Tristan on a Harley (Louisiana Knights Book 3) (11 page)

Zeni held him while their hearts slowed and breathing became even again. He supported his weight on one elbow while brushing the hair away from her face, but did not withdraw. She would have rug burns from the sisal in the morning, she knew, but he would have them on his knees; it seemed a rough equality.

She thought of instigating a move to her bed, but was afraid he might take it as a signal to go. She didn’t want that. Not yet.

She touched a finger to his ear, following its whorl before trailing it along his jaw to the center of his chin. Reversing that path, she explored the strong line of his neck and across to his shoulder where she carefully traced his tattoo, outlining the roses and their thorns.

He glanced at what she was doing from the corners of his eyes, and a smile grooved the planes of his face. “That reminds me, though I’m not sure just why—I have something of yours. “

“You do?”

Her voice sounded languorous with contentment, totally lacking in interest. That wasn’t far from wrong.

He reached for his jeans and delved into the pocket, bringing out something small that gleamed briefly between his fingers. With great care, then, he gave it a twist to open its locking mechanism and touched it to her nostril.

It was her small gold nose ring. He was threading it carefully into the hole made for it. She could feel it moving, delicately gliding into the place it belonged.

The operation was no doubt a first for him, yet he was as competent at it as he was most things. She didn’t move as he turned the ring as it should be and then fastened its closure, yet she felt the most incredible giving sensation at her very center.

Something about the intimacy of that small incursion into her body affected him as well; she felt him harden again inside her, expanding to fill her with amazing completeness. She tightened internal muscles around him in a deep caress. He drew in a startled breath.

And abruptly they were swept up again, striving toward the ultimate pleasure, the joining of hearts and minds as well as bodies, which was life’s gift, and its best recompense for the punishment of being born human and aware that it was not infinite.

Sometime later, Trey eased from her and rose, padding to the bathroom to be rid of the condom. Afterward, he picked her up, stripped away the constriction of her bra and carried her to bed. Flinging back the sheet and blanket, he sat down with her in his lap, then lay back and drew her close against him while lofting the covers back over them both.

Midnight leaped up to join them, winding his small, lithe shape into a circle before settling into the curve of Zeni’s body. He purred all three of them to sleep.

It was barely three a.m. when Trey roused, yawned, and slipped from the bed. Leaning down, he tucked the sheet and blanket back in around her.

“Where are you going?” she murmured, still half-asleep.

“Home, before all of Chamelot figures out I didn’t sleep there.”

“I don’t care what they think.”

His voice held warm amusement as he answered. “I guess I’ll have to care for both of us. But Zeni—”

Something in his voice brought her closer to being awake. She raised on one elbow and propped her head on the heel of her hand. “Yes?”

“I am not going to be in that scene with you.”

What was he telling her? That he didn’t intend to rehearse with her again? Or that he wouldn’t be returning, wouldn’t make love to her again? “You mean—”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. Or maybe I should say I won’t do it.”

“Why not?” The words were stark, edged with sudden pain.

“I can’t stand there while Peabody says the words I said last night, has make-believe sex with you in front of the cameras and crew and whoever else may crowd onto the set.”

She let out the breath she had not known she was holding. “You mean you won’t be Zenobia’s guard.”

Trey straightened and walked to the door where he turned back for an instant. “Peabody knew what was in the script. The idea of having the man who showed up to support you stand and watch it as a palace guard was his idea of a snide joke, a trick to make him—me—feel foolish. The man is an arrogant asshole. You can do what you like, but I’m not playing his game.”

He didn’t wait for her answer. Stepping from the bedroom, he closed the door behind him. The click as it shut was quiet but definite.

First time for everything, and all that, but Trey had never been seduced before. That it had happened with Zeni was unbelievable. He stopped dead-still every now and then over the next couple of days, staring at nothing, stunned into immobility by the memory. He caught himself smiling at nothing while rubbing away the heat that flared on the back of his neck. His flashbacks were hot; his showers cold.

It took about the same amount of time to realize Zeni was avoiding him. She couldn’t do that completely, of course; they saw each other as usual at the Watering Hole and spoke of this and that, mostly business. She didn’t linger, however, and barely met his eyes. There were no more suggestions that he help with her lines, no invitation to come up to her apartment.

