Leopard's Prey

was, if for no other reason than just to make certain she was all right.
    “Saria is in her darkroom developin’ her photographs. I can get you a cup of coffee if you like.” The voice came from the kitchen. Smoky. Suggesting dark nights and silken sheets. Sex and Sin. Velvet like a neat whiskey so smooth, yet burning all the way down.
    Remy closed his eyes. His body tightened, a savage, urgent reaction to that amazing voice. No woman should be allowed to sound like that. That candlelight and “come take me to bed” tone gave her unfair advantages over a man.
    He turned slowly. No one could possibly live up to that sultry, southern drawl so erotic and sensual, an invitation to wild nights and temptation. She stood draped against the wall, one hand on her hip, her enormous eyes on his face. He would never forget those eyes. Before, they’d taken up her face, a wild cornflower blue fringed with impossibly long, thick feathery lashes, as dark as the cloud of hair tumbling around her face. Now, her eyes drew attention to her remarkable skin and the perfection of her bone structure.
    As if her inviting skin and the wealth of thick black hair cascading down her back weren’t enough to bring a man to his knees, her body was all soft inviting curves, and firm defined muscle. Her legs were long and slender and she had a small waist, emphasizing her breasts and hips. Her generous mouth had full, curved lips, bringing on enough fantasies to last a lifetime. His breath caught in his throat and need slammed low and mean into his body.
    His reaction to her shocked him. His leopard raked and clawed for supremacy. His body hurt, a deep savage ache, every muscle tense, his cock thick and hard, demanding to be sated
now
. He’d never had such a visceral, intense sexual reaction to a woman in his life. He wasn’t a gentle man, his cat was too aggressive, but he’d learned control and kept a tight grip on both the man and the leopard. What the hell was it about Bijou Breaux that sent him spinning out of control?
    Remy was grateful for his ability to keep his features expressionless. Bijou was sixteen years younger than him—a damned baby—and his body had no business reacting to hers no matter how sexy she was. It was wrong in every way.
    She pressed her lips together, the tiniest movement. Her lashes fluttered, veiling her eyes, but not before he caught a glimmer of hurt. “You probably don’ remember me. I went to school with Saria.”
    She stepped forward—into his space. His leopard ripped at him. His body tightened until he almost felt sick with need. He actually flexed his fingers, his palms itching to run over all that glorious skin. Lavender engulfed him, nearly drove him out of his mind. She extended her hand.
    “Bijou Breaux.”
    Self-preservation or white knight?
He detested hurting her. She’d been hurt by enough people. Silently he cursed. He couldn’t stand seeing that small flash of hurt, not associated with him. He was going to race to the rescue and let her know he hadn’t forgotten her.
    “I don’ forget faces, Bijou,” he admitted. Or eyes like hers. What the hell had happened to her in the growing phase? Her mouth should be outlawed. “Of course I remember you.” He took her outstretched hand and knew instantly it was a mistake to make physical contact. “It’s nice to see you again.” Damn. How absolutely mundane was that? He couldn’t take a step, his body hurting like hell, his leopard roaring at him.
    Her hand was small, fingers slender, slightly trembling as she shook his hand—or attempted to. He placed his other hand over hers, holding her still, locking her to him while his eyes searched hers. Her lashes came down immediately, hiding her thoughts from him. She definitely had trust issues.
    “Are you visitin’, or back with us?” He didn’t let go of her hand, waiting for her answer. His body went still, watchful, his cat coiled, every muscle locked and ready.
    “I bought a club in the French Quarter. I’m home for good.” She smiled at him, a brief flash of perfect white teeth. “It’s difficult to stay away. I think the bayou gets in our blood and just doesn’t let go.”
    Her voice stroked his body with caressing fingers. He felt her touch right through his veins so that his blood surged hotly and his cock jerked hard. He let her go to keep from pressing her palm on that throbbing, burning hard-on that wasn’t going away anytime soon.
    “But you’re not stayin’ at