Tristan on a Harley (Louisiana Knights Book 3) (8 page)

“You have it all figured out, don’t you?”

“No,” he said with a deliberate grin, “but I think the two of us can handle it.”

She stared at him for long seconds, her face softening. But then her eyes narrowed. “You’re assuming that I’ll go along with this crazy scheme. Also, that I have no interest in going anywhere with Derek or seeing the inside of his motor home.”

“Will you? Do you? Or am I wasting my time?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she answered, lowering her lashes as she donned her own helmet and moved around to climb on behind him.

There it was, Trey saw with resignation, the payback for putting her in this uncertain position with his impulsive announcement. If she wasn’t to know exactly what he’d been thinking when he made it, she didn’t intend for him to know how she felt about it.

He might be wrong; that might not be her purpose at all. But if it was, it was working for her.

Speechless. Zeni had been absolutely speechless when Trey told Derek she was engaged to him. For the briefest of moments, she’d been lost in incredible euphoria that Trey cared enough to make that claim.

It hadn’t lasted.

In the next second, she’d been sure it was a joke, that any minute he’d laugh and say no, not really; that he’d been making a point or some such thing.

That hadn’t happened. It became clear, instead, that he’d gone into over-protective mode and intended to hold to his declaration. He hadn’t recanted, and now he was stuck with the situation. The two of them were stuck with it.

Where had he come up with such an idea? It was one thing to suspect Derek of having designs on her, but something else for Trey to maintain he had the right to go wherever she went. He could have just said he felt responsible since she worked for him, or that he was acting in lieu of family, like a brother who meant to see no one took advantage of her. That was nearer the mark, anyway.

Wasn’t it?

What he’d done seemed to shed new light on their trip out to his granddad’s old place. She’d never even been to the modern bungalow outside town where he lived now, so that trip had been a little strange. It was a grand old place with its hint of permanency and tradition, but still. What was it called? Surely it had a name, though she’d only heard it referred to as the Old Benedict Place. Several of those existed, however, big old houses at the ends of long drives. Most needed another designation to set them apart.

She’d wondered if the renovation he intended was a signal for some new interest in hearth and home. Men didn’t have a biological clock to worry about, but some leaned toward the stability of a family as they reached thirty. For them, children were the closest they would ever come to immortality, the only form of it that mattered.

But to believe such a thing suggested he’d taken her out there to see if she might want to live in the house before he spent a fortune restoring it to its former glory. She couldn’t accept that at all.

Had she been a stand-in for some other woman? Were her impressions supposed to give him a hint of how this unknown female might feel? Or did he just want a few decorating ideas, suggestions for making the place livable?

That last seemed more in keeping with how he’d talked about it.

Another possibility was that she was being used as a shield. Trey could have an entanglement she knew nothing about, one he hoped to win free of by claiming to be engaged. That thought had possibilities.

Or it might have if Zeni hadn’t known very well that he was not a coward. Trey hid behind no one.

Regardless of the cause, the engagement seemed to be on. Zeni could see nothing but problems coming from it. Problems and, very likely, regrets. There were things in her life she’d never mentioned to a soul. They were nobody’s business but hers, or they hadn’t been before. It was possible they might have to come out now.

And what then?

She’d rather not think about it.

She was tired from the morning’s outing, more so than if she’d worked at the coffee shop all day. At the same time, she was hyper, barely able to stay in her skin. Playing with the kitten, Midnight, seemed to help a little, dangling a piece of ribbon and watching him bat at it, try to get it, or running her hand down his back while holding him against her chest.

She couldn’t do that all day. The only other thing she knew to do was change into her usual tank top and jean skirt and get back to work.

Gloria, who had been doing double duty, working both the grill and cash register, looked up as she came through from the back after descending the rear stairs. “Girl, am I glad to see you,” she exclaimed. “I’m about tired of telling people you’ll be back soon to make them a hamburger, when I can do it just as well as you can!”

