His cat had a vicious temper, a powerful, passionate animal he worked at keeping in check at all times. If his cat was influencing him sexually, it would be the first time—and it was a hell of a time to choose. He forced his chaotic mind to get a grip. Bijou would rather burn down a mansion than set foot in it again, and what did that say about her childhood? The sad part was, he was probably the only one who would ever understand.

“Are you puttin’ the estate on the market?” Reluctantly he allowed her hand to slip away. His heart ached for her. She was all woman on the outside, but there was still a small part of her that was that child who had never had a childhood.

Bijou turned and moved away from him, a graceful sway of her hips, her long hair a waterfall of living silk tumbling past her waist, the ends caressing the curve of her buttocks. She crossed the floor to the counter where the coffeepot waited.

“I don’ know. Bodrie was so famous, and so loved by everyone.”

Her voice remained soft and sultry, without a hint of bitterness, but he noticed immediately she didn’t call Bodrie Breaux dad or daddy.

“Not everyone,” Remy disputed as he tested his ability to walk. Sympathy for her helped ease the terrible need raging through him. He managed to make it over to the table where he toed a chair around, dropped into it and stretched his legs out in front of him to ease the pressure in his 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.”