She blinked rapidly, trying to come back down to earth when she’d been soaring across the sky just moments earlier. Taking a breath, Remy’s hands steadying her, she glanced around, hoping for a rescue. Her body didn’t feel her own anymore. He’d laid claim to her and all he’d done was kiss her.

Blinking again, she focused on the buildings across the street. Two cars were parked close together and both had cameras sticking out of the windows. A man stood in the street with a professional camera. She recognized him as one of the men who often followed her and took candid shots for tabloids. His name was Bob Carson and he often made her life miserable. Ryan Cooper had draped himself against a tree and he glared at her.

“Remy,” she hissed, stiffening. “You’re goin’ to be in the tabloids and on the Internet and everywhere else. Are you crazy?”

“It’s called making a statement, and I think I just did that. In a matter of minutes gossip and rumors will be spreadin’ like wildfire not just through New Orleans, but everywhere. I’m countin’ on those videos going up.”

He looked so self-satisfied she wanted to smack him. “You have no idea what you’ve done. People are goin’ to think . . .” She trailed off, pressing a hand to her mouth. He had no idea the firestorm he just brought down on himself.

“Exactly.” Smug satisfaction and male amusement.

Bijou shook her head. “Remy, you don’ want the tabloids comin’ after you. They’ll follow you everywhere and say horrible things about us—and you. They could put your job in jeopardy. They’ll try hacking your phone and bugging your house. Nothin’ in your life will be sacred or off limits. I don’ want that for you.”

He took her hand, ignoring her. “Let’s go inside.”

“Remy, you aren’t listenin’ to me. I’ve consulted professionals about stalkers and you could have just set yourself up as a target . . .” She trailed off, understanding flooding her chaotic mind. He’d kissed her, not because he’d wanted to, but because he knew the paparazzi was there and would publish a picture of the two of them. He’d deliberately set himself up and made a complete fool of her in the process.

She stiffened. “I’m leavin’.”

“You’re goin’ inside where cameras aren’t going to catch that foul little temper of yours,” Remy said, reaching past her to open the door. He thrust her inside. “We can talk about this when we’re alone.”

Bijou glared at him, waiting until he had closed the door. “I don’ need savin’, Remy. I’m not that eight-year-old child anymore, just in case you hadn’t noticed. You can quit being the white knight chargin’ around trying to save me.”