Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time) (25 page)

Miranda leaned closer, enjoying the confrontation. "Never speak to me like that again, and never threaten me. Now, move."

Zandra's thin lips disappeared from view with the warning. Air whooshed into the room as Miranda whipped the door open and regally left.

She walked to her office with Kiki hot on her heels. Miranda nonchalantly sorted through the paperwork on her desk.

"I can't believe you did that. Are you crazy?" Kiki grabbed her arm and gave it a hard shake.

Miranda jerked her elbow free and continued to clear her desk surprised at how good she felt. The clash had been a long time coming. Everyone despised Zandra, but they all walked on eggshells around her, afraid of her influence.

“The surly bitch should have had a set down ages ago. She's a shrew. Quite frankly, I don't care what she tells Hugh."

Kiki looked worried and unconvinced.

Miranda hugged her and tried to ease her mind. "I'll be fine, don't worry. I won’t be threatened by someone like Zandra. I hate bullies, and that's what she is. If you let a bully get away with dictating to you once, they'll do it forever." Miranda gave her another quick hug. "I have to go. Have a good weekend." She was half-way down the hall before she heard Kiki yell that she wanted a full report.

Ian stood on the stage as Hugh discussed some of the questions for the interview with him. Cindy, the makeup girl tucked protective white towels into their collars and began powdering them off. Ian expected to be shown to the makeup room, but Hugh requested they get together on the set instead. Several times as the two of them talked his host checked the monitors.

Cindy remained close. As soon as the conversation ended, she led Ian back to a chair at the side of the stage. The minor touchups took longer than usual. Cindy’s chest brushed against him a remarkable number of times, more than necessary. Every time Ian said something she touched his arm. He maintained a pleasant and polite manner as she flirted and kept his hands on the arms of the chair.

A loud disagreement drew everyone’s attention. Hugh didn’t yell, but the heated conversation carried across the small studio. Twice, he’d tripped over electrical cables taped to the floor. He argued with the cameramen, the director, and the lighting crew about flattering angles and shadows cast on his “good” side. A special filter was brought in and attached to the primary camera for Hugh, which appeased everyone. His host’s vanity amused Ian. Working in Los Angeles, Ian learned that in the early days of television, they commonly smeared Vaseline on the camera lens. It was de rigueur with the shows starring “middle-aged” actresses making the switch to the small screen. The more “seasoned” actors were mollified with a vodka rocks.

At last, Cindy finished and left. Ian immediately looked over to Miranda. His eyes lingered on her crossed legs as she sat relaxed. He'd been sneaking peeks towards the off stage area the entire time. She’d arrived between glimpses.

He was about to make a mad dash off stage and attempt to steal a kiss, when a reed thin, petite woman walked onto the set. The woman leaned over and whispered something to Hugh. Ian found himself eyelevel with a flat derriere in a too short skirt. Two scrawny legs and knobby knees had him wishing he'd sat in another part of the room.

The woman straightened and smoothed her skirt. She scanned Ian, hard. Her pink tongue emerged and she slowly licked her lower lip, her gaze fixed on his mouth.

Empathy for Christmas hams shot through Ian.

She gave him a coy look, strolled over to him and introduced herself. "I don't know if you remember me. I'm Zandra, Hugh's assistant." An involuntary shudder passed over Ian as her hand skimmed his thigh. "If there's anything you need or want I'll be happy to get it for you. I'll be right up there." She tipped her chin towards the sound booth, her hand still on his thigh.

Christmas hams be damned, Ian thought. The woman could put a wolf off his food. She reminded him of a bird of prey with her angular haircut and beady eyes. The talon-like squeeze on his thigh jerked him out of his silent observation. He flinched.

Enough was enough; Ian removed her hand from his leg. "I'm quite sure there isn't anything I'll want from you. It's very kind of you to offer though. Thank you."

Ian slanted a furtive glance in Miranda's direction wondering if she'd seen the woman stroke his thigh. She not only had witnessed everything but found his discomfort funny. The minx bit her lip to keep from laughing, shoulders shaking with the effort. Ian caught her eye and faked a disapproving scowl. Miranda crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out taunting him more.

He yanked the towel from his collar and affected one of his better warrior faces and went to her. A soft “oh” escaped her lips as he pulled Miranda into his arms.

"What a cheeky sausage you are Ms. Coltrane, and one with a very cruel streak, I see. Couldn't you feel me willing you to come and rescue me?"

"What?" she exclaimed, in feigned wide-eyed innocence. "You didn't find Zandra enticing? Didn't her touch send a warm, fuzzy surge down your spine?" she asked in a sugary sweet voice, straight-faced.

"The woman's a raptor,” he said. “She’s worse than an ice cream headache." His hands slipped to a spot below the small of Miranda's back, above the cleft of her buttocks so her hips nestled against him. "I like a woman with some sauce, although, I'll have to do something about this cruel streak of yours. One day soon you'll want my mercy and I shall be very slow in giving it. Very slow," he warned with a devilish grin and bent to kiss her.

It was shockingly bold of him considering the set was filled with the crew. A usually private person, she wasn’t given to such brash behavior in front of her co-workers. When his hand slid down her spine, she knew she wouldn’t resist. She couldn’t explain. That was a lie. Truth was, she liked it too much. The other employees were going to gossip anyway. So what the bloody hell, she might as well give them something to really talk about.

