A Siren for the Bear (Sarkozy Brothers Book 1) (2 page)

The contact was explosive. For Marek at least. She glanced back as she continued on her journey, barely laying eyes on him as she threw an apology his way.

Marek stared after her, but the couple blocked his line of sight for a few seconds. He pushed to his feet and strode after her.

And he smiled. The view of her curvaceous ass was unimpeded.

Stop it, Marek. You can't have her. Ever. This is where it ends. Get her on board, and get the hell out of here.

Marek tightened his jaw and pushed the force of his attraction down as far as he could, steeling his emotions as he approached her.

The band was waiting.

S
HE
WAS
A
FOOT
FROM
the table when a warm hand closed over her upper arm. Goosebumps covered her skin, not unlike the trill of awareness she'd experienced moments ago.

The sleeveless evening dress was the only appropriate garment she owned for a club like Serendipity. Classy and sexy at the same time. Her bare arms had never been a problem. Not until now.

Carson stared down at the fingers wrapped around her bicep. Tanned, large sexy hands.

As her gaze travelled up the hand and followed it along the muscled arm, to the face of its owner, she was strangely glad to find that the face attached to the hand matched that of the man she'd bumped into.

She was tall, which had always been a disadvantage from her. Add all those damned curves and she had no chance against all the skinny model types that usually got away with the hot guys.

So it wasn't often that she had to stare up into the eyes of a man. And even less often did that man happened to be drop dead gorgeous.

Her stomach tightened, heat flooding her veins, and she remembered belatedly to breathe. Honey-gold eyes held her entranced, her breasts tingling in response to him.

She took a soft breath, uncertain now that she recognized the expression in those eyes. They were cold, almost unfeeling, as he ran his gaze over her, lingering for that much longer as he took in her curves.

When he was done, he looked back up at her eyes, the tension between them simmering long enough that she bit her bottom lip as nervous weight settled in her stomach.

Despite his cool demeanor, his hand hadn't yet left her arm. She swallowed hard and gave his fingers a pointed look.

By the time she looked back up at him, she'd taken another slow and even breath, but it did nothing for her, because when she met his eyes again, he still managed to take her breath away.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She straightened her spine. "Can I help you?"

The fact that he was six feet of pure sex god didn't mean he wasn't a pervert or a creep. If he didn't remove his hand soon, Carson wouldn't hesitate to call Adam to toss his hot ass out of the club.

But he did let her go, albeit very reluctantly. As his fingers slid across her skin she had to suppress a shudder that roiled through her, sending a wave of heat to pool within her core.

No surprise when she felt bereft of his touch as he let go of her and shifted away.

"Are you Carson Grant?" he asked, his voice a low baritone that she could just imagine growling naughty things in her ear.

She blinked away images of silken sheets and the stranger's naked flesh and raised her eyebrows.

How could he not know, when Adam had announced it very loudly not too long ago. She forced herself to nod and smile. A testament to a good upbringing.

Maybe he was just being polite.

She held out her hand. "Yes, I'm Carson." It didn't hurt to be professional, either. "And you are?"

"My name is Marek Sarkozy," he said, taking her hand. The touch made her want to shiver. "I have a business proposition for you."

Oh boy.

She steeled herself against the awareness of him, against the desire to tug her hand free, and pursed her lips. His business proposition probably wasn't exactly what
she
was thinking.

She studied his expression, wondering if he was messing with her. She didn't have men propositioning her everyday, business or otherwise. She forced a smile onto her face, swearing that she would not hesitate to kick him in the balls if he turned out to be a pimp.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, and she heard Kat's clothes rustling as she fidgeted. She could hear Adam announcing the next performer for the evening. The warmth of his palm against hers reminded her that he was still holding onto her hand, the heat of his skin still coursing through her body from just that contact.

She cleared her throat and removed her hand as politely as possible. "Sounds interesting. Care to elaborate?"

His expression was unreadable as she waved him to a seat at their table and slid quickly into her chair. She couldn't trust her legs to keep her up any longer and was grateful for the support of the chair.

Her margarita still sat on the table, probably warm now, but she curled her fingers around the long stem for want of something to do. Sarkozy gave Kat a dark look, which she returned with a bright smile. There was a strange edge to her expression as she studied his face, and Carson frowned at her.

But Kat just got to her feet, giving Carson a pointed stare. "I have to go, er, powder my nose?"

Smooth, Kat. Very smooth.

She watched as Kat moved away from the table, waving her hand in front of her face before she disappeared in the direction go the bar.

So Kat also thinks the guy is hot. Fabulous.

