Arnaud didn’t wait for a reply, forgetting all about them as was his way. He walked Bijou over to his latest sculpture, a five-foot waterfall of color and texture that was breathtaking. “What do you think of this piece? They never come out the way I expect. As I’m working they take on a life of their own.”
The piece was titled “Giving Back.” The critics had given the sculpture rave reviews and several had attributed the piece to “what it feels like to fall in love.”
Bijou studied the waterfall from every angle as she knew Arnaud preferred before she answered him. He had actually captured individual drops as well as the feeling of water rushing over a cliff. Looking closely she could see more than the water. Images began to emerge beneath and in the flowing waves of water.
Entranced, she moved closer. The images appeared and disappeared according to the light shining on the sculpture and whichever direction she was looking from. She studied the images, taking her time, knowing Arnaud appreciated a thorough inspection before pronouncing judgment. He stayed very silent as she moved back and forth, trying to capture each aspect.
It seemed an impossible task to find everything he’d molded into the water. Each time she thought she’d found them all, when she moved, something else revealed itself. “This is amazin’, Arnaud. Incredible. I don’ know how you could even manage to do this. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. The weird thing is, the more I look at it, the more beautiful it becomes.”
“What do you think I’m trying to say?”
This was always the most difficult moment. Arnaud made statements with his sculptures. He didn’t mind the critics getting it wrong, but it mattered to him that she saw his vision, because she was one of the few people he allowed into his small circle of friends. She walked around the sculpture one more time.
“It isn’t about fallin’ in love,” Bijou said. She looked up at him. “At least, that’s not what it says to me. All the drops are individual until they hit halfway down the waterfall and then they blend together, revealin’ all the faces pourin’ over the cliff and flowin’ to the bottom into the pool. When I look at it, I see the life in the universe—the way each form of life is on an individual journey as we take that free fall. We come together back in the universe . . .” She bit her lip. “I’m not sayin’ this very well, Arnaud, but for me it’s a statement on the universe and life and death. That’s what I see when I look at this piece.”
A slow smile lit up his face for one brief moment and then faded away. “You always ‘get’ me, Bijou. I believe we all free-fall through the world and then the universe absorbs us back into it one way or another and we give back to it.”
“No matter what it means to others, Arnaud, and that’s the true beauty of art, everyone sees what they need to see, this sculpture is truly wonderful.”
“It’s my favorite of all of them.”
“You didn’t just do faces like everyone would expect,” she observed. There was the curve of hair, a perfect mouth, animals and plants, bits and pieces of various living things captured in his sculpture.
“Our life-form shares the planet with millions of other life-forms,” he said. “And then all of us go back to dust to feed the Earth.”
“I don’ know if that’s beautiful or terrifyin’,” Bijou said.
“Of course it’s beautiful. Our life-form is beautiful, but not always those that inhabit the form are. You happen to be very rare, Bijou.” He looked around the crowded room, the people in dozens of conversations, sipping on expensive wine and champagne and eating from the hors d’oeuvres trays the waiters passed around. “I think you’ve found a few friends who seem to be very much like you.”
He paused, forced a smile and waved at several people greeting him. Bijou immediately took over for him, making the conversation, easing him into it occasionally. She tucked her hand back into the crook of his arm, a small way of using code between them. When Arnaud needed a little space from the crowd grouped around them, he pressed his palm tightly over her hand and she would find an excuse to graciously move on, giving him breathing space.
The next two hours were spent talking to couples, groups and individual fans of Arnaud’s work, all eager to purchase one of his famous sculptures or a smaller item from his rare jewelry section. They worked the room together, Bijou making certain that no one felt slighted. They were all potential customers, and many were repeat buyers, millionaires and even two billionaires perusing the art. Not only did they get to talk to Arnaud, but they were more than delighted to chat with the celebrity on his arm.