“Sorry to be gone so long,” Zeni answered. “Though customer loyalty sounds like a good thing.”

“Sure it is, when it means job security. I just wish you’d show me the secret ingredient that makes people rather eat what you cook!”

“Beats me,” Zeni said at her most cheerful, and laughed as Gloria threw up her hands.

The girl was a hard worker who always had a smile for customers, and it didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes. Zeni felt lucky to have her for backup. Every time she looked at her, however, she was reminded of a calypso song her mother had loved, one about a Brown Skin Girl. Gloria had the smoothest skin she’d ever seen, with a cinnamon undertone that went beautifully with shades of lavender, a fact she was bright enough to play to the hilt. Her lashes curled in a way no eyelash curler could duplicate and her mouth, tinted the color of wine, was so generous in its curves that her smile was a sight to behold. She was doing online classes at present, working toward a master’s degree in psychology from LSU. She would be done in a couple of years. Everyone would be sorry to see her go, but go she would when she got her degree, taking off for bigger things, bigger places.

“How was the screen test?” Gloria asked. “What was Derek Peabody like? Was he as good-looking close up as he is on the screen?”

“You saw him when he came in the other evening. What did you think?”

“I was on the other side of the room, and it was only for a minute or two. Come on, give.”

“Well, I really don’t know.” Zeni had to stop and gather her thoughts. She’d been so stressed over being on camera that she’d barely registered Derek’s appearance. Not that she expected Gloria to believe it if she told her. And she certainly didn’t want to get into a discussion on that subject here in the middle of the coffee shop. “He was nice enough,” she said finally.

Gloria paused in her job of rolling utensils in paper napkins for dinner-time setups. “That’s all you have to say about a guy voted the Sexiest Man Alive two years in a row?”

“He was very smooth, well-dressed in your basic movie star Armani, everything about him polished to a high gloss.”

“But? I do hear a but coming, don’t I?”

Zeni folded her lips together for a second. “He was a little too smooth. Yes, and he’s not as tall or as bulked up as he looks in his movies.”

“You don’t mean it.” The dry sound of Gloria’s voice indicated she wasn’t exactly surprised by this example of cinematic magic.

“And though he’s an extremely attractive man, I think I’ve grown too used to looking at the Benedict guys to be overly impressed.”

“Aw, now.”

“Sorry, but there it is.”

“You’re breaking my heart, really, you are.” She went back to rolling utensils, but was watching Zeni so closely that she made a setup with two spoons and no fork and had to unroll it and start over.

“Cheer up.” Zeni told her. “You’ll see him again before this is done. He’s sure to be back in here now and then. Maybe you’ll wind up with a part in the movie.”

“No way, uh-uh, nope. I don’t have time for that stuff. I’ve got enough on my plate with studying and work.”

“That why you didn’t want to go the cattle call for extras?”

“Yeah, buddy. My life plans don’t go down that road.”

Zeni gave her an appraising look. “That’s a shame, since you might have wound up as Zenobia. You’d make a better one, anyway, since she was from the Middle East.”

“So get a spray tan,” Gloria said with her rich, contralto laugh. “What I want to know is, did The Man say anything about your test before you left?”

“I got the part.” Zeni gave a shrug that might have been a shade too casual.

“Yay!” Gloria did a little happy dance where she stood. “Excellent, news. I’m so proud for you.”

“So did Trey.”

“Say what?”

Zeni had to laugh at how fast her helper’s dance came to an end. And of course, the circumstances had to be explained along with who’d said what and why. By the time Zeni was done, she thought for sure she’d gotten out of the whole Derek inquisition.

Not so.

“This dream bit you’ll be doing, it’s Derek The Man you’ll be working with, right? You have got to be looking forward to that.”

“Not exactly.” Zeni gathered up the napkin setups Gloria had done and piled them on a tray, ready to take to the tables.

“Why not? Does he have bad breath or something?”

