Leopard's Prey
Page 16
He found himself laughing. He remembered saying that very thing to her when she had been about thirteen and he’d dragged Saria and Bijou out of a party at his own father’s bar. He’d been home for a brief visit and he’d caught the two of them in the bar. She’d been sassy, and he’d given her a lecture as he’d driven her to Pauline’s Inn. He’d taken both girls there, certain they’d behave for Pauline when they wouldn’t for anyone else.
“It’s the truth.”
“I just have never recognized anyone that could be a real authority figure,” Bijou contradicted in her smoky, sexy, melt-a-man-in-his-tracks voice.
He wrapped a length of her long, thick braid around his fist and pulled to keep from kissing that tempting mouth of hers. “You aren’t lookin’ in the right place, Blue. Open your eyes.”
She laughed, a soft, sensual sound that went straight to his groin. Laughing was so unexpected and so unlike Bijou, but just as sexy as her voice.
“I’m afraid to do that, Remy, especially if you’re applyin’ for the job. You’d be . . . bossy.” She laughed again, soft and low, sending hot blood pounding through his body.
“You’ve spent too much time with my sister,” Remy pointed out, and stopped in front of the door to the small café just down from the police station.
Bijou stiffened and halted abruptly. “You want to eat out? In a restaurant? In public?”
“Where else?” He tightened his hold on her. “You’re safe with me.”
Bijou shrugged. “If that’s what you want, but I’m not so certain you’re safe with me.”
Remy opened the door and she slipped inside, immediately stepping to one side waiting for him as heads swung around and a low murmur started up in the café. People recognized her. How could they not? Her face had been plastered on every tabloid for years and now, she was famous in her own right. Her face went still, composed. She wore that slightly haughty, don’t-touch-me expression she’d worn as she moved through the bull pen.
Remy glided close, and she tucked her body into his, beneath his shoulder, almost without conscious thought. He wrapped his arm around her, aware everyone in the room who knew him—and it was most of the customers—would consider that gesture one of proprietorship. Bijou obviously considered it a casual gesture and she relaxed against him.
“Booth or table, Remy?”
Remy smiled affectionately at the dark-skinned waitress with bright eyes and a ready smile. “Give us a booth if you can, Thereze, somewhere we can sit where no one will notice us.”
Thereze burst out laughing. “I think it’s a little too late for that, Remy.”
He looked around, and dozens of cell phones were up in the air, snapping pictures. He heaved a sigh as many of those in the café began texting furiously.
“Follow me, and I’ll do my best.” Thereze tossed Bijou a smile over her shoulder as she led them through the café toward the back. “Before you leave, you’ll have to autograph somethin’, even if it’s a napkin, for my husband, Emile. He’s the cook here and trust me, honey, he’s your biggest fan.”
Bijou nodded. “Of course. I’d be happy to do that.”
“Maybe a picture with him to put up on the wall,” Thereze added. “We own this place, and he’d be over the moon if you did that for him.”
Bijou’s body brushed against his. Remy looked down at her. Her smile was fixed in place and genuine, but the tension in her body belied her expression.
“No problem,” she agreed, but her smoky voice had dropped another octave.
Remy waited until they were seated, had menus and Thereze had bustled off to get them water and bread. “Will it really bother you to have your picture taken with Emile? I’ve known him for nearly my entire life and he’s a good man.”
Bijou shrugged, avoiding his eyes by looking at the menu. “Of course not. I said I would, didn’ I?”
She sounded casual and sweet, even to his highly trained ears. Still, he didn’t believe her. He reached across the table, pushing down the menu with one hand and tipping up her chin with the other, forcing her head up, forcing her vivid blue eyes to meet his.
“Tell me. I’m okay with you bullshittin’ anyone else you feel you need to, but not me. What is it?”
Her gaze drifted over his face, taking him in. Deciding. There was a moment of hesitation but he refused to release her. He simply waited.
“I don’ mind takin’ a picture with anyone,” she said, her accent thickening, “but you have no idea what one picture will start.” She gave a little shrug. “No matter. If the food is good, it’ll be well worth it.”
That little half smile, so secretive, told him she wasn’t exaggerating. Something was going to happen once she took a picture with Emile.
“I’m not goin’ to leave you here alone, Blue,” he assured. “Whatever it is, you won’ be alone.”
“Tell me that after I’m here a few hours.”
“Hours?”
