A Siren for the Bear (Sarkozy Brothers Book 1) (6 page)

What would she have done if he'd kissed her?

She knew what she would have done. She'd have kissed him back, and then some.

God, what was she going to do? Her control was slipping.

Then she wanted to laugh. Slipping? It wasn't slipping. It had been smashed to smithereens by one look from Marek Sarkozy.

She'd know the man for what, less than twenty four hours, and she was ready and willing.

Get a freaking grip, Carson.

Thankfully, Marek left her to her own devices, busying himself with Greg, the stern-faced driver. He'd given her a look that said he'd branded her little more than a slut, but Carson didn't give a crap about what he thought.

She gave a crap about what she thought of herself, and right now, she was far from impressed.

 
Soon, Gottlieb arrived with her dress, so well mended that she would never have guessed it'd been damaged in the first place. It took her mere moments to slither back into the dress, and then she was hurrying out of the room as Marek and the driver emerged from the private room, their faces serious and dark.

Must be something to do with the shooting.

Carson cleared her throat. "Could I get a taxi back home?" she asked, her eyes flitting from Marek to Greg.

Clearly, Marek was no longer interested, because he gave a vague nod in Greg's direction before disappearing into the second bedroom. Carson raised an eyebrow, but figured his work was done.

He'd hired her, and that was that. Now, to tackle the actual experience of practicing with the band.

Despite her disappointment at Marek's unfeeling dismissal, Carson felt a surge of anticipation at the new journey she was about to embark on. Greg returned her to her apartment, walking her all the way to her door, despite her assurances that he didn't have to.

When Carson was inside, he said, "I'll be back in the morning to pick you up. It's a long drive, so if you could be ready by six?" He kept his voice neutral, but the look he gave her was disapproving, as if he was being forced to be civil when he'd prefer to be rude.

Or dismissive.

"Six it is," Carson said, thanking him and closing the door before he turned away. She didn't suffer rudeness well.
 

She packed for a week, unsure again of what the band wore on stage. She was pretty sure she wouldn't be required to wear an evening dress. Still, she packed the repaired gown, making a face. A sad state of affairs when all she owned that was special was one black evening dress.

That made her wonder if she should head out to the mall to grab a new dress. Maybe a few new items would be a treat, a gift to herself to celebrate her new endeavor.

It took Carson seconds to veto the idea, and she was dumping her toothbrush and loofah into a toiletries bag when Kat breezed into the apartment, a package in hand.

She flung it at Carson, who had to lurch to the left to grab it before it hit the tiles. "What's this?" she asked, opening the bag. She soon found that she hadn't needed to worry about it hitting the ground.

Inside the bag was a black leather skirt and a leather jacket. "Wear that with one of your cute blouses and you won't stick out so bad."

"Thanks," Carson said drily. She checked the sizing and packed the new garments into her bag. As usual, Kat knew her size, and thankfully, Carson was a perfect fit for off-the-rack clothes, no hemming or taking in required.

She was hovering over the suitcase when Kat returned from digging around inside Carson's closet. She threw three blouses on the bed.

"Those," was all she said before she sauntered out of the room yelling something about Thai takeout.

Carson studied the blouses, all peasant style, showing just enough cleavage to be sexy, with wide sleeves that were both elegant and pretty. They were shaped to hug the waist, but wide enough to accommodated her hips. Carson made a face and added them to her suitcase, zipping it up before she changed her mind.

For all she knew, the band had a uniform, and she'd be required to wear it. She hadn't seen anything in the contract to imply that but still, who knew.

All packed, Carson joined Kat for a final meal of Pad Thai, as well as a last minute pep talk that consisted of numerous pleas to keep her updated, and a few to loosen up and go with the flow.

Whatever the hell that meant.

Carson fell into bed, too tired to sleep, too wound up to think about anything else but Marek's lips, and gunshots in the dark.

Still, she managed to fall asleep in the end.

Only to dream of lips and gunshots.

G
REG
ARRIVED
FIRST
THING
,
AND
though Carson answered with bleary eyes, she was ready, tiptoeing out trying not to disturb Kat. Greg wasn't all that talkative and led her downstairs to a black Land Rover. Carson climbed in the back, not sure they were on friendly enough terms for her to take the passenger seat. Good move too, since the man barely spoke two words the entire day's drive.

She'd been mistaken when she'd assumed the band's practice location was situated in the city. Greg took a turn into a side road a half hour before they reached the city, heading deep into the mountains. Now, Carson understood the reason for the Land Rover.

They bumped over uneven ground for about ten minutes before they reached a pair of gates, so well hidden by trees and bushes that Carson only saw it when they began to swing open.

After another ten minutes, and just when she'd about given up hoping they'd arrive somewhere civilized, they reached a clearing. A gravel drive led up to a large log-cabin style property, which was more of a mansion than a house. Multi-leveled, it ran up the side of a mountain, all glass-fronted and reflecting the night, yet letting out a warm, welcoming glow.

Somewhere inside, a fire blazed, smoke drifting from chimneys on three of the four levels. Greg skidded to a stop and parked, before dragging her bag from the trunk.

