"Who says I'm not afraid of you? You're a very scary man. Even I can see that. Eat. You skipped breakfast."
He forced himself to loosen his grip on her. What was he going to do? Yank her across the table, lay her out and devour her? It might be what he wanted, but he had learned control. He just needed a break from that faint temptation of lavender.
"I am hungry," he admitted, meaning it. Not caring if she read his true meaning.
Evidently she had no problems translating. Color tinged her flawless skin. "Just eat, Remy. Everyone is starin' at us."
He sighed and took a bite. The food was spicy and every bit as good as he remembered. Emile was an extraordinary chef. "His dinners are even better. You can't make a reservation here, and people wait for hours for one of his meals."
"The food is outstandin'," Bijou agreed. She sent him a little grin. "I have to admit, I love to eat good food."
"That's one of the hazards of bein' from New Orleans. We love great food, music and fun."
"Which means I have to work out daily," Bijou said, "but if I can eat this kind of food, it's well worth it."
Remy's gaze dropped to the package of threats. "You were tellin' me why you suddenly, after all this time, became uneasy with these threats."
Bijou made a face at him over her fork. "You're like a pit bull."
He nodded his head solemnly. "Proud of it too."
"Bodrie owned several properties beside the mansion and I inherited those along with the copyrights to his music, his record label and everything else. One of the properties was a camp he liked to go to party." She lifted her lashes and there was faint humor in her eyes. "Because, you know, he didn't party enough at any of the hotels, his home or anywhere else."
"Poor man. I can't imagine Bodrie Breaux stayin' for very long at a camp, even if he has every luxury. One swarm of mosquitoes and he'd be out of there."
"So true. That was his number one complaint. But he liked to play up his Cajun heritage. He almost always took a camera crew out with him, to document his need to go back to his roots." She ate another forkful of food, chewing thoughtfully while she looked at Remy. "I went to the camp a few days ago and there was a huge eye painted on the walls inside. The first few times I came across that eye, I thought it was a childish prank. Like, 'I'm watchin' you,' but each of the properties had the eye painted on a wall, includin' the mansion. I haven't gone there, but the caretakers said someone broke in and ruined the wall in the entryway."
"And?" Remy prompted when she fell silent.
"At the cabin, someone left a dead animal, killed inside the house, right by the eye. It was all very dramatic with 'You're next' written in the animal's blood. I took photographs just in case it was a real threat and not some idiot trying to make the tabloids."
He swore under his breath. "Bijou, what the hell were you thinkin' waitin' so long to come to me about this?"
"I didn't want to be rescued again," she admitted reluctantly. "I hate that you saw me like that, in need of rescue."
He resisted the urge to swear again. She did bring out his protective instincts, there was no denying that, but damn it all, she'd been eight years old. "Tell me the rest."
She blew out her breath as she glared at him. Remy couldn't help laughing. "Now that's the girl I remember. No one can duplicate that exact look. I'm sorry I'm annoying you, Blue . . ."
"You certainly don' sound like it," she contradicted, putting down her fork to study his face.
Her hand went to the fine silver chain she wore, fingers curling around it. She twisted the links absently, drawing the pendant up out of the neckline of her shirt, giving him a glimpse now and then of the artsy piece. It looked expensive--and it looked like a piece of jewelry a man very interested in her would give as a gift.
"You could be right. Just tell me everythin' right now because I'm goin' to get it out of you eventually." He reached across the table, unable to stop himself--another loss of control she caused--and pulled the silver chain until the pendant was completely exposed.
The piece was round, three-dimensional and beautiful. He recognized the work of Arnaud Lefevre, a renowned sculptor who made rare jewelry pieces as well. His work went for tens of thousands for the jewelry and hundreds of thousands for his sculptures. One of the most prestigious galleries in New Orleans carried his work. Occasionally, Arnaud visited the various galleries around the world displaying his art and it was always a huge gala event.
"Where'd you get this piece?"
"Arnaud gave it to me," Bijou said. "Isn't it beautiful?"