“No, it’s just that—I don’t know. Something about being around him bothered me. He has an extra helping of ego that seems to take for granted everyone should know all about him. He acted as if I should be happy to go where he chose to lead me, do what he expected once we were there.” Trey had said much the same thing. Hearing her feelings confirmed that way was one reason she hadn’t rejected the fake engagement idea out of hand.

Gloria’s eyes widened. “Derek Peabody wanted to take you somewhere? You and him? All alone?”

“It did look that way.”

“I’ve known a few guys like that,” the waitress said with a shake of her head. “Fancy men thinking you’re all hot for what they’ve got in their pants, guys who get all like, ‘Hey, girl, you a cock tease, got me all hot-to-trot for nothing,’ when you don’t want what they got. That, and thinking they can make you want it if they come on strong enough, long enough. Proper fools is what they are.”

“You’ve got it. I hope you stay far away from that kind.”

“Yes, ma’am, you better believe it.”

Zeni had tried to convince Gloria to drop the ma’am business. She was only a couple of years older, after all. More than that, she and Trey were on such relaxed terms that expecting formality from Gloria would be ridiculous. The girl had finally come around where she was concerned, except when her feelings were touched or she meant to emphasize a point. She used the honorific for Trey most of the time, however, since he was the boss. She had strong ideas about how things should be, and wasn’t about to change them.

Thinking about that, Zeni was reminded of how irritated Trey had been at her use of Derek’s first name. She’d thought nothing of it at first; the suggestion from the actor/director seemed no more than a friendly gesture. She could see now that it established a quick intimacy between them, along with the implication that closeness might increase.

Or did it? It was possible she was overthinking the incident, letting her outlook be swayed simply because Trey didn’t trust Derek. She would have to take careful note next time they were together, to see what she really thought.

That wouldn’t be for several days. Filming for the movie might begin next week, but the dream sequence wasn’t exactly a major scene; it was sure to come later in the schedule.

That was all right. Zeni was in no hurry.

“What is this about you and Trey being engaged? And why is it we have to hear the news second hand?”

The questions, half joking and half serious, came from Carla Benedict as she marched into the coffee shop. She was two steps ahead of her husband Beau who held the door for her then let it ease shut behind him.

Gloria turned on Zeni with a fist propped on one hip and wrath in her dark chocolate eyes. “Say what? You’ve been standing right here beside me for half an hour and said not one word?”

Caught out already, Zeni saw with resignation. How to answer? She could hardly deny it, not without contradicting Trey and making nothing of what he’d tried to do for her. But accepting it would make it official.

While she made up her mind, she took chocolate muffins that Carla and Beau always ordered from the keeper and poured cups of coffee to go with them. Speaking over her shoulder, she said finally, “It’s no big deal.”

“I beg to differ,” Carla corrected. Bright and vivacious, with honey brown hair and sea-colored eyes, she was a former magazine editor who now wrote travel guides, so could get away with saying things like that.

“So do I.” Beau wiped crumbs from someone’s lunch sandwich from the seat of a counter stool for his wife, and then slid onto the one next to it. “Trey popping the question is a huge deal.”

That the pair had opted for the counter instead of taking a table was a sure sign they didn’t intend to drop the subject. Zeni faced them with a wry smile. “It only happened a couple of hours ago. I’m still in shock.”

“You mean to say he proposed this morning?” Gloria demanded.

Zeni laughed a little, trying to make light of it all. “Oh, he didn’t exactly propose.”

“And how was that?” Carla asked as she began to peel the paper from her muffin.

“You’ll have to ask Trey.” That was the best Zeni could think of at the moment.

“Ask me what?”

The question came from the man himself as he walked out of the back storeroom, looking as if all was right with his world. He didn’t pause, but moved behind the counter and took the coffee pot from the warmer to pour himself a cup.

It was Gloria who answered him, her expression accusing. “Folks here want to know why you didn’t propose to Zeni the way you should, making a production out of it. You think you didn’t have to because she should jump at the chance to be Mrs. Tristan Thomas Benedict?”