Was she embarrassed, or was she mad because he would not be doing the dream sequence with her? He wished he knew.

The fact was, he was more than a little pissed off himself. He’d half expected her to say she wouldn’t be doing that sexy scene with Derek after all. She hadn’t done that, which meant he was forced to imagine her as an aggressive, love-starved Zenobia to the actor’s horny quarterback. That didn’t exactly improve his temper.

It might be that Zeni had been disappointed in the way he made love, but who could tell? Women were better at keeping these things hidden than men. Or she could have decided it would be best if they didn’t carry matters any further. If that was it, it appeared he was going to be the last to know.

He could ask her but it was doubtful he would get a straight answer. She was an expert at avoiding questions. He’d think he had her attention, but then she was busy somewhere else and he was left talking to thin air.

The long and short of it was, he was frustrated, and in more ways than one.

He was working on his bike at the arena in late afternoon of the second day, when the sheriff came by. Strolling toward him, Lance asked, “What’s up?”

“Getting ready for a run-through of the ring tournament scene, a sort of dress rehearsal.”

“You got it all figured out, right? Nobody’s going to get hurt?”

“More or less. Which one of us is going to win is not in the script, so that’s up for grabs.” Trey gave him a tight grin. “Literally.”

Lance snorted. “Yeah, I get it, grabbing the ring and all that. I just hope you guys know what you’re doing.”

Trey took no offense; it was his cousin’s job as sheriff to see that no one got hurt. The two of them shot the bull for a minute or so before he found an opening to ask the question that was on his mind.

“Tell me something. Does Mandy ever, well, make you an offer she won’t let you refuse? I mean, in the bedroom?”

Lance gave him a hard look. “None of your business, cuz.”

“I’m not intending to get into your personal life. It’s just that there’s this situation.”

“What situation would that be?”

Trey concentrated on tightening the nut under his wrench. “A woman initiating sex doesn’t bother me, and a woman on top works just fine any time, but what does it mean when one comes on strong with no warning?”

“Maybe that she likes you?” The sheriff looked as if he wanted to laugh, but was waiting for the punch line.

“I’m serious here.”

“Could be she thinks you weren’t moving fast enough.”

“I don’t think so. Not unless I’ve lost all knack for reading the signals.”

“It happens, especially when it’s important. But what’s the big deal? Everything turned out okay, right?”

Against his will, Trey’s brain handed him another fast and graphic replay of that night. “More than okay. Only—how do you know when it’s real and not an act? How can you tell when you are what’s turning her on, and not what’s going on in her head?”

“You don’t.”

“Not ever?” Trey was sorely disappointed. He’d expected better from a man who had been living with a wife for well over a year.

Lance gave him a quick look from under his brows. “One thing might be whether her eyes are open or closed, if she’s looking at you or not. But it’s not foolproof. She could be concentrating on how you’re making her feel.”

“That helps just bunches.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to be engaged, so I don’t know what you’re doing out with this needy female. That is unless she’s—”

“Never mind,” Trey interrupted. “I’m sorry I asked.” He suddenly saw where Lance was coming from with his not wanting to go into his personal life with Mandy. He didn’t much want to talk particulars about Zeni and what had happened between them, either.

“Just as well.” Lance nodded toward the other bike club members at the upper end of the arena. “Looks like this dress rehearsal is about to get underway.”

He was right. Jake, their cousin from over near Turn-Coupe, was fitting an antique-looking knight’s helmet over his head while astride his rumbling Harley—trust a Benedict to always be out front. With it settled into place, Jake took the long lance that was handed to him, revved up his bike and began a fast circuit around the arena.

Trey got to his feet, squinting against the bright sunlight as he watched the action. “Where did the armor come from? We’ve been waiting for it to be delivered.”

“Guess it showed up.” Lance watched the rider for a second as well, before he went on. “Peabody’s personal assistant, or whatever she is, was out front when I got here just now. She was checking a list while a couple of guys unloaded a van.”

“The movie folks seem to be on the ball with the tournament. We churned up the ground here in the arena floor pretty good after the rain the other night. Somebody from the company brought in equipment and smoothed it out again. It was nice and even when we got here this morning.”

“Getting it ready for the filming, maybe?”

