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jeans.
    She turned her head to look at him through her long feathery lashes and clouds of black silk. “Be careful, Remy, you can get death threats if you don’ give him his due adulation.”
    Before he could read her expression, she’d turned back to pouring his coffee as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the room.
    He took a breath to calm the explosive reaction deep in his gut to her announcement. Swearing under his breath, he exhaled, and shifted again to ease the muscles coiling and the adrenaline flooding his body. “What threats, Blue? Have you been gettin’ threats?” His nickname for her slipped out. He’d never called her Blue to her face, but mostly referred to her as Blue when he talked with Saria about her in the old days.
    For some reason the moment he was around her he heard the song, “Blue Bayou.” More than that, when the sun shone on her thick, black hair, blue lights played through the strands, and then there were her striking blue eyes.
    “Do you take your coffee black?”
    “Of course.” He sent her a little smirk. “I’m Cajun, honey.”
    A brief flash of a smile lit her eyes for a moment. “A manly man. How could I have forgotten? You were always scary.”
    “Was I?” Remy asked. His eyebrow shot up. He was quite certain he had the ability to scare the hell out of anyone.
    Bijou nodded slowly and took the chair across the table from him. She wasn’t safe. She might think she was, but she was well within striking distance, and somewhere in the back of his mind, that same fantasy was playing—throwing her up against the wall and ripping her clothes away from all that beautiful, soft skin.
    “You still are,” she conceded. She glanced toward the door, clearly hoping Saria would appear suddenly to rescue her.
    The sexual tension in the room was nearly as acute as their awareness of one another.
    “That’s a good thing,” he said with a small grin, trying to ease the rising tension between them. “You were about to tell me about death threats.”
    She sighed and took a cautious sip of the coffee she’d poured for herself. “I suppose I did bring it up so I can’t very well pretend I didn’t.” She ducked her head and thick strands of hair covered her face.
    Remy leaned across the table and tucked the wild cloud behind her ear. Startled, her lashes flew up and her gaze collided with his. The tip of her tongue moistened her lower lip. He caught the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her shirt. It was interesting to him that she hadn’t turned on the lights.
    His leopard roared at him, rising like a tidal wave, fighting him for supremacy. His leopard was difficult, but not like this, savage and feral and so determined. Remy fought the cat into submission, although it snarled and prowled, not settling at all. All the while he studied Bijou’s face. Never before had his cat responded to a woman. Was it possible she was leopard? Little was known about Bijou’s mother. It was nearly impossible to tell if a woman was leopard. Only when the woman entered the Han Vol Dan—a period of time when the female cat came into heat at the same time a woman ovulated—did male cats react. Sometimes, the two periods of fertility never synced, and the cat never emerged.
    “Has your life been threatened?” Remy pursued. He wasn’t about to let it go, not even with his body screaming at him. He let his hand fall away from all that silky hair and satin skin.
    Bijou shrugged. “Just about every day. There’s been so many it’s impossible to take them seriously. Fans of my father don’ believe I have the right to his money; after all, I wasn’t there when he died. It was no secret that we didn’t get along. The tabloids had a field day. Bodrie liked to read about himself so he fed the stories and kept our so-called feud goin’ in the magazines.”
    Remy drummed his fingers on the table beside his coffee cup. His leopard was more agitated than ever and he needed an outlet for the