A Siren for the Bear (Sarkozy Brothers Book 1) (5 page)

Not to mention the way her body had reacted when he'd been pressed against her. Her skin had rippled with awareness, her heart racing as his breath had caressed her bare neck and shoulders. When he'd spoken, his lips had been only breath away from her neck, and she'd had to use all her strength to stop herself from shivering in anticipation.

What the hell was wrong with her?

He was the manager of the band she was signing up with. That meant he'd be her new boss, so to speak. Bosses had always been off limits to Carson.

And this boss hadn't gotten the freaking memo.

She shifted in her seat again, pressing her hand into her lap. And he just sat there, a mysterious smile on his face, with an unmistakable heat in his eye that made her want to leap off the seat and tackle him right there in the back of the limo.

Behave yourself, Carson.

The car slowed then turned, heading down into a parking garage. And she began to wonder how she was going to walk all the way from the vehicle up to his room in her condition.

Across from her, Marek was fidgeting, and when she looked up she was surprised to see that he was shrugging out of his black dinner jacket.

He handed it over to her. "Put it on."

Normally she didn't happily take orders from a man, but today she made an exception and accepted the jacket. At least he was concerned for her modesty.
 

She slipped her hands into the sleeves of the jacket, aware that it would have had to have been tailored considering his unusual height and build.

The fabric smelled like him, only overpoweringly stronger now that she was enveloped inside it. She inhaled, more to stop herself from sighing, then found herself enjoying his musky scent far too much.

She was very glad when the car drew to a stop and the driver turned off the engine.

I
T
WAS
JUST
A
COMBINATION
of pheromones and adrenaline.

Marek was trying to convince himself that his desire was only a result of two elements thrown together after the evening's excitement. But he suspected he might be losing that battle.

She was walking in front of him, drowning inside his jacket, and now, more than ever, he regretted giving it to her. Yes, it may have protected her from inquisitive eyes, but seeing as they got the elevator in the garage and rode it straight up to the penthouse, he hadn't needed to be so damned chivalrous.

He'd been deprived of a good view of her ass. Surely that was enough of a reason to have denied her the jacket.

Snap out of it, Marek.

He shook his head, disgusted with his line of thought. First, she was human, second, she was an employee. Technically.

The band needed her more than he did.

Or maybe it was too dangerous. Maybe he should shred the contract into pieces and send her on her way. Maybe the last girl, the one who'd implied she'd be happy to do more than just
sing
with the band, maybe she would be a better choice.

Like hell she would.

Marek felt his bear growl his displeasure. Carson was the one with the talent, and if it meant he had to keep it in his pants, then he would damn well do so.

He snorted softly as he slid the card key into the slot and let her inside the suite. She paused in the small hall, staring at the polished wood floor that opened into a wide living room, half taken up by sumptuous sofas, the other half by a marble dining table and padded chairs upholstered in an elegant black and white print.

The suite was grant and fitting, and technically wasn't his. It belonged to the Sarkozy family, a base for when members were in Los Angeles. That explained the three bedrooms and the separate entertaining rooms.

The expansive place didn't seem to impress the Siren, though. She remained just inside the door, staring at him.

He frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"What are you waiting for?" she scowled. "Can you please get the tailor or seamstress or whatever here quickly." She looked uncomfortable, as if she was standing there, buck naked. Which he wouldn't have minded at all. A little bit of exposed breast would do him a world of good.

Marek stiffened, throwing the lascivious thoughts out of his head and studying her. Did she have an aversion to nudity or was it just being exposed to him that made her feel that way?

He tightened his jaw as he strode to the telephone on the living room sideboard and lifted the receiver. He quickly made the call to the front desk while she stood there, unmoving.

He let her be, and only until minutes later, a knock sounded on the door. Marek hurried to open it and let the older man in. The sprightly man hurried inside, carrying a small suitcase, his grey hair thinning on his pate.

He smiled widely. "Good evening, Mr. Sarkozy. How may I be of service?"

"Good evening, Gottlieb. Carson will tell you what she needs." Marek stabbed a thumb in Carson's direction, trying to appear nonchalant and otherwise engaged as he lifted the room service menu and studied it intently.

He pretended not to watch as Gottlieb led her into the main suite. The tailor had left the door open as he went, allowing Marek to watch as the two huddled together and Carson spoke softly.

Soon Gottlieb was nodding and smiling kindly, as if he'd been in such situations numerous times before. Then he pointed at the en-suite door and Carson disappeared inside, appearing moments later, encased in a large towel. She handed the garment over to the tailor, with a martyred expression tightening her features.
 

