He returned to the bedroom fully dressed to find Bijou wrapped in her robe, sitting by the open drapes. “I didn’t infect you with some rare blood thing, Blue. You do know that, don’ you? Your mere had to be leopard.”

Bijou deliberately pointed to the door. “Go.” The word didn’t come out as commanding as she would have liked.

Her treacherous heart melted every time she looked at him. She had to get over her adolescent hero worship. She’d been so silly, proving just how young and inexperienced she was by thinking he had real feelings for her. It was just sex between them, he’d admitted as much to her. She couldn’t even claim he had his own physical attraction to her—it was his leopard’s fascination with her leopard, which somehow made the entire affair even seedier.

She looked around her at the cracks and long rake marks down the walls. Now it all made sense. She knew exactly what made those claw marks. She groaned and covered her face with her hands.

Remy was an amazing man. Pure and simple. He was intelligent, had a good sense of humor, loved and protected family and he made her feel beautiful and safe. He knew what her life had really been like, not the fairy tale everyone else wanted to believe. She’d been so happy when he’d acted interested in her and when he’d kissed her . . . There was no going back.

There was a hesitant knock on her door, then Saria’s voice. “Are you hungry? I have a brunch made. Come get food.”

Bijou wanted to crawl back in bed and pull the covers over her head, but she refused to be a coward. She couldn’t blame Remy for her actions, and she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t had mad, crazy sex with him. Saria knew everything. She probably even knew about her wild romp in the swamp.

“I’ll be down in five minutes,” she called back.

She took a deep breath and held the sheet against her face for a moment, cooling the color, before tossing it aside in resignation and going to the dresser where her clothes were neatly folded. At least the dresser hadn’t sustained too much damage, but she found herself blushing at the memory of Remy sitting her atop it, his mouth and hands driving her insane.

“Maybe it’s the room,” she muttered aloud, glaring as she looked around. “Some kind of strange Cajun curse on anyone stayin’ here and they turn into the Rougarou. What other real explanation is there?”