With a sinking heart, Bijou recognized Arnaud’s tone had already gone to that place she had come to recognize. He was all about the muse and was in work mode, completely forgetting where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. He studied Remy as the detective made his way across the floor, weaving in and out of the crowd easily.

There would be no distracting him, Bijou knew. He was as focused on Remy as Remy was on him. Remy’s gaze had shifted to the artist and then dropped to her hand tucked so comfortably in the crook of Arnaud’s arm. Faint color stole up her neck to her cheeks. Arnaud wasn’t paying any attention to her at all, his artist’s focus completely on Remy.

“I went to a big cat sanctuary once and sat on a bench all day just watching the various cats. Look at the way he moves. The crowd actually gets out of his way. He doesn’t maneuver around them so much as they move for him, almost instinctively as if they recognized danger, someone higher on the food chain.”

“That’s probably the cop in him,” Bijou said, a little shocked at how perceptive Arnaud was. She should have realized an artist of his caliber would notice things others didn’t. “And he was in the military as well. He can handle himself.” She tried to distract him.

Arnaud continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “One of the most intriguing things I noticed about the large cats was their stare. They would suddenly seem to drop into a hunting zone, and once they fixed that stare on something, they never looked away.”

Remy was nearly to them. She could smell him—his wild, masculine scent. He looked so good she wanted to fling herself into his arms, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was staring at Arnaud. Not that Arnaud appeared to be intimidated in any way. He didn’t seem to notice the danger in the stare, saw only as an artist wanting to capture the look.

The tension heightened as Remy got right up to them, his gaze locked with Arnaud’s. Bijou wasn’t certain how to act, how to break the near hostility emanating from Remy. Few people could understand Arnaud’s obsession. Clearly he was a genius with his art, but he wasn’t interested in much else.