"You two goin' out?" He asked the question casually, but he wasn't feeling casual.
She frowned at him and carefully put down her fork. "I thought we were talkin' about the threats to me."
"We were. Now we're talkin' about you steppin' out with Arnaud Lefevre."
4
BIJOU studied Remy's completely expressionless face. His eyes had gone strange, from a brilliant cobalt blue to a deeper shade of green that almost glowed. He looked--dangerous. His gaze was focused on her, unblinking, mesmerizing and a little exhilarating. She found herself staring at him, unable to look away. Remy had a commanding presence. He exuded absolute confidence. There was no back up in him. He was even more of a steady rock than she remembered.
Remy truly fascinated her. For most of her life she'd thought of him. With her every adversity he'd been there, forcing her to do her best, believing in her, even if it had been a child's imagination. He had become her white knight, the man who had come charging in and saved her in her darkest hour. She'd clung to his belief in her. The words he'd said to her became her mantra to live by. He believed she was strong--wasn't a coward--and she'd done her best as a child to live up to his confidence in her. She'd never broken her promise to him. Not once, no matter how tempted she'd been.
He was so beautiful--in a very masculine way. There was nothing feminine about Remy other than maybe his eyelashes. His shoulders were wide and ropes of defined muscles rippled every time he moved. She'd flirted--how could she help it--and he'd flirted back. Strangely, she was more at ease with him than she ever was with anyone.
"Arnaud is a friend. I've admired his work and bought one of his sculptures several years ago at a gallery in New York. He was having a show there and I met him. He apparently enjoys my music."
"Everyone enjoys your music."
"If you're thinkin' he's a stalker, or makin' death threats, you can think again. He has my private number and can call me anytime. I have to change the number every couple of months and I send it to him." The thought of elegant Arnaud Lefevre as a man going into the swamps and painting eyes on the walls of buildings was laughable.
Remy frowned. "I don' have your number. Why is that?"
Laughter bubbled up. She rarely felt like laughing, but for some reason when she was with Remy, she felt happy. "Do you want my private number?"
A tiny thrill swept through her at his nod. She tried hard to suppress it as she held out her hand for his phone. He looked so serious. Her hand trembled as she took his cell phone and entered her number before handing it back.
Remy glanced down and then smiled at her. "Blue?"
"My code name if anyone ever gets ahold of your phone." She sent him a faint grin.
Bijou was used to false adulation. People liked her and wanted to be around her because of who she was--Bodrie's daughter or because she was a wildly popular singer. She didn't want that from Remy, and he wasn't that kind of man. Remy made her feel as if he knew her--as if he could see inside her where no one else had ever looked.
She'd come home for the reasons she'd told him, but it was more than that. She'd never been able to connect with a man, to trust a man enough to get close to him. There was always Remy, and no one ever quite came up to her childhood image of him. He was the larger than life hero who she compared every man she met with. She knew she had trust issues. She didn't always like men, her lessons in their behavior and lack of loyalty had been hammered int
o her very early. But there was Remy . . . He was the only man who had ever stood for her--the only man who cared enough to lose his temper when she'd done something so very, very stupid.
Why did he have to be so freakin' beautiful? She hadn't been prepared for that.
"Havin' money or fame, or both, doesn't guarantee a man is good, Blue," Remy said. "Of all people, you should know that."
She caught at the slender chain and held on. What was that supposed to mean? Did he think she was still eight and not so bright? She'd learned that lesson years ago. Before she could think of a reply Remy picked up the stack of letters protected by the plastic sleeve she'd put them in and turned the package over and over.
"What's in here that scared you so much you came home?"
He made her sound like a little rabbit. "Your sister said you have a one track mind and it's most annoyin'. I'm beginnin' to believe her."
He leaned across the table, his cobalt blue eyes holding her gaze captive. He was absolutely mesmerizing. "No, you don'. You find me charmin'."