The tailor hurried out of the room, studying the tear as he fairly ran for the door. "I will return in an hour. I think perhaps one hour should be enough to repair the damage."

Carson lingered in the doorway, her hair hanging beside her face, teasing her cheeks and shoulders.

Marek cleared his throat. "Gottlieb. One moment please," he called out. "Perhaps you should show us a few of the dresses from your store. Maybe we could dispense with the wait?"

"You will do no such thing," came Carson's swift and biting response. Her blue eyes blazed as she glared at him. "I can't have you going to any expense for me. A repair will be enough, thank you."

Marek had little choice but to nod at Gottlieb, who disappeared into the hall, closing the door as he went.

Carson remained standing on the threshold to the bedroom. She hesitated. "I'm sorry if that sounded ungrateful." She was apologizing? "I appreciate you having it fixed at all, but you don't need to do any more than that."

Marek found himself nodding and telling himself to keep the peace. For the band. He held out the menu.

"Food may help to pass the time. We did miss dinner after all."

But she shook her head. Taking a step out of the room, she held out the envelope. God knew where she'd kept that until now. "It's signed. I think it's all in order, so the deal is completed."

Marek dropped the menu on the table and strode toward her. She took a step back and bumped up against the wall behind her. Marek took the folded paperwork from her grasp and noted that she looked relieved. But, as she stared up at him, something strange flared in her eyes, an edge of awareness that he hadn't expected to see so openly. So far she'd been adept at hiding much of what she was feeling.

The silence in the room swirled around them as he stared at her face. She tightened her grip on the towel, even though it looked quite firmly wrapped around her.

Marek's gaze fell on her mouth, on the tip of her tongue as she licked her lips, nervous now at this sudden silent impasse they'd reached.

He took a step closer, and she had nowhere to go. When he lifted his hand, she stared at it for a second, as if was a viper, ready to strike.

"Thank you," he said, making it clear that all he wanted was to shake on it. A puff of air escaped her lips, and she took his hand firmly.

But once he'd gotten her hand in his, once he'd felt the brush of her heated skin, he found himself unable to let go.
 

Not yet.

He held on a little too long, because suddenly she tugged at her hand just the tiniest bit. Polite.

Her cheeks were flushed now, and he couldn't help but wonder at the other places of her that might be just as flushed, if not more so.

Her gaze flicked to his mouth, and his blood fired. Marek wanted to thrust his fingers into her hair, pull her close, and claim her lips. Drag that damned towel off her body and--

The door to the suite opened and Greg walked in, cellphone to ear, laptop in hand. He gave Marek an odd look, his gaze lingering on Carson's towel-encased frame, then headed to the dining table. He set the laptop on the surface and finished his call, giving Carson a pointed look.

Marek took a step back and gave her a neutral smile. "You're welcome to order something if you want. You can eat in private in the room."

She nodded, her expression uncertain, but she didn't say a word as he took the laptop and headed into the small private lounge set off the entry hall. He closed the door behind him as Greg turned to him.

"You got the hots for the new girl?"

Marek gave him a withering glare. "Just get on with it," he said.
 

Greg merely laughed in response. "So the remains you gave me were the Legion's standard issue tranquilizer dart. Pity they always seem to leave their ammo behind. Not that I'm complaining. I tested the residue on the glass and the result is positive for an excessively high dosage of Zoletil."

"How strong?" The Legion had used the animal tranquilizer before in an attempt to capture one of the Sarkozy bears.

Marek already knew what he was going to say. "Enough to fell a full grown adult male bear."

"They're stepping up the game, then."

Greg raised an eyebrow and rummaged inside his satchel. Marek wanted to pace, feeling the tension building inside him. The Legion had ramped up their efforts from covert to direct attack. This attack was the second in LA in the last two weeks alone.

They all knew how the Legion worked. Any one of the bear shifters would do for experimentation, if it meant furthering their efforts to wipe the species off the planet. Didn't they know that part was already sorted with the damned curse?

Marek sighed and sat staring into nothing while Greg poured them both a drink. There was no need for words.

Marek had spent much of the last hour focused on a certain Siren, and even now, with the very real threat of extermination hanging over his head, he couldn't get her out of his head.

Greg sank into the sofa behind him and propped a tablet on his knees. He sat with his knees together, reminding Marek of a scene he'd read in
Huckleberry Finn
; Huck dressed as a girl and advised that knees apart was the correct way a girl would catch something in her lap.
 

Marek immediately thought about Carson and the fact that knees-apart was exactly how he wanted her.

C
ARSON
CLOSED
THE
DOOR
BEHIND
her, shivering from how close she'd gotten to giving in to her stupid body's demands. He'd been so damned close, his lips just a breath away.