“Where’d you get this piece?”

“Arnaud gave it to me,” Bijou said. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“You two goin’ out?” He asked the question casually, but he wasn’t feeling casual.

She frowned at him and carefully put down her fork. “I thought we were talkin’ about the threats to me.”

“We were. Now we’re talkin’ about you steppin’ out with Arnaud Lefevre.”

Chapter 4

4

BIJOU studied Remy’s completely expressionless face. His eyes had gone strange, from a brilliant cobalt blue to a deeper shade of green that almost glowed. He looked—dangerous. His gaze was focused on her, unblinking, mesmerizing and a little exhilarating. She found herself staring at him, unable to look away. Remy had a commanding presence. He exuded absolute confidence. There was no back up in him. He was even more of a steady rock than she remembered.

Remy truly fascinated her. For most of her life she’d thought of him. With her every adversity he’d been there, forcing her to do her best, believing in her, even if it had been a child’s imagination. He had become her white knight, the man who had come charging in and saved her in her darkest hour. She’d clung to his belief in her. The words he’d said to her became her mantra to live by. He believed she was strong—wasn’t a coward—and she’d done her best as a child to live up to his confidence in her. She’d never broken her promise to him. Not once, no matter how tempted she’d been.

He was so beautiful—in a very masculine way. There was nothing feminine about Remy other than maybe his eyelashes. His shoulders were wide and ropes of defined muscles rippled every time he moved. She’d flirted—how could she help it—and he’d flirted back. Strangely, she was more at ease with him than she ever was with anyone.

“Arnaud is a friend. I’ve admired his work and bought one of his sculptures several years ago at a gallery in New York. He was having a show there and I met him. He apparently enjoys my music.”

“Everyone enjoys your music.”

“If you’re thinkin’ he’s a stalker, or makin’ death threats, you can think again. He has my private number and can call me anytime. I have to change the number every couple of months and I send it to him.” The thought of elegant Arnaud Lefevre as a man going into the swamps and painting eyes on the walls of buildings was laughable.

Remy frowned. “I don’ have your number. Why is that?”

Laughter bubbled up. She rarely felt like laughing, but for some reason when she was with Remy, she felt happy. “Do you want my private number?”