She nodded her head. “The nice people come first, askin’ for an autograph. Then the more bold ones askin’ for a picture. And then the ones who believe I owe them somethin’ because they listened to Bodrie’s music, or mine. In the middle of all of that, will be the really ugly ones who want to give me lectures and tell me I’ve never had talent and I’m skatin’ on my daddy’s fame.” She shrugged again.
“It’s the truth.”
“I just have never recognized anyone that could be a real authority figure,” Bijou contradicted in her smoky, sexy, melt-a-man-in-his-tracks voice.
He wrapped a length of her long, thick braid around his fist and pulled to keep from kissing that tempting mouth of hers. “You aren’t lookin’ in the right place, Blue. Open your eyes.”
She laughed, a soft, sensual sound that went straight to his groin. Laughing was so unexpected and so unlike Bijou, but just as sexy as her voice.
“I’m afraid to do that, Remy, especially if you’re applyin’ for the job. You’d be . . . bossy.” She laughed again, soft and low, sending hot blood pounding through his body.
“You’ve spent too much time with my sister,” Remy pointed out, and stopped in front of the door to the small café just down from the police station.
Bijou stiffened and halted abruptly. “You want to eat out? In a restaurant? In public?”
“Where else?” He tightened his hold on her. “You’re safe with me.”
Bijou shrugged. “If that’s what you want, but I’m not so certain you’re safe with me.”
Remy opened the door and she slipped inside, immediately stepping to one side waiting for him as heads swung around and a low murmur started up in the café. People recognized her. How could they not? Her face had been plastered on every tabloid for years and now, she was famous in her own right. Her face went still, composed. She wore that slightly haughty, don’t-touch-me expression she’d worn as she moved through the bull pen.
Remy glided close, and she tucked her body into his, beneath his shoulder, almost without conscious thought. He wrapped his arm around her, aware everyone in the room who knew him—and it was most of the customers—would consider that gesture one of proprietorship. Bijou obviously considered it a casual gesture and she relaxed against him.
“Booth or table, Remy?”
Remy smiled affectionately at the dark-skinned waitress with bright eyes and a ready smile. “Give us a booth if you can, Thereze, somewhere we can sit where no one will notice us.”
Thereze burst out laughing. “I think it’s a little too late for that, Remy.”
He looked around, and dozens of cell phones were up in the air, snapping pictures. He heaved a sigh as many of those in the café began texting furiously.
“Follow me, and I’ll do my best.” Thereze tossed Bijou a smile over her shoulder as she led them through the café toward the back. “Before you leave, you’ll have to autograph somethin’, even if it’s a napkin, for my husband, Emile. He’s the cook here and trust me, honey, he’s your biggest fan.”
Bijou nodded. “Of course. I’d be happy to do that.”
“Maybe a picture with him to put up on the wall,” Thereze added. “We own this place, and he’d be over the moon if you did that for him.”
Bijou’s body brushed against his. Remy looked down at her. Her smile was fixed in place and genuine, but the tension in her body belied her expression.
“No problem,” she agreed, but her smoky voice had dropped another octave.
Remy waited until they were seated, had menus and Thereze had bustled off to get them water and bread. “Will it really bother you to have your picture taken with Emile? I’ve known him for nearly my entire life and he’s a good man.”
Bijou shrugged, avoiding his eyes by looking at the menu. “Of course not. I said I would, didn’ I?”
She sounded casual and sweet, even to his highly trained ears. Still, he didn’t believe her. He reached across the table, pushing down the menu with one hand and tipping up her chin with the other, forcing her head up, forcing her vivid blue eyes to meet his.
“Tell me. I’m okay with you bullshittin’ anyone else you feel you need to, but not me. What is it?”
Her gaze drifted over his face, taking him in. Deciding. There was a moment of hesitation but he refused to release her. He simply waited.
“I don’ mind takin’ a picture with anyone,” she said, her accent thickening, “but you have no idea what one picture will start.” She gave a little shrug. “No matter. If the food is good, it’ll be well worth it.”
That little half smile, so secretive, told him she wasn’t exaggerating. Something was going to happen once she took a picture with Emile.
“I’m not goin’ to leave you here alone, Blue,” he assured. “Whatever it is, you won’ be alone.”
“Tell me that after I’m here a few hours.”
“Hours?”
She nodded her head. “The nice people come first, askin’ for an autograph. Then the more bold ones askin’ for a picture. And then the ones who believe I owe them somethin’ because they listened to Bodrie’s music, or mine. In the middle of all of that, will be the really ugly ones who want to give me lectures and tell me I’ve never had talent and I’m skatin’ on my daddy’s fame.” She shrugged again.