The kiss was tender and unhurried and filled with promise. When she closed her eyes, Miranda saw him, not as he was, but standing someplace else. His hair was tied back in a queue. He wore dark breeches and black riding boots and a white shirt open at the collar. The illusion grew more detailed. A woman pressed into him as they stood in a field. He leaned over and kissed her blocking the woman's face from view.

Different from a dream or fantasy image, this vision had dimension, with a compelling reality attached to it. Miranda swayed at its force. Her eyes flew open as Ian broke off the kiss. He was staring at her with a strange expression. She almost believed he had the same vision. The intensity in his face puzzled her. Was he looking for confirmation of a shared hallucination?

The experience stirred up strange and contradictory emotions, all potent. The sights stimulated a voyeuristic curiosity about Ian and the woman. They intrigued her yet frightened her at the same time. Where had the fear come from? It was too weird to dwell on. Today, she only wanted to be the woman who’d caught Ian’s eye.

"What a penetrating stare. Are you plotting your revenge because I laughed at you?" Miranda joked, pushing the effect of the vision from her mind.

"No. I already know what your punishment will be." Ian teased in a provocative tone, half expensive scotch, half smoke.

"I'm not worried,” Miranda said. “In general, men have rather poor memories for anything except sports."

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” he said, giving the flippant remark more weight than it deserved. "I won't argue the point right now." He smoothed her hair back over her shoulder and stepped away toward the stage.

Miranda watched the interview certain Ian had to be the most charming man in the universe. His kiss was like being caught in a tornado.
Cheeky and saucy, that’s me
. She caught herself giggling and glanced around to see if anyone else noticed. Kiki was the giggler, not her.

Her attention span shrunk to that of a puppy's as she tried to focus on the discussion between Hugh and Ian. The problem increased as the program progressed. Every time the stage director moved she excitedly sat up in her chair, hoping he was about to hold up fingers indicating minutes left.

A blonde she had never seen before stood behind the painted backdrop, engrossed in the show. More to the point--engrossed in Ian. Where had she come from? Visitors to the studio were always provided an escort and never allowed backstage when taping was in progress. Alarmed by the possible security breach, Miranda approached the woman.

"Excuse me, who are you, and how did you get past the guards?"

In profile, the woman appeared attractive. When she faced Miranda, the lights from the set illuminated her. Miranda reevaluated. Not attractive, but breathtaking. The blonde had ivory skin, a full pouty mouth, and bright blue eyes. She resembled a young Michelle Pfeiffer, dressed like an ad from Vogue or a model from a couturier's runway.

Not a single wrinkle marred the cream-colored silk Armani suit. This fact alone irked Miranda who had a love/hate relationship with silk. She loved silk and it hated her. Never did it remain pristine on her. An hour on her body and the silk was rumpled to the point it looked slept in. She fervently hoped the beauty was an intruder who needed to be ousted.

"Oh, security did stop me. I explained I’m Ian's girlfriend and that he expected me, so they let me through. I'm Jennifer, by the way." A limp handshake followed the honey sweet introduction.

A bottomless crevice opened and sucked Miranda down into a hole of misery and humiliation. Jennifer's words echoed in Miranda's ears as her nauseating descent continued.
I'm Ian's
girlfriend
.

Only bits and pieces of the woman’s conversation got through Miranda’s numbed sensibilities. Something about Ian's return from Los Angeles, a comment about how long the wait had been, how his schedule kept them apart.

"You say he’s expecting you?" The question came from a disembodied voice Miranda vaguely recognized as hers.

"Of course, he knew I'd meet him." The beauty’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason. No reason at all," Miranda mumbled and turned to leave.

Jennifer laid a restraining hand on her arm. "Do me a favor. The program’s almost over and I have to go to the loo. Will you be an angel and let Ian know I'm here?" She didn't wait for an answer and headed down the hall.

Nonplussed, Miranda sat down.

The show ended. Ian shook hands with Hugh and started toward her. His fine woolen trousers outlined lean muscular thighs with each stride. Miranda hated herself for noticing. He had made her the butt of a cruel joke. Under no circumstances would she let him see how much it hurt her. With his every step, her resolve hardened. With every step, her anger deepened.

She grabbed her purse and rose from the chair as Ian slid his arm around her waist and drew her close. "Give me a few minutes to get this makeup off and we'll go."

Miranda knocked his arm away.

Ian looked stunned and confused.

"We? We are going nowhere. I'm going home, and you, Mr. Cherlein, can go to Hell."

Ian's puzzlement and distress appeared genuine. She mastered the most dignified face she could under the circumstances.

“Bastard!”

Ian stood still, his arms out in the position of the broken embrace, trying to understand. Fury sparked in Miranda’s angry eyes, gold flecks floated in a sea of green, like the eyes of a great African cat. The glare of a lioness toward her captors as the net closes around her. But, why?

Surprise rendered Ian temporarily speechless and allowed Miranda to put several yards of distance between them. He dashed after her. It never ceased to astonish him how fast women walked in high heels.

"Miranda! Miranda! Would you please stop and tell me what's wrong?” Ian reached for her and missed. “Talk to me, what's this about?"

Two arms tried to encircle his neck. He winced as a familiar and unwelcome "Ian" vibrated in his ear. He snatched Jennifer's wrists, broke free and stepped back, still holding her wrists to keep her at bay.