“Gloria!” Zeni said in protest. “It wasn’t as if I was complaining.”

Trey met her eyes, his own gray gaze measuring. “Maybe you should have been. To be asked is your right, after all.”

“Not really,” she said, uncomfortable at being the center of attention, not to mention uncertain of where he was going with it. “I mean, it isn’t as if—”

“Oh, but it is. And I need to do something about that.”

Setting his coffee cup aside, he reached for Zeni, drawing her into the circle of his arms and clasping his hands at her lower back. “Zeni Medford, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She could hardly refuse after everything they’d said earlier, wouldn’t have even if it hadn’t been such a public proposal. Still, this wasn’t how she’d thought she might hear those words one day. She’d pictured privacy and deep emotion, maybe moonlight and whispers of love along with promises of forever. Not that this was the real thing, but it seemed lacking, regardless.

“Good grief, Trey,” Carla said with humor in her voice. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Trey asked, though Zeni had to give him credit for never taking his attention from her face. She knew that, because she was watching him, absorbing the warmth in the depths of his eyes, as well as the firmness of his body against her and the strength of his arms that held her.

“That you love her desperately and can’t live without her, for a start,” Carla suggested.

“Carla, honey,” Beau began.

“Well, it’s nothing compared to all the things you said to me,” she answered, her voice bright with laughter as she answered her husband.

“Besides, it’s about time,” Gloria put in then. “I’ve been thinking you two should get together ever since I started work here.”

Carla gave a firm nod. “Same here, only longer.”

“Right you all are,” Trey answered without hesitation, while his hold on her tightened. “I love you deeply, devotedly, and, yes, desperately, dearest Zeni, and can’t bear the thought of life without you. Say you’ll marry me before this crew makes me get down on one knee.”

She tilted her head to one side as she pretended to think for a long second, but then heaved a sigh. “Since you put it so nicely, I guess so.”

“I take that as a yes,” he said on a laugh that she felt as much as heard. Then swinging her to halfway around so she was draped backward over his arm, he set his mouth to hers.

Her world spun in wild circles, wobbling on its axis, while her heart beat up into her throat. The kiss, unlike the proposal, felt real. She was immersed in the feel, scent and taste of him, dizzy with the sudden overload of her senses. She clung to him to keep from falling, but also because he was the only thing solid and trustworthy within her reach.

As he lifted his head after long, breathless moments, and then shifted her upright again, she stared up at him, flushed and unbelieving. “You—you—” she began as she sought for words to blast him without embarrassing them both more than he had already.

“No, you don’t,” he said in husky satisfaction. “You said yes, and you can’t take it back. I have witnesses.”

“What you have is a colossal nerve,” she began.

“I do, and you can tell me all about it later, but right now, we should be celebrating.” He looked up. “Shouldn’t we, Gloria.”

“Yes, sir, champagne coming right up.” The waitress headed toward the back storeroom with a grin on her face, making for the refrigerated wine cabinet that had been installed a short while back.

It was Asti Spumante instead of champagne, since they kept several bottles for an elderly Italian gentleman who came in every Saturday night and had it after his meal. It didn’t matter. Trey toasted Zeni and their future together, she saluted their friends, the town and the Watering Hole where she’d met Trey, and the laughter, congratulations and exchanges of views and quips were free and easy.

It was so spontaneous and heartwarming that Zeni felt the rise of tears along with the furtive wish that the occasion could be something more than pretense. To become a true part of Trey’s life, joining the ranks of the wives and sincere ladyloves of the Benedict Knights, would be beyond dreams. She could ask for nothing more magical.

Too bad. This wasn’t real, no matter how she might yearn for it to be that way.

So she smiled and joked and, every now and then, sent a verbal jab Trey’s way just to keep thing from getting too serious. He took them with a rueful smile, but something in his eyes promised retribution that made her shiver in anticipation.