He remained silent, just lugging the bag to the front door and dropping it to the floor before heading out to the car. When he shut the car door and gunned the engine, Carson spun around in shock. He was just leaving her there, like a package on the doorstep?

As he drove off, Carson was relieved to see that he headed around to the right of the building, where the engine cut off after a few seconds. There was probably a garage there that Carson hadn't been able to see from the drive.

She faced the door and was about to knock when it opened.

Her face was pale and her eyes large, almond-shaped, and a gorgeous green. The color matched the venom in her eyes.

Just perfect.

The woman was tall, slender, and had an almost elf-like elegance to her.

"I'll show you to your room," she said, her voice cool as she turned and headed up the hall.

Okay, then.

Carson shut the door and followed in silence, up two floors and left along the level, all the way to the end of the passage. Hers was the last door on the left, and Carson had to hold her breath as the silent girl opened the door. Carson was so fascinated by the view that when the girl spoke, she almost jumped.

"Dinner is in half an hour in the dining room, on the bottom level. Just follow the noise. The boys will be there before you."

It sounded like a judgment somehow, but Carson tried not to take unnecessary offense.

"Thank you," she said, giving her a stiff smile.

The girl gave a short nod, her face impassive. She waved a hand to a door on the left wall. "You have your own bathroom, and you should have everything you need, including towels. If you need anything, please let me know. If you need laundry done, just place it in the laundry hamper in the bathroom. Someone will fetch it when they clean the bathroom."

She paused, as if she was about to say something, then stopped herself. She headed to the door, thankfully taking her icy demeanor with her. Then she was gone, and Carson was alone in the room.

It was simply furnished, with richly polished wood floors like the rest of the house, modern chrome blended with warm wood. The understated elegance was probably because there was nothing the room could offer that could compete with the view.

Carson had been placed in a room at the end of the house, and the front and right hand walls were made up of floor to ceiling windows. There were dark roller blinds, triple layered, probably to keep out bright sunshine to varying degrees. But Carson wondered who'd ever use them, unless they didn't want anyone to see them. And who would come up this far in the mountains just to watch people unawares?

The sun was low on the horizon, deep amber soaking into the mountainside. An amber that strangely reminded her of a certain pair of cold, assessing eyes.

Carson shook Marek out of her mind and freshened up before heading down to the dining room. The girl had been right. All Carson had to do was follow the noise, but when she walked into the room, they all fell silent.

She stood there for a few seconds, feeling strangely awkward and foolish. Then she smiled and said, "You must be Ursus Major."

Someone chuckled. "We're most of it," came a low voice.

Carson walked closer to the table as one of the men got to his feet and pulled a chair away for her. She took the seat and smiled around the table.

There was more noise than she expected for what looked like a fairly small group. One of them, shaggy-haired with deep brown eyes, big like Marek, cleared his throat. "I'm Rex."

Carson smiled and pointed at him. "Drums and percussion?" He nodded and grinned.

He pointed at the guys next to him, "This loser is Felix. Guitar and keyboard." Carson nodded, glad he wasn't planning on testing her. "And that's Pax. Bass guitar."

Carson got smiles all around, which was a relief. Though she did notice the odd undercurrent of awareness, as if they were making a concerted effort to be nice. Still, it was a pleasant atmosphere until the blonde entered the room, bearing a platter of steaming roast meat.

She paid no attention to Carson, just set the platter down and headed out again to bring the rest in. When she came in next, Carson said, "Can I help?" half rising from her seat.

The icy glare she gave Carson was for her to plop back down.

Okay, then.

She sashayed back out, and a glance at Rex confirmed he wasn't impressed. Something else was going on here. Not that Carson cared as long as Miss Iceberg didn't rub her the wrong way.

"So, I'm guessing those are all code names. Do I get one too?"

They all burst out laughing. "How about Nyx for hair as black as night?" offered Rex.

Carson grinned. "That's perfect. Thank you."

The banter continued with nothing of any consequence discussed, which wasn't a surprise, and no real names revealed, which was oddly surprising since they knew who Carson was.

She didn't want to push it. As the meal came to a close, she sat back. She found she was fading a little now, but she was aware that she hadn't seen Greg come to dinner.

As everyone got to their feet and headed into the living room next door, Carson asked, "So when do we start practicing?"

Rex sank into a chair and felt around beside it, as if searching for something. He soon withdrew a guitar and began to strum the strings. "Early tomorrow. Someone will come get you." He glanced down as his fingers strummed, and a sweet melody drifted around the room. "Are you tired?"

"Oh no, not at all." And then she yawned. She put a hand in front of her mouth and grinned. "Okay, maybe I am. You keep playing that tune and I will fall asleep."

Felix was by the fire, nudging it with an iron poker. "If it doesn't make you sleepy, then it's not working," he said with a teasing grin. "It's an ancient lullaby."

Carson laughed. "Well, it's definitely working." She got to her feet, feeling a little more comfortable having met the group. "So when does Ajax arrive?"

Pax croaked. "Late tonight. Detained in LA, he said."

Carson nodded. "Okay, I'm done. Thank you, guys. For the hospitality and for including me in your band. I appreciate the opportunity."