Free Tristan on a Harley (Louisiana Knights Book 3) by Jennifer Blake Page A

bad-ass woman, and that’s the kind he sees in his dreams. In this one, he meets a grand female who has kicked the Romans out of her country and then conquered a nice slice of the known world. That’s you, love, the great Warrior Queen, Zenobia, who ruled from sand-choked Palmyra about 200 AD, more or less.” He flipped his hand back and forth to indicate the unimportance of this historical fact.
    “You will be playing the quarterback,” Zeni said, her gaze steady.
    “I will, but not today, my darling Zeni. You can pretend I’m there—you know how to do that, right?”
    “If necessary. But I didn’t receive the lines from your assistant as promised.”
    “They won’t be needed!” That comment, laden with acid condescension, came from the shadows. It was followed into the light by the tall, Amazonian blonde Zeni had seen at the casting call and later at the Watering Hole.
    Derek turned from Zeni to put a hand on the blonde’s arm. “This is Bettina, darling Zeni, my personal assistant who makes certain I have whatever I need. You will be seeing a lot of each other during filming.”
    The woman offered her hand, a negligent gesture that she turned into a challenge by the strength of her grip. That mannish attempt to intimidate, added to the five extra inches the woman had on her, was more than irritating. Zeni smiled and held her own in the contest. She might not have logged as many gym hours as Bettina seemed to have put in, but she worked hard and had the muscles to show for it.
    It was satisfying when the woman narrowed her eyes in something like surprise before releasing her and stepping back.
    “Bettina is quite right about the lines, sweetheart,” Derek went on as if nothing had happened. Laying a hand on Zeni’s shoulder, he kneaded it in a caressing, almost possessive gesture. “I want you to improvise. Become Zenobia! Don the crown and regalia in imagination, and then turn and blast the hunk who has intruded into the bedroom of your palace.”
    “Bedroom?”
    “What did you expect? The throne room? Sure, he’s in your bedroom. It’s his dream, you know, so where the hell else is a jock with an overload of testosterone going to go?”
    “No one stops him? I mean, what about guards?”
    “It’s a dream, darling. All obstacles magically disappear. But the point is you’re not happy to see him. In fact, you’re incensed at the intrusion. Channel Queen Victoria with a side of Lady Gaga. Whatever.” He clapped his hand together with a sharp crack. “Now let’s see it!”
    Easy for him to say; not at all easy to do.
    If Zeni had known the test was going to be conducted this way, she’d have been better prepared. There had been no hint. Even more unnerving was the advance of the cameras as the actor/director stepped way, silent behemoths with their single eye trained on her. Not a single word surfaced in her mind, much less anything resembling dialogue. She simply stood there while the technicians waited beyond the glow of the bright lights that were trained on her.
    The assistant, Bettina, made a sound of disgust. Peabody, standing in the shadowy region behind the main camera, began to frown down at his shoes. He folded his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. Off to the side, Granny Chauvin lifted a hand to her mouth while her eyes widened.
    It was then that Zeni heard Trey’s bike rumbling to a stop outside. Seconds later, he appeared in the building’s wide doorway, his tall, wide-shouldered body a perfectly formed male figure against the light.
    She pivoted toward him as if drawn, like a sunflower to the sun. He had come, and the warm gladness of it moved over her in a flash. Regardless, her features settled into her normal defensive pride.
    “What,” she asked distinctly, “are you doing here?”
    He ambled forward, a corner of his mouth lifting in his most engaging grin. “It’s a free country.”
    Peabody dropped his arms and lifted his head. Zeni realized suddenly