Leopard's Prey

performances on YouTube. She detested being Bijou Breaux in person. She looked relaxed, but he knew better. He knew her. He could read her, and sweeping through the bull pen was difficult for her with so many staring at her. She had her eyes on him because he was getting her through it. She was pretending no one else was around. No one but him.
    Remy covered the distance between them with long, purposeful strides, his eyes holding hers. The moment he reached her, one hand circled the nape of her neck while he leaned in to brush a kiss on her temple, staking his claim, as well as indicating she was under his protection by drawing her in close to the shelter of his body. When he lifted his head, his formidable gaze swept the bull pen, putting everyone back to work instantly.
    His leopard was close to the surface, the itch under his skin, his jaw aching and his teeth feeling sharper to his tongue. He had a feeling his eyes had gone cat, glowing as they changed color. He breathed her in, uncaring that his coworkers had never seen him act this way toward a woman. He wanted them to see and understand the warning he was giving them.
    “Blue.” He deliberately called her by his nickname for her, making it intimate. Connecting them. “You brought the letters to me.”
    “You gave me an order.” She didn’t look left or right, but kept her gaze on his face.
    Her sultry voice sent heat through his body. It obviously didn’t take much for her to ensnare him or his leopard. “That’s a fact,” he agreed, wrapping his arm around her waist and turning her back toward the door. “Let’s do this over lunch. I’ve been here all night and I forgot to eat this mornin’.”
    The moment he touched her skin, electricity arced between them. He felt the current rushing through his body and jumping back to hers. The beat of her heart echoed through his. His leopard pushed at him hard. He pushed back, taking control quickly.
    “That’s not good for you, Remy,” she said, her frown drawing his attention to her full lower lip. “You need a keeper.”
    “Are you applyin’ for the job?”
    Her blue eyes darkened and her lashes swept down, veiling her expression. “I’ve heard you’re quite bossy. I’m afraid I wouldn’t do very well under those circumstances. I’ve been told I have problems with authority figures.”
    He found himself laughing. He remembered saying that very thing to her when she had been about thirteen and he’d dragged Saria and Bijou out of a party at his own father’s bar. He’d been home for a brief visit and he’d caught the two of them in the bar. She’d been sassy, and he’d given her a lecture as he’d driven her to Pauline’s Inn. He’d taken both girls there, certain they’d behave for Pauline when they wouldn’t for anyone else.
    “It’s the truth.”
    “I just have never recognized anyone that could be a real authority figure,” Bijou contradicted in her smoky, sexy, melt-a-man-in-his-tracks voice.
    He wrapped a length of her long, thick braid around his fist and pulled to keep from kissing that tempting mouth of hers. “You aren’t lookin’ in the right place, Blue. Open your eyes.”
    She laughed, a soft, sensual sound that went straight to his groin. Laughing was so unexpected and so unlike Bijou, but just as sexy as her voice.
    “I’m afraid to do that, Remy, especially if you’re applyin’ for the job. You’d be . . .
bossy
.” She laughed again, soft and low, sending hot blood pounding through his body.
    “You’ve spent too much time with my sister,” Remy pointed out, and stopped in front of the door to the small café just down from the police station.
    Bijou stiffened and halted abruptly. “You want to eat out? In a restaurant? In public?”
    “Where else?” He tightened his hold on her. “You’re safe with me.”
    Bijou shrugged. “If that’s what you want, but I’m not so certain you’re safe with me.”
    Remy opened the door and she slipped inside, immediately stepping to one side waiting for him as heads swung around and a low murmur started up in the café. People recognized her. How could they not? Her face had been plastered on every tabloid for years and now, she was famous in her own right. Her face went still, composed. She wore that slightly haughty, don’t-touch-me expression she’d worn as she moved through the bull pen.
    Remy glided close, and she tucked her body into his, beneath his shoulder, almost without conscious thought. He