That smoky velvet tone didn't go with the words at all. It took him a moment to assimilate what she'd actually said, he was too busy trying to tame his wild craving for her. He told himself she was a baby. A kid. He was a damned pervert even thinking about her, let alone losing control and nearly throwing her up against a wall.
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."
"Was I?" Remy asked. His eyebrow shot up. He was quite certain he had the ability to scare the hell out of anyone.
Bijou nodded slowly and took the chair across the table from him. She wasn't safe. She might think she was, but she was well within striking distance, and somewhere in the back of his mind, that same fantasy was playing--throwing her up against the wall and ripping her clothes away from all that beautiful, soft skin.
"You still are," she conceded. She glanced toward the door, clearly hoping Saria would appear suddenly to rescue her.
The sexual tension in the room was nearly as acute as their awareness of one another.
"That's a good thing," he said with a small grin, trying to ease the rising tension between them. "You were about to tell me about death threats."
She sighed and took a cautious sip of the coffee she'd poured for herself. "I suppose I did bring it up so I can't very well pretend I didn't." She ducked her head and thick strands of hair covered her face.
Remy leaned across the table and tucked the wild cloud behind her ear. Startled, her lashes flew up and her gaze collided with his. The tip of her tongue moistened her lower lip. He caught the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her shirt. It was interesting to him that she hadn't turned on the lights.
His leopard roared at him, rising like a tidal wave, fighting him for supremacy. His leopard was difficult, but not like this, savage and feral and so determined. Remy fought the cat into submission, although it snarled and prowled, not settling at all. All the while he studied Bijou's face. Never before had his cat responded to a woman. Was it possible she was leopard? Little was known about Bijou's mother. It was nearly impossible to tell if a woman was leopard. Only when the woman entered the Han Vol Dan--a period of time when the female cat came into heat at the same time a woman ovulated--did male cats react. Sometimes, the two periods of fertility never synced, and the cat never emerged.
"Has your life been threatened?" Remy pursued. He wasn't about to let it go, not even with his body screaming at him. He let his hand fall away from all that silky hair and satin skin.
Bijou shrugged. "Just about every day. There's been so many it's impossible to take them seriously. Fans of my father don' believe I have the right to his money; after all, I wasn't there when he died. It was no secret that we didn't get along. The tabloids had a field day. Bodrie liked to read about himself so he fed the stories and kept our so-called feud goin' in the magazines."
Remy drummed his fingers on the table beside his coffee cup. His leopard was more agitated than ever and he needed an outlet for the restless energy. She was sitting across the table from him, but damn it all, he wasn't that big of a pervert. He had to stop thinking of her as a woman and think of her as a victim. Someone in need of a policeman. There were threats against her life, of course he'd be upset on her behalf. As an officer of the law, it was his duty to make inquiries and ask her questions. She was his sister's friend, staying at Saria's Inn. If Bijou was in danger, so was Saria. He had every reason to be disturbed over the threats.
Sadly, he was too damn old to listen to anyone's bullshit--especially his own. "This has been goin' on since Bodrie's death?"
Bijou nodded. "Yes. Apparently his home should be made into a sacred shrine to him."
"If you didn't inherit, who would have?"
"I'm his only proven heir and he named me specifically. There were plenty of children who came forward to claim they were his, but DNA disputed it."
"How much money are we talkin'?"
Bijou's gaze met his. "You don' listen to the news, do you?"
"Too depressin'. All those murders. Gives me a bad outlook on life."
Her answering smile was faint. "Hundreds of millions and growing every day."
He went still inside. She dismissed death threats she received, and she was worth hundreds of millions of dollars? People killed for a pair of shoes, let alone that kind of money. "Did the threats come in the form of letters?"
Bijou shook her head. "Remy, you've got a real murder to solve. This is silly stuff. Some of Bodrie's fans were crazy. They worshipped him and apparently still do. I've lived with it all of my life. I've come home, bought a club and intend to live out my life in the place I love. Bodrie isn't goin' to dictate my life to me, not anymore."
She had all the money in the world and she wanted to come home to the bayous. Something wild and feral deep inside him settled. He could breathe again, his body once more his own, his cat relaxing, stretching lazily. He took another long, satisfying drink of coffee, regarding her over the rim of the mug.
"Nevertheless, I want to see those letters, Bijou. If you don' have them, give me the name of your lawyer, or your contact at the FBI and I'll take it from there." He wasn't a man who took no for an answer and his tone said it all.
"If you insist."
Now that he knew he was getting his way, he relaxed even more. "How long have you been home?" Because if it was longer than a couple of days, he was going to drown his sister.
Bijou looked around the large, homey kitchen. "Isn't it funny what makes a place a home? Miss Pauline was so good to me. I used to come here or go to Saria when I coul
dn't stand bein' in that house. Neither ever ratted me out, no matter how much money Bodrie offered around the bayous and swamps for my location."
She was painfully beautiful, with her skin and tumbling hair, that drawling, sexy voice and perfectly kissable lips, and hearing her use the term ratted out made him want to come across the table and find out just how kissable her lips really were.
"I traveled for several years," Remy said, deciding it would be far more prudent to converse with her rather than assault her. "And I knew this would always be my home. The heat, the mosquitoes, all of it--is home."
"I agree." She leaned her chin into her palm, her gaze steady on his. "Why did you call me Blue? You did that once before, a long time ago."
"I did? I think I have a good memory, and I don' recall makin' that mistake when you were a child." And he'd better start convincing himself she was still a child. Her eyes were too old, held too much knowledge for her age.
"I didn't mind," she admitted. "You were one of the few people who ever seemed to give a damn about me. Callin' me Blue just meant you'd given me a nickname. People do that when they care, at least that's what I thought at the time."
She was breaking his heart and clearly she wasn't trying to. She gave him her little smile that never quite reached her eyes and spoke in that smoky, matter-of-fact tone. She wasn't looking for sympathy and would be upset if she got it.
He forced a casual shrug, resisting the urge to yank her into his arms and hold her close to his heart. She certainly brought out the white knight in him. He had a protective streak a mile wide when she was around. "That song, 'Blue Bayou.'" He wasn't going to tell her that every time he heard it instead of "bayou," he heard "bijou."