The music turned dreamy and the small dance floor became crowded. Men in tuxedos and women in long, glittering gowns moved together to sway and twirl. Bijou caught sight of Saria and Drake dancing, steps perfectly matching.
“Is Drake your bodyguard?” Arnaud asked as they distanced themselves from the latest crowd of admirers.
“No, why?”
“He carries himself like a bodyguard, and he’s very aware of everyone in the room and where you are. He isn’t the only one either,” Arnaud added.
Bijou had forgotten just how much Arnaud, as an artist, took in. He was very observant, even if he really wasn’t all that social. She inclined her head, respecting him too much to lie to him. “Remy’s worried that someone is tryin’ to hurt me. And you know I’ve always had to have bodyguards. I’m tryin’ to make it so that won’t be necessary, but I’m not quite there yet.”
“You’ll get there,” he assured. “Although, I like the idea that someone’s looking out for you. Is this thing with Remy serious?”
“I’ve always been serious about him,” she admitted. In some ways it seemed a relief that she could say it out loud. “He helped me when no one else would. He stood up for me and risked his job to do it. I always thought he was everythin’ a man should be.” She shrugged. “I guess I came home to find out if the real thing was as good or better than my fantasy.”
“I hope he is,” Arnaud said. “You deserve to be happy, Bijou. I hope he keeps bodyguards around you for a long time.” He took her hand and brought it absently to his lips, bowing slightly, very old world.
Bijou turned her head as a series of flashes went off. Bob Carson stood only a few feet away, snapping pictures, one right after the other. Involuntarily and in a slight panic, she tightened her fingers on Arnaud’s arm. She hadn’t expected to see Carson after the incident in the swamp, but smelling him there wasn’t the same as proving that he’d been there.
Arnaud put up a hand to shield her from the camera, turning her quickly and walking her toward the back. He glanced over his shoulder. “You definitely have bodyguards looking out for you; they’re escorting him out. That’s got to be the one who destroyed my car and wrote all over yours. Your stalker.”
“There’s no proof, but he does scare me a little bit,” she admitted. “Who’s escorting him out? I can’t imagine him going quietly.”
She stopped to watch as Gage and Remy came up on either side of Carson. Drake stood in front of him, relieving him of the camera. When he started to protest, Remy leaned in and whispered something very softly to the man. Carson went absolutely pale. He backed up, both hands going up in the air in surrender. Drake handed Carson back his camera as he and Gage walked the photographer outside. Remy turned and looked straight at her.
Her eyes met his. All that intense glittering green. Her heart gave a jump and began to pound hard. He looked extremely handsome in a black suit and tie. His shoes were a little scuffed and his tie had already been loosened, but his jacket emphasized his wide shoulders, and to her, no one could hold a candle to him.
“Have you ever noticed he has cat’s eyes?” Arnaud asked. “Very unusual. Very focused. He doesn’t blink. He even moves like a cat. Fluid. Graceful. I wish I could capture that particular motion.”
With a sinking heart, Bijou recognized Arnaud’s tone had already gone to that place she had come to recognize. He was all about the muse and was in work mode, compl
etely forgetting where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. He studied Remy as the detective made his way across the floor, weaving in and out of the crowd easily.
There would be no distracting him, Bijou knew. He was as focused on Remy as Remy was on him. Remy’s gaze had shifted to the artist and then dropped to her hand tucked so comfortably in the crook of Arnaud’s arm. Faint color stole up her neck to her cheeks. Arnaud wasn’t paying any attention to her at all, his artist’s focus completely on Remy.
“I went to a big cat sanctuary once and sat on a bench all day just watching the various cats. Look at the way he moves. The crowd actually gets out of his way. He doesn’t maneuver around them so much as they move for him, almost instinctively as if they recognized danger, someone higher on the food chain.”
“That’s probably the cop in him,” Bijou said, a little shocked at how perceptive Arnaud was. She should have realized an artist of his caliber would notice things others didn’t. “And he was in the military as well. He can handle himself.” She tried to distract him.
