another Zenobia.” She turned away, picking up her shoulder bag that hung from the back of her chair.

  Derek lunged from his seat, catching her wrist in a hard grip as his face turned an ugly red. “Hold on. We aren’t finished here.”

  “I believe we are.” She rotated her wrist, twisting her arm free.

  “Sit down, Zeni darling. That is, unless you would like me to have a talk with Benedict about the man who was your father.”

  She couldn’t move for long seconds, could scarcely breathe. The threat was so far from anything she’d thought he might say that she couldn’t think.

  “Sit back down. Now.”

  Returning to her chair was one of the hardest things Zeni had ever done. Yet to refuse was impossible. Hard, biting words echoed in her mind, words that would tear Derek’s ego and character to shreds, but she swallowed them down.

  “What do you know of my father?” She demanded in a hoarse whisper.

  “Did it never occur to you that I might have you investigated? I had big plans for you, but nasty little surprises that might ruin my investment of time and money were no part of them.”

  She looked at him with loathing. “I don’t know what you think you’ve discovered, but my own mother couldn’t name my father.”

  He gave a snide laugh. “Couldn’t? Or wouldn’t?”

  Zeni felt cold and sick inside. She’d known the truth—or as much of it as she had guessed, might have to come out—but thought she could put it off. She should’ve known better. “So you’re saying I’m no longer a suitable investment? Too bad.”

  “I’m not saying that at all. The only thing that’s changed is the spin that may be required for your life story.” He shrugged with elaborate unconcern. “Plus how grateful you will need to be, and when I’ll expect you to express it.”

  “What makes you think Trey doesn’t know everything already?”

  He gave a slow shake of his head. “If you’d told him, you wouldn’t be sitting here now. No, my dearest Zeni. You haven’t said a word. You can’t, because you’re afraid of what his reaction will be.”

  The creep was right, though it was also true there had been no pressing reason to explain before Derek and his movie company appeared in Chamelot. Everything had been fine until then.

  She ached with the mass of pain and anger, despair and hatred inside her. She’d been content, or nearly so, with the snippy yet companionable interplay between her and Trey. In an odd way, she’d been his helpmate. They’d worked together to build something, a future of sorts rather than a fortune. The connection between them had been nebulous, but always there, hovering in the background. It seemed she’d found her place in life, a place where she belonged.

  Gone, soon to be all gone.

  “Now that we have that settled, shall we go rehearse this scene?” Derek surveyed her with ca
lm satisfaction, as if he hadn’t just destroyed her world. “It won’t be difficult for you—I’ll make sure of that. I find I get a better performance from the women I work with if they are happily involved with me.”

  Bettina had been right. Derek seemed to think he was a modern Svengali with every right to expect her submission to his will. It wasn’t happening. She couldn’t bear the thought, not after being close to Trey, making love in a meeting of hearts and minds—or at least her heart, her mind—instead of getting off in a meaningless joining of bodies.

  “Not today,” she said, meshing her fingers together before resting them on the table in front of her. “I would really like to hear more about these plans you have for me.”

  Let him think he’d won. If he figured she was resigned to being seduced by him and his promise of fame, what did it matter? It would give her time to decide what she was going to do about his threat.

  One thing was for certain; she was not going to surrender without a fight, and she wasn’t going to be his Zenobia.

  There had to be a way out of this mess. All she had to do was find it.

  Chapter 13

  Trey was a man on a mission. Striding into the exhibit building where the cantina for the movie people was located, he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimness after the bright light outside. Zeni was supposed to be here somewhere, at least according to Gloria. He needed to find her. And if that interfered with Peabody’s rehearsal plans for the morning, too bad.

  He had just come from a confrontation with Granny Chauvin in the middle of Main Street. That elderly lady might stand no taller than the logo on his T-shirt, but she was formidable with her sharp eyes in their owl-like circles of wrinkles, her white hair flying around her head like feathers in the wind and her definite ideas about right and wrong.

  She wasn’t someone he wanted to tangle with when she was annoyed.

  “Tristan Thomas Benedict, what are you about with Zeni?” That demand was made the instant she spotted him. “I stopped in at the coffee shop yesterday, and there was that sweet girl with her ring finger as bare as a newborn baby’s bottom. Explain yourself.”