Her heart stuttered. A million butterflies took flight in her stomach. She had been so certain she could come back to New Orleans and find that her childhood hero was really a figment of her imagination. The real Remy was far more potent and sexy than she had ever conceived. He was larger than life. Protective. Funny. Intelligent. Everything she could ever want in a man, and that was totally unexpected.
"I suppose one could call you charmin'," she agreed in a slow, grudging voice. All the while laughter bubbled close to the surface. She liked spending time in his company. More, he made her feel safe, and she hadn't felt safe in a long time. It occurred to her that she was in over her head.
"Blue." Remy's voice went very low, a stroke of velvet over skin. "I do enjoy the way you're lookin' at me, but I want an answer. What has you scared?"
She forced her mind to focus on his question rather than his sexy tone. That meant not looking directly at him. She found she really loved his face, the strong jaw with the darker shadow and his strange, almost cat eyes. Bijou pulled herself up short. She felt a little like a teenager with her first crush. She hadn't really experienced that stage of development and it was disconcerting to find she was entering into it at this late date.
"Twice, when I was a teenager, living in the mansion with Bodrie, I had a huge fight with him. A giant eye was sprayed on my bedroom wall with a can of red spray paint. A few months after Bodrie died, I found that eye drawn on the ground in my front yard with the same red spray paint. It was disturbing, but not at all frightening." She shoved both hands through her hair and sat back in her chair.
How did one explain to those probing eyes why she hadn't been more proactive about death threats? She'd grown up around them. Stalkers were part of her childhood. As a teenager and while she attended college, she'd dealt with both threats and stalkers on a regular basis. Nine times out of ten, the threats ended up being someone trying to scare her because she'd turned them down when they'd asked her out on a date.
"Threats and stalkers are commonplace with bein' Bodrie's only child. I wanted to live a normal life . . ."
Remy growled. There was no other word for it. The sound was frightening. Her gaze jumped to his.
"How the hell did you expect to live a normal life, Blue? You're worth a fuckin' fortune. You're the daughter of one of the most infamous men on the planet and you sing for a living. A little protection might have been an intelligent decision."
She pressed a hand to her suddenly churning stomach. "If you're goin' to insist on insultin' me, Remy, then screw this. I'm not tellin' you a thing." She'd never discussed her life with anyone. It wasn't easy, especially with him. Damn him anyway. She was all caught up in his good looks and dark sensual nature, and forgot he thought of her as twelve. "Thanks for lunch, but I've got a few things to do." She reached for the packet of letters.
His fingers shackled her wrist, pinning her hand to the table. "I'm sure you're very aware I have no problem with public confrontation. I don' mind throwin' you over my shoulder and takin' you somewhere more private to discuss this. Can you imagine the number of videos and pictures that will be put up on YouTube?"
She glared at him, afraid to say anything. They stared at one another for a long while. He didn't blink once. Not once. She became aware of his thumb sliding back and forth over her wrist. It felt like a caress to her and after a couple of minutes, she couldn't think of anything else she was so aware of that small motion. His touch sent a rush of heat through her entire body.
"I shouldn't have implied you aren't intelligent," he relented. "I read the newspapers and more than once your name has come up for the business decisions you've made. It's just that I know a lot more about human nature than you do. I've seen just about everythin' ugly one human can do to another. I don' want to take chances with your life."
She was in way over her head. For all of her money and sophistication, the life she'd led, she'd never been really attracted to a man before and she was falling fast for Remy. She kept reminding herself the attraction was leftover hero worship of a man who had cared enough to be angry at her. He clearly still thought of her as a child.
"It's all right." She experimented with moving her wrist subtly, hoping he'd get the hint and release her so she wasn't so aware of him physically.
"No, it isn't," he contradicted. "We both can't be hotheads, Blue. You're goin' to have to mellow out and learn to stay calm. Stalkers and anyone puttin' you in danger are always goin' to be a trigger for me."