Arnaud continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “One of the most intriguing things I noticed about the large cats was their stare. They would suddenly seem to drop into a hunting zone, and once they fixed that stare on something, they never looked away.”
Remy was nearly to them. She could smell him—his wild, masculine scent. He looked so good she wanted to fling herself into his arms, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was staring at Arnaud. Not that Arnaud appeared to be intimidated in any way. He didn’t seem to notice the danger in the stare, saw only as an artist wanting to capture the look.
The tension heightened as Remy got right up to them, his gaze locked with Arnaud’s. Bijou wasn’t certain how to act, how to break the near hostility emanating from Remy. Few people could understand Arnaud’s obsession. Clearly he was a genius with his art, but he wasn’t interested in much else.
“Look at his eyes, Bijou. They’re perfection.” Arnaud didn’t have the least idea he might upset anyone with his comments either. He acted as though Remy couldn’t hear him, that he and Bijou were having a private conversation. “Tiger eyes? What do you think? Leopard? Lion? Not lion. Amazing. And his bone structure is nearly as perfect as yours, although male, of course.” The words tumbled over one another. “I don’t know how I could have missed this the other day when he rescued us.” He looked around almost helplessly. “I need my pad and pencils.” He scowled. “There are too many people in here, Bijou. Can you get rid of them? I need to sketch him.”
She caught both of Arnaud’s shoulders in a tight grip. She’d seen him like this before, and it took a lot to bring him out of his nearly mesmerized state. “Arnaud. Look at me. Look at me right now.”
His eyebrows came together and it took a moment for him to acknowledge her. He blinked rapidly and then looked around him as if coming out of a trance.
“We’re goin’ to dance now and then we’ll talk to a few more people. After that, I’ll get you out of here,” she promised. “You can sketch Remy’s face and eyes later if you still want to.”
She sent Remy a quick look from under the sweep of her lashes hoping he would understand and cooperate. Arnaud could not walk out on his own show. He would not be nice to his customers if he forgot what he was supposed to be doing and disappeared back into his world of art. Arnaud was capable of simply retreating from reality, living in his art and what he was creating. These showings were important to his career, but they took a terrible toll on him.
“I’m just goin’ to get a drink,” Remy said. “I’ll be dancin’ with you before we go home, Blue. Nice to see you again, Mr. Lefevre.”
Arnaud, still a little distracted, inclined his head as Bijou led him away. Arnaud was a wonderful dancer. He was good at anything he did when he decided it was something he wanted done. She slipped into his arms, smiling a little at the absolute correctness of his dancing style. He knew ballroom and his frame was always exact. He never held her too close or rubbed his body against hers. He danced beautifully, moving her with absolute confidence from one step to the next, so perfectly others stepped back to watch them. He always made her feel as if they were floating through the clouds, he was that light on his feet. He rarely talked when they danced, but he did manage to make her feel like a princess in a fairy tale as he moved her over the floor to the symphony of music.
When the dance was over, several people clapped and Arnaud dipped her with a small smile that never quite reached his eyes. When he pulled her back up, he put his mouth next to her ear. “I have to get out of here. I need to work. I have to get to New York in a few days, so I’m running out of time and everything has set me back. This is such a waste of my time.”
“A few more minutes and I’ll give you a clear exit,” Bijou promised. She’d managed to extricate him from shows early before. “And it isn’t a waste. These people love your art and they purchase it, which enables you to make more art. Think of it that way.”
“Thanks.” Arnaud allowed her to guide him toward two men in suits. Both had very young actresses hanging on their arms. “Tell me their names again. I always forget.”
Bijou laughed and obliged. Arnaud rarely cared enough to remember someone’s name, although he had amazing business sense. He was a mixture of a dreamy child, a moody, driven, obsessed genius of an artist and a man who seemed to care nothing for the social world he had to maneuver and did so with aplomb.
