The terrible thunder was gone, and for the moment, she felt sated, the burning gone between her legs. Terrified the sensation would start again, she kept her eyes closed tight so she couldn’t see Remy, afraid he was the trigger. She hoped she’d just go to sleep and wake up to find the entire episode was only one of her erotic dreams about him. True, she’d never quite dreamt so vividly or imagined in any way that sex with Remy would be so perfect or brutal, but in her own right she was an artist and entitled to a vivid imagination.

She heard the water go on in the bathtub and smelled lavender. She couldn’t move. Remy had to leave. It was nice of him to run a bath for her, which she was certain he was doing, but she wasn’t about to face him even if she could. Which she couldn’t because she couldn’t get off the floor. Satisfied that she made perfect sense, she kept her eyes closed.

“Come on, Blue. We have to get you into hot water.”

She managed to wiggle her fingers, trying to shoo him. “Go away. Really, Remy. I’m not movin’. I’m sleepin’ right here and I’ll think about all this tomorrow.”

He laughed softly. “If you don’ get into that bath, chere, you won’ be walkin’ tomorrow. Come on.”

Ignoring her murmur of protest and the hand that tried to bat him away, Remy lifted her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. It wasn’t fair that he still had strength and she was virtually spaghetti. Every muscle felt deliciously bruised and battered. Her body felt used and decadent.

In a horrible, secret part of her mind, she was elated—shocked, of course—but so intensely happy that she had it in her to keep up just a bit with Remy Boudreaux. Or even that he wanted her for a single night, let alone made her state that she was his alone.

She realized her thighs were sticky and she was an absolute mess. How did a woman gracefully retreat after crazy sex? She had no idea, but she had to open her eyes soon and she could tell he was staring down at her. She could feel those piercing, intelligent eyes focused on her face.

Bijou took a deep breath and opened her eyes, looking, not at him, but at the room she rented from Saria. One wall had a caved-in spot with several cracks racing up it. Another wall, over by the bed, had furrows dug deep as if a large tiger or a bear had raked it with two claws. The bed sagged from the broken board. The sheets were in bloodstained strips and a lamp was knocked over and broken on the floor.