"So how can I help you, Mr. Sarkozy?"

The name rolled off her lips. Unusual. It suited him. He wasn't the usual type, not with those broad shoulders, that massive chest. His physique implied power, something latent, brewing.

Carson blinked, trying to regain control of her thoughts. Business thoughts.

He leaned his elbows on the table, shadows hiding along his sharp jaw, resting on his sensuous mouth. She had to force herself to concentrate when he finally began to speak.

"We need a lead singer for our band. We'd like to offer you the position."

Her eyes widened a fraction, but she kept her spine stiff. "May I ask which band?"

She wasn't into heavy metal, or hard rock. Anything else she'd consider.

"Ursus Major."

"Oh," she said softly.

She'd heard of them. Indie. Big. But oddly reclusive. Not much was known about the members personally, and the only time you'd see pictures online of them was if someone snapped a shot on their cell phones at a live performance.

She'd heard their stuff before. Nice, soft rock. Some romantic, some bordering on hard rock, but easy enough for her to enjoy.

Carson cleared her throat. "Okay. Is this a permanent gig?" The man wasn't very forthcoming for someone offering a position to a potential employee. He really needed to up his managerial skills.

He shook his head. "Natashia, our lead vocal, is having some health issues. She's too ill right now. And we have a Western seaboard tour coming up in a few weeks."

"So the job is just for the upcoming tour?" Carson asked, wondering if it was worth getting on board just for a single tour.

"At the moment, yes." He nodded, his golden eyes eerily cool.

Honeyed ice.

Then he nodded as he reached into his pocket and pulled a thick envelope free. Her eyes traveled: hand to chest, chest to the open button at his throat, the tie that had been loosened, the sprinkling of dark hair at the base of his throat. The breath caught in her lungs and she felt her heart thud painfully against her ribs.

Get a grip, it's hair on a man's chest for crying out loud.

When he slapped the white envelope on the dark fabric of the tablecloth, she almost jumped.

"It's all in the contract, along with a generous salary including benefits. Plus royalty share on any songs we produce until the contract ends. As well as royalty share on any albums we issue on the tour. We may need to re-record some of our current sounds with you singing the lead, but from what I've heard of your abilities you are capable enough."

Capable enough?

She stared up at the arrogant bastard. But the coolness in his gaze stilled her fury.

Two can play this game, dude.

Carson nodded, taking the envelope in her fingers. She placed it close to her, but didn't move to open it. "Thank you for the offer. I'll take a look at the contract and get back to you." She studied his face as she paused. Inscrutable, except for a flicker of something in his golden gaze. "How long do I have to make a decision?"

"You have twenty-four hours."

M
AREK
WATCHED
HER
EYEBROWS
TWITCH
. She was trying to remain cool, unflappable. And he would have been fooled. Had he been human.

He rose smoothly. For a big guy, he knew he was quick on his feet, a trait of the bear.

He watched her, scented the subtle change in her pheromones, heard the sudden increase in her heartbeat. So, she found him attractive. So what? Most females did. Must be another bear thing, especially now, as he grew older and remained without a mate.

Most women didn't even warrant a blink in response. But this woman was different.

"Just a day?" She arched an eyebrow.

Marek kept his features under control and let her continue. "It's a fairly important decision. I'll need my lawyer to go through the contract itself."

He nodded. She had a point. Which impressed him. Though he'd wanted to move this thing along as fast as possible, he did believe in playing fair.
 

"How long will you need?"

"Two days should do it," she said briskly, her slender fingers clutching the envelope the same way she had held the microphone as she sang a moment ago, and for a moment, he imagined those fingers curved around something else entirely more satisfying.

Marek strained for control, and slipped his hand into his pants pocket. He tilted a business card to her, held between two fingers. "Call me if you have any questions."

She stared at the white square for a moment, then reached out for it.

Her fingers brushed his as she took the card, her eyes widening at the spark of awareness that rippled from the contact with his skin. He gave her a cool nod and made his way through the crowd until he exited the club. It was warm inside, but the searing heat he was feeling had nothing to do with room temperature and everything to do with one particularly hot singer.

Hopefully, the two days he'd given her would be enough. She'd been professional, polite. More than he could have asked for considering his borderline rudeness.

Who was he kidding? He'd been downright cold.

He hoped he hadn't blown it. The band needed her, more than she knew.

Marek dragged in a breath of fresh air as he strode to the car parked at the curb. Greg, his driver, was walking around the limo to open the door for him, but Marek waved him off as his phone rang inside his pocket, a little too close to the dull throb in his groin.