Trey tipped his head in assent. “In a couple of days, if this rehearsal with armor goes as it should. The stuff may take some getting used to, though.” Privately, he thought the ruts made today might need leveling again before they brought in any cameras, which made the work done the night before a waste of effort. He wasn’t complaining, however, as it was on the movie company’s dime.

“Probably not metal, but plastic or some composite material, don’t you think?” Lance took his sunglasses from a pocket and slipped them on as he tracked their cousin’s progress. “But the lance he’s holding looks to be painted wood.”

Trey barely heard him over the roar as Jake whipped past again, trailing a cloud of dust. “Both dangerous in a crash then.”

Lance pivoted on one heel as he tracked Jake’s progress. “Looks like he’s going for it at the end of this round.”

“It does.”

Trey could barely hear his own answer as Jake flew past where he and Lance stood once more. Engine roaring like a jet plane on takeoff, their cousin made a wide turn and then sped straight down the track laid out as an approach to the series of rings dangling from the archway which had been moved to the arena’s center point to prevent hitting the end wall. The idea was to catch one of the rings on the lance. If the thing came loose as it should, then Jake could carry it away with him. If not, he was supposed to drop the lance before he could be dragged off his bike.

The sun gleamed on the rider’s make-believe armor, slid along the blue and white painted wood of the lance Jake clamped under his right arm, and flashed over the chrome of his bike. Wind from his passage fluttered the plume that sprang from the top of his helmet. The dust that rolled upward in his wake was like a cloud of powdered gold. His spinning tires left a plowed furrow in the soft ground. The noise was incredible, drowning out the cry of a hawk from overhead and the buzz of a wasp not two feet from Trey’s face.

Everyone in the arena stopped what they were doing to watch. No one spoke; the very air shuddered with the grumbling power of the bike hurtling down the track that led to the rings.

A weird sense of something not quite right swept over Trey. It felt like the time he nearly stepped out of his boat onto a cottonmouth moccasin, or the one when he stopped at an intersection when the light was green, and narrowly missed being hit by an eighteen-wheeler running the red.

He took a step forward. Then he plunged into a run with a shout rising in his throat, though why he was yelling and what he meant to say he had no idea.

Jake never heard him. His front tire hit something under the dirt and reared up like a wild stallion. Jake dropped the lance and snatched for the right handgrip, but was too late. The front wheel wrenched around, spilling Jake off. Then the heavy motorcycle crashed down inches from his legs.

Trey sprinted toward the wreck. Lance was right beside him, and the rest of the bike club not far behind. They arrived in a jostling group, yelling, shouting, spouting questions and advice, none of it very helpful.

Dropping to one knee beside Jake, Trey cursed the knight’s helmet that might be photographic as all hell but offered no protection compared to a biker’s helmet. As gently as possible, he slid the tin can from his cousin’s head, taking care not to shift the position of his neck.

Jake’s eyes were closed, his face pale, his hair matted with sweat. He seemed to be barely breathing.

“Jake, buddy. Talk to me. Tell me where it hurts.”

There was no answer.

Lance, who had dropped to his knees across from Trey, sprang up and took out his cell phone. As he turned away, he punched in the emergency code.

Trey felt for a pulse at the carotid artery in Jake’s neck. It was there, but seemed weak. Quickly, he ran his hands over his cousin’s lax arms and legs as he’d seen Beau do so many times as an EMT. They seemed okay. Gingerly, he began to probe Jake’s scalp, reaching down under his neck on both sides to test the back of his head.

His questing fingers ran into the warm wetness of blood, enough that he felt his heart shrink. But that was not all. Beneath it was something hard. A careful brushing of the sand around it exposed a length of wood. It appeared to be a 2 x 6 board set on edge and with the dirt then pounded hard to set it. A third or so of its width had been left unburied, but camouflaged with loosely packed earth.

Jake’s bike had hit it and rebounded, throwing its rider backward onto the hard edge as he fell.

It was a booby trap, and it was Jake’s misfortune that he’d been the one to spring it.

Trey lifted his head, his gaze bleak as he met Lance’s eyes where he had come to stand over him. They shared the same conclusion, unspoken but obvious.

Jake should not have been the first rider to try the stunt. As president and leader of the club, that duty was Trey’s.

The booby trap was meant for him. It should have been him lying silent and defenseless in the dirt.