In a preemptive strike, she said to Carla and Beau, “Granny Chauvin told you Trey finagled a part in this movie, I expect. But did she tell you he’ll be wearing a dress for it?”

“A toga,” Trey put in at once, a pained look on his face. “You promised that wasn’t the same thing.”

Ignoring that, she went on, “Or maybe it will be Bedouin robes like Lawrence of Arabia. Who knows?”

Carla turned to stare at him. “What do you want to bet he turns up looking like the Sheikh of Araby.”

Zeni laughed at her droll, half-lascivious tone of voice. “With a turban and big old diamond right in the middle of his forehead?”

“And a scimitar at his side,” Beau suggested, getting into the spirit of the thing by singing that bit from an old, fairly non-PC, country and western song about Ahab, the Arab.

Trey lifted a brow in his cousin’s direction. “Traitor. But that’s actually good. I’ve always wanted to wield a scimitar.”

Zeni turned to Carla again as a thought struck her. “I didn’t see you and Mandy this morning. Weren’t you two chosen for parts at the cattle call?”

“Extras only,” she answered with a shake of her head. “No special roles like you and Granny Chauvin. We were rushed through our registration and instructions the same day.”

“Yes, well, that’s all I wanted when this thing started.”

Even as she made that point, she caught the question that Beau, across from her, put to Trey.

“Speaking of scimitars, swords and so on, how’s the medieval fair coming along? You think too many of the town’s resources are being diverted to the movie company?”

“Things aren’t coming together quite as well as in other years,” Trey answered. “Last I heard, the committee was thinking of canceling the ring tournament.”

Beau gave a nod. “I heard that, too. Something about not being able to gather up enough horses trained to gallop down the arena with lances waving around their heads?”

“Hard to believe. The country just south of here is full of cattle herds and Cajun cowboys. Of course, they could be staying away from all the movie folderol.”

“No problem,” Beau said, grinning even as he glanced toward the front door when its bell jangled a warning of new arrivals. “They could always substitute motorcycles for the horses.”

“Yeah, right. That would be totally medieval.”

“But just picture it, cuz, you and your biker buds in shiny armor, thundering down the arena. There you are picking up speed, kicking up sand, guiding your bike with your left while leveling a lance under your right arm. You spear the ring and the crowd goes wild—I can see it now!”

Zeni barely heard Trey’s rather profane comment as she looked toward the door. Her nerves, which had almost relaxed, tightened into knots again.

“I can see that, as well,” Derek said as he strolled toward the counter. “I like it. I like it a lot. What will it take to make it happen?”

Trey’s first impulse was to throw the actor out and ban him from the premises. He could do it; he was irritated enough and the Watering Hole belonged to him, after all.

Peabody might be speaking to him and Beau, but it was obvious he’d come to see Zeni. A distinctly sour look had crossed the actor/director’s face as he saw her standing shoulder to shoulder with him, her supposed husband-to-be. Peabody’s cool blue stare flicked back and forth between the two of them like the tongue of a snake testing the atmosphere.

“Well, now,” Trey said, “I expect you’ll have to take that up with the mayor and her fair committee.”

“I’ll do that, though I foresee no particular difficulty. I assume I’ll have your cooperation if the proper permission is granted?”

“Mine?” Trey could play dumb with the best of them when it suited his purpose.

Peabody’s smile was thin. “I believe you’re the president of the local motorcycle gang—or club, I should say. I’d think you would be the go-to person for arranging a run-through of this competition and its eventual filming?”

The actor, or more likely his minions, had been checking up on him. What did that mean, exactly? “You make up your mind fast, don’t you?”

“It’s a habit that’s stood me in good stead in a cut-throat business.”

No doubt it had, but he didn’t have to preen himself about it. “That’s fine, but I don’t know about this deal. The club is made up of a bunch of guys who like Harleys and enjoy riding on weekends, with maybe a cross-country trip now and then. We’re not stuntmen.”