“If you’re thinkin’ he’s a stalker, or makin’ death threats, you can think again. He has my private number and can call me anytime. I have to change the number every couple of months and I send it to him.” The thought of elegant Arnaud Lefevre as a man going into the swamps and painting eyes on the walls of buildings was laughable.

Remy frowned. “I don’ have your number. Why is that?”

Laughter bubbled up. She rarely felt like laughing, but for some reason when she was with Remy, she felt happy. “Do you want my private number?”

A tiny thrill swept through her at his nod. She tried hard to suppress it as she held out her hand for his phone. He looked so serious. Her hand trembled as she took his cell phone and entered her number before handing it back.

Remy glanced down and then smiled at her. “Blue?”

“My code name if anyone ever gets ahold of your phone.” She sent him a faint grin.

Bijou was used to false adulation. People liked her and wanted to be around her because of who she was—Bodrie’s daughter or because she was a wildly popular singer. She didn’t want that from Remy, and he wasn’t that kind of man. Remy made her feel as if he knew her—as if he could see inside her where no one else had ever looked.

She’d come home for the reasons she’d told him, but it was more than that. She’d never been able to connect with a man, to trust a man enough to get close to him. There was always Remy, and no one ever quite came up to her childhood image of him. He was the larger than life hero who she compared every man she met with. She knew she had trust issues. She didn’t always like men, her lessons in their behavior and lack of loyalty had been hammered into her very early. But there was Remy . . . He was the only man who had ever stood for her—the only man who cared enough to lose his temper when she’d done something so very, very stupid.

Why did he have to be so freakin’ beautiful? She hadn’t been prepared for that.

“Havin’ money or fame, or both, doesn’t guarantee a man is good, Blue,” Remy said. “Of all people, you should know that.”

She caught at the slender chain and held on. What was that supposed to mean? Did he think she was still eight and not so bright? She’d learned that lesson years ago. Before she could think of a reply Remy picked up the stack of letters protected by the plastic sleeve she’d put them in and turned the package over and over.

“What’s in here that scared you so much you came home?”

He made her sound like a little rabbit. “Your sister said you have a one track mind and it’s most annoyin’. I’m beginnin’ to believe her.”

He leaned across the table, his cobalt blue eyes holding her gaze captive. He was absolutely mesmerizing. “No, you don’. You find me charmin’.”

Her heart stuttered. A million butterflies took flight in her stomach. She had been so certain she could come back to New Orleans and find that her childhood hero was really a figment of her imagination. The real Remy was far more potent and sexy than she had ever conceived. He was larger than life. Protective. Funny. Intelligent. Everything she could ever want in a man, and that was totally unexpected.

“I suppose one could call you charmin’,” she agreed in a slow, grudging voice. All the while laughter bubbled close to the surface. She liked spending time in his company. More, he made her feel safe, and she hadn’t felt safe in a long time. It occurred to her that she was in over her head.

“Blue.” Remy’s voice went very low, a stroke of velvet over skin. “I do enjoy the way you’re lookin’ at me, but I want an answer. What has you scared?”

She forced her mind to focus on his question rather than his sexy tone. That meant not looking directly at him. She found she really loved his face, the strong jaw with the darker shadow and his strange, almost cat eyes. Bijou pulled herself up short. She felt a little like a teenager with her first crush. She hadn’t really experienced that stage of development and it was disconcerting to find she was entering into it at this late date.

“Twice, when I was a teenager, living in the mansion with Bodrie, I had a huge fight with him. A giant eye was sprayed on my bedroom wall with a can of red spray paint. A few months after Bodrie died, I found that eye drawn on the ground in my front yard with the same red spray paint. It was disturbing, but not at all frightening.” She shoved both hands through her hair and sat back in her chair.

How did one explain to those probing eyes why she hadn’t been more proactive about death threats? She’d grown up around them. Stalkers were part of her childhood. As a teenager and while she attended college, she’d dealt with both threats and stalkers on a regular basis. Nine times out of ten, the threats ended up being someone trying to scare her because she’d turned them down when they’d asked her out on a date.

“Threats and stalkers are commonplace with bein’ Bodrie’s only child. I wanted to live a normal life . . .”

Remy growled. There was no other word for it. The sound was frightening. Her gaze jumped to his.

“How the hell did you expect to live a normal life, Blue? You’re worth a fuckin’ fortune. You’re the daughter of one of the most infamous men on the planet and you sing for a living. A little protection might have been an intelligent decision.”

She pressed a hand to her suddenly churning stomach. “If you’re goin’ to insist on insultin’ me, Remy, then screw this. I’m not tellin’ you a thing.” She’d never discussed her life with anyone. It wasn’t easy, especially with him. Damn him anyway. She was all caught up in his good looks and dark sensual nature, and forgot he thought of her as twelve. “Thanks for lunch, but I’ve got a few things to do.” She reached for the packet of letters.