They spent the next fifteen minutes talking and laughing with the two customers who were two of Arnaud’s biggest advocates and had purchased several of his most expensive and biggest sculptures. Bijou did most of the talking, but they were flattered to meet her and flirted outrageously with her. She made a show of glancing at her watch.
“I’m so sorry, but, Arnaud, you have to leave right now if you’re going to get the right light you need for your work. If you miss this opportunity, you’ll have to wait an entire month before the moon is in the right position again.”
She’d used that absurd excuse on three occasions and it always worked. If someone had heard it before, well, genius took time, and if he could only work when the moon was in a specific position, they all wanted to see his next creation so they indulged his obsessive behavior.
Arnaud brushed a light kiss along her cheek and hastily waved to the crowd, disappearing through the back to make his exit fast.
Remy swept Bijou into his arms and onto the dance floor. “You are gettin’ harder and harder to keep track of. It takes an army now.”
She gave him her most dazzling smile as she looked up into his eyes. He looked tired, exhausted even, but more handsome than ever—and he had that look in his eyes he reserved only for her. “You didn’t have to come,” she whispered against his shoulder. “I know how tired you are. You need sleep.”
Unlike Arnaud, Remy held her close, pressing her body into his, his hands sliding down her back, along her spine to the curve of her hips.
“I need you. You were here, so of course I would come.” His lips brushed the corner of her eye and trailed kisses to the corner of her mouth. “I wouldn’t want to miss seein’ you like this. You look beautiful, Bijou. Absolutely stunning. When I first saw you, across the room, you took my breath away.”
She moved her body against his, melting inside and out. Warm. So much love. The intensity of her feelings for him overwhelming. She wanted to be beautiful for him. “I missed you,” she admitted. “Thanks for coming tonight.”
“You babysit him, don’ you? There really isn’t anything more than friendship between you.”
“I told you.”
“Tellin’ me and it bein’ real are two very different things.”
He was surprisingly smooth on the dance floor, leading her with the same casual confidence and strength that he did everything. He moved with fluid grace and guided her unerringly across the crowded floor. Now that Arnaud wasn’t there for her to concentrate on, she was more aware of people whispering and taking photographs with cell
phones as she went by them. She buried her face against Remy’s shoulder.
Remy bent his head down toward hers, his lips brushing her ear. “I want to take you home and make, long, slow love to you.”
She reached up to circle his neck with her arms. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”
It was true. She wanted to be alone with him. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift with him to the music on a rising tide of lust and love. With every passing moment, her body reacted more and more to the closeness of his, but it was her heart she found was so full it hurt. She felt his erection, thick, hard and hot against her stomach, and she loved knowing he wanted her as much as she did him.
The longer she was in his arms, the more secure she felt. The world dropped away until there was only the two of them and the delicious embers slowly fanning into flames between her legs. She could feel herself growing slick and hot with need, but unlike all the other times with Remy, this was a slower and gentler build to a coiling tension.
“Come on, chere, before I make an ass out of myself,” he whispered against her ear. “You’ve done your job and gotten Lefevre through it. Let the gallery owners do the rest. Come home with me.”
She lifted her head and nodded, completely dazzled by him, completely bewitched by him. She would always want to be with Remy, anytime, anywhere. He wrapped his arm around her waist and walked her off the dance floor. She kept her eyes down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, uncaring if they called her rude or haughty. She just wanted to go home.
“Is this his latest sculpture?” Remy asked.
Bijou blinked rapidly, trying to come out from under his spell and find her voice. She took a quick look around. He had halted to avoid running into a large group of people who clearly had cameras ready and wanted to ask for a picture with her.
Remy shifted his body to put himself between her and the group. Bijou deliberately stared down at the sculpture with a look of enchantment and admiration on her face. She didn’t even have to work too hard to come up with the expression. She did admire and respect Arnaud’s work.
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