The way he looked at her with those deep blue eyes, so focused on her, mesmerizing her, the way his thumb moved over her bare skin, sent her tumbling straight off a cliff. There was that note of humor combined with his lazy drawl that added somersaults and dizzy spins to her fall. How could she possibly ever hope to be sensible when he was so sexy without even trying?
"I refuse to believe I'm a hothead," she said. "Now you, on the other hand, have a certain reputation."
He nodded. "I've earned it, so believe it, chere. Tell me the rest."
"Then don' be interruptin' me," she said.
Bijou had the feeling the only way to save herself from her reaction to his Cajun charm was to run for her life. She must have unconsciously started to pull away from him because his fingers tightened like a shackle around her wrist, holding her still.
"Then don' be distractin' me," he admonished.
It was impossible not to laugh. "I can see why Saria says you always get your way. You're very persistent and charming at the same time."
"Thank you."
She shook her head. "That was not a compliment."
He tapped the letters.
Bijou sighed. "It was the progression more than anythin' else that scared me. I was in LA when I found the first one. Then when I moved to be closer to the university I was attendin', I found the same thing in my underwear drawer."
Remy sat up straighter. "He was in your house? In your bedroom?"
She nodded. It was rather humiliating to have to admit any of it. "On my underwear. The eye was drawn on a pair of lacy boy shorts with spray paint." She felt the color creeping up her neck. There was no way to stop it.
"And you didn't go to the police?"
His voice had gone very soft. She went still, the hair on the back of her neck raising in response to his tone. Her body recognized danger.
"The point is," she said hastily, "in the beginning, whoever was stalkin' me just left his silly eye in spray paint and that was the end of it. About a year ago he started addin' messages about me sinnin' and how I was goin' to pay for it."
When he started to say something she held up her hand. "This is difficult for me, Remy, so let me just get on with it. He started breakin' into Bodrie's properties and then those last three letters were sent by the same man, I'm certain of it. They aren't very nice. This has been goin' on for years with no sight of him, just that stupid eye starin' at me. But those letters . . ." She trailed off, glancing at his set jaw. br />
She was trembling and knew he could feel it because his hand was wrapped around her wrist. There was nowhere to hide. "Hopefully when you read them, you'll understand. They're fairly graphic, and he's definitely been watchin' me. Everywhere I go, even in my own home. He has to be gettin' in the house and finding a way to watch me."
Remy's gaze moved past her to the street and then back to her. "I want you to turn slightly to your left and look across the street. There's a man standing on the grass over there, back behind the tree. He's watchin' us and has been since we entered the cafe. Tell me if you've seen him before."
Remy had sat there, all calm and composed, never letting on, yet he'd noticed someone outside the cafe watching them. She'd been so wrapped up in Remy, she wouldn't have noticed if the man had stood over her. Even now, she could barely pull her gaze from his. His eyes and voice were hypnotic. There was something feral about his unblinking stare, and she was trapped in his dangerous spell and her own hero worship.
Her heart kicked into high gear in anticipation of the possibility of uncovering the identity of her stalker. Her mouth went dry. Remy's fingers stroked comfort along her wrist. "If he sees me looking, won't he run?"
"I have the advantage of havin' a cell phone and four brothers. Take a look. If he notices and takes off, the boys will shadow him."
Remy and his brothers were always an impressive sight when they were together. She had always wanted to be part of a big, noisy family. Not waiting, Bijou turned her head and looked straight across the street.
The man looked to be about forty, with shaggy hair and a beard. He was a good distance away, but he was definitely looking through the window at her. Their eyes met. He looked away quickly and turned on his heel and walked briskly away.
Bijou frowned. "I've seen him around, Remy. I've been in so many clubs and given so many concerts, it's impossible to tell for certain, but I think Rob knows him, Rob Butterfield, my manager."
"He's not the only one watching you, Blue. That idiot Ryan Cooper is hangin' out by his car, but his attention is on you."
"I didn't actually autograph anything for him," Bijou reminded. "He got ugly and you read him the riot act. He probably wants an autograph and is waitin' for me to leave without you."