Monica, Rafe's assistant, had looked suitably surprised, her raised eyebrow clearly disapproving as she made the arrangements. He'd stood there, feeling an inexplicable rush of anticipation at seeing her again.
Get over it, Marek. Soon you'll be seeing her for days on end. You'll get tired of her soon enough.
Greg drew to a stop and cut the engine, and Marek stepped out onto the sidewalk. He leaned back inside to grab Carson's hand and help her out. She stepped out, sadly making use of the unexposed leg, and straightened her spine and her dress, while Marek shut the door.
With a hand at the base of her spine, he walked her to the door where the doorman awaited, hand reaching out to open it for them.
A shot rang out, echoing around them as Marek dove to cover Carson. They fell to the concrete just as something smashed into the wall beside the door, an inch from where he'd been standing a second ago.
It tinkled as it smashed to the concrete, glass and metal a deadly combination.
Carson gasped, then after Marek had waited for more gunfire that never came, she wriggled and let out a grunt. "You want to get off me now? Before you finish what the sniper started?"
Marek swallowed a bark of laughter, and said, "Not until I'm sure the coast is clear. I'll be sure not to kill you in the process, though."
"Promises, promises," she grumbled, and Marek wondered if being shot at brought out her sass.
She remained still as he eased his weight onto his arms and scanned the sidewalk. At the corner, two men paused to watch Marek. Dressed in dark suits, they could have passed for FBI or Secret Service, but Marek knew better.
They stared at him, eyes cold, assessing the situation. Then they turned and left the way they'd come, disappearing around the corner before he could so much as boost himself to his knees.
Greg, his driver, was on the ground beside the car, his gun in hand as he snuck a peek over the hood at the building across the street. His deep brown complexion didn't reveal a hint of stress, unlike the doorman who was crouched beside Marek and Carson, his pale skin even paler than the Siren's.
Greg gave Marek a nod. "Get in, I'll cover you."
Marek lowered his lips to Carson's ear and said, "When I get up, move with me. We need to get back inside the car, so stay behind me." As he lifted his body off hers, he reached for the remnants of glass and metal that lay a foot from him, slipping them into his pocket before Carson's head rose.
They duck walked to the car, and something in his consciousness registered the satisfying rip of that damned slit in her skirt.
He had to force the smile from his lips as Greg opened the back door. Once they were covered by the car, Marek moved aside for Carson to climb in. Her face was flushed, and she was glaring at the torn fabric as she scurried inside the limo and slid onto the seat.
"Stay low. The car's bulletproof, but stay down just in case."
"The car is bulletproof?" she asked, although from her expression he could tell that she cared little for a confirmation.
Marek held out his hand to Greg, who frowned as he took the remnants of the dart from his palm. Greg nodded and scurried around the car while Marek got in behind Carson and sat across from her, closing the door. The doorman had long since disappeared inside the hotel, and the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance; as usual, the city's finest would be late to the party.
With the cops on the way, it was unlikely that the shooter, or shooters, had hung around, but it wouldn't hurt to be careful. Especially since he'd seen more of them at the corner of the street. Likely many more in the area. They seemed to travel in packs.
"Greg, get us back to the hotel and go straight into the parking garage."
Greg gunned the engine and slid into the traffic, and Marek let out a small breath of relief.
She was safe.
But when he looked at her, the expression in her eyes was one of fury. "Who the hell was shooting at us?"
Marek forced his features to remain calm and shrugged. "They could have been shooting at anyone. And even if they were aiming in our direction, I'd hazard a guess it would be me they want dead."
She shuddered. "How can you be so blasé about someone taking potshots at your head?"
"Not blasé. Just realistic." Marek found he was unable to concentrate. His eyes had traveled up her now very much exposed thigh, the rip in the fabric having made its way so high up her leg that it revealed a tantalizing glimpse of hot pink lace panties.
Marek was enjoying the view when she shifted her legs, angling them toward the door before giving him a disgusted glare. But nothing she was able to do covered her thighs. Suddenly she was twisting in her seat, not caring that her actions gave him an even better view, as she searched around for something.
"You dropped it outside the restaurant."
"What?" she snapped, pushing her hair away from her face, her eyes flashing.
"The shawl. You dropped it when you fell."
"You mean when you dropped your body on top on me?" Her eyes sparkled, an angry blue. And Marek discovered that he'd never found her so alluring as in that moment.
"Excuse me if I was trying to protect you." He managed to keep his mouth from turning up in a grin. Instead he ended up performing somewhat of a smirk.
Which irked the furious Siren. She raised an eyebrow. "I thought you just said it wouldn't likely be me in danger?"
Marek lifted a shoulder, nonchalant now that he was enjoying both her fury and the view. "Instinct. Can't blame me for wanting to protect you."
To his complete disappointment, she placed her hands in her lap, obliterating his view. His dismay was so intense that he had to stop himself from joining her on the other seat and pulling her hand away so he could get a closer look.
He shook his head. Not the time or the place.
"We're heading to my hotel. We'll get the concierge to send someone up to repair the dress."
She nodded.
"And while you wait, you can sign the deal and we'll get this show on the road."
8. CARSON
GOOD GOD, HE WAS A mercenary bastard.
They'd almost been shot and all he could think about was the damned paperwork.
And trying to get a peek up her dress. Not that the damn dress was hiding much anymore. The look on his face when she'd noticed the direction of his gaze had done strange things to her. Instead of building her fury, it made her decidedly hot and moist in certain places.
And that made her very angry. With herself.
The man was a cad, getting his eyeful when all hell was breaking loose. And only thinking about the contract when her heart was going a mile a minute. Adrenaline had coursed through her body when the shot rang out, and she had to admit she appreciated that his first thought had been to protect her. But the ripped dress pissed her off. And so did the lost shawl.
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 dinne
r 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.
9. MAREK
IT 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.
10. CARSON
CARSON 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.
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.
A Siren for the Bear (Sarkozy Brothers Book 1) Page 3