Seduce Me in Shadow

by Seduce Me in Shadow (lit)

  Sydney frowned, then rifled through one of the folders on her desk. When she found the photo, she slid it across the desk to him. “Here.”

  He slid it back in front of her. “How many dead bodies do you see?”

  She glanced at the picture, then away. “It’s too dark and grainy to tell.”

  “More than a few?” he challenged.

  She hesitated, as if sensing his point before he made it and already looking for a way to refute it. “Yes.”

  “Dozens, in fact. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “Perhaps.” She shrugged.

  “No. Obviously. These were men. Judging from their uniforms, many were soldiers, which means they were trained in combat. And they are dead in droves.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “If Mathias wanted this story hushed, do you think he’d have any compunction about killing you?”

  Sydney didn’t answer, but Caden knew by the look on her face that she understood his point.

  “By all accounts, there was blood everywhere. Severed heads and limbs, multiple gunshots, and a lot of death. What do you know about avoiding those?”

  Looking about, she fiddled with a pen, tapped her toes. She didn’t like the truth.

  “Sydney?”

  “All right. Nothing. But you can’t fight off magic.”

  “I know how to use a gun. Before you do anything for this story, especially visit the madman’s victim, take me with you. That’s all I ask.”

  “I’ll . . . think about it.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TOWARD THE END OF the day, Holly stomped into Sydney’s office, brows and hands both raised in an expectant expression. People often underestimated her because of her Kewpie doll looks—and always paid the price.

  “Where is the latest installment in the magical war saga?” Holly asked. “I’ve got loads of e-mails. You won’t believe how interested readers are.”

  Wrong. Seems everyone was, especially her hunky freelance photographer. But this morning, he’d conveyed interest in more than the story with his body taut and passionate words. Whether that interest was a scam remained to be seen. God knows, it had nearly melted her on the spot. She wanted to believe him.

  “I have a draft of the story,” Sydney said. “Maybe by tomorrow or Wednesday.”

  “What? No, I need it now. It has to be to copy editing no later than tomorrow morning to make the next issue.”

  “I know. It’s . . . well, I’m not happy with it, actually. The angle troubles me.”

  “We’ve been over this. I gave you a perfectly good angle.”

  Sydney grimaced. “And I still don’t like glorifying a rapist.”

  “Most people who read us think we’re total rubbish or are lunatics themselves. It’s not as if they’re going to be questioning your journalistic integrity.”

  Sydney felt compelled to get this right. Some of the stories she wrote she knew weren’t real. This felt not only real but critical. “But it’s got my name on the byline. And I know this angle is wrong. Then there’s safety, both the source’s and mine. What if this Mathias character really is real? What if he’s not a savior but a villain?”

  Holly shrugged. “Whatever his reason, would a wizard trying to take magickind in hand really be spending his time reading human tabloids and compiling his hit list?” Holly frowned. “What’s made you change your mind? After our conversation last night, you seemed set with the story.”

  “Well, I talked to Caden. He made me look at the story in a new light.”

  “His version won’t sell more copies of the paper.”

  Sydney disagreed, not that no one expected accurate reporting from them. Many believed all their stories were fabricated. But Sydney had a different feeling about this one.

  “This poor witch makes me want to print the truth. With it, maybe her family will find her. Or we can prevent more women from being raped, even if Mathias leads a good cause, he’s got a terrible human rights policy. And Caden’s angle sounded interesting, even plausible.”

  “If Caden’s thoughts are causing you to hesitate on turning in an already good story, then he’s given you crap. Why are you letting that man crawl into your head?”

  Good question. She should be focused on her story, told from her perspective. But his concerns for her safety were valid. His insistence was compelling. She felt in those moments as if she’d seen the real Caden, not necessarily his words, but a caring side he usually hid from others. “Something about him isn’t spot on, yet—”

  “You mean besides trying to talk you out of fine stories? Is he doing his job properly?”

  “He is. Amazing pictures. Crisp. Beautiful angles, even on terrible subjects. His work is like art. That’s not what troubles me. It’s the man himself.”

  Holly frowned, her blond hair falling from her ponytail. “Meaning? Oh hell, you two aren’t having an office shag, are you?”

  Sydney lowered her head to hide the flush she felt crawling up her face. Shagged him, no. Like to? Absolutely. “No. I just need pointers on working with him more effectively.”

  Her editor raised an arched brow. “If you can’t get on with a man that dishy, I’m not certain there’s any hope for you. Smile, flirt, if you must. But tell him what pictures you need. Get the job done.”

  “It’s not that simple. His behavior . . . I wondered for a bit if he took this job to scoop me on the magical war story.”

  Holly stood up straighter. “Why do you think that?”

  “I’m not certain anymore, but at first, he literally talked of nothing else and showed no interest in any of my other stories. He forever asked questions and hounded me about my source. I told him to bugger off.”

  Holly smiled. “How did he take that?”

  Sydney grimaced. She didn’t mean to put Caden in a bad light, but Holly was more than a boss; she was a mentor too. Perhaps Holly could help her put this mess into perspective. She couldn’t get her editor’s opinion without being honest.

  “Over the weekend, he came to my flat, expressing interest in me romantically, but I assumed he was lying and threw him out. So he waited for me to leave my flat and tried to follow me to my meeting.”

  “Prat. I ought to sack him now.”

  “I thought the same thing. I particularly doubted his reason for returning to the UK. I’m still suspicious of his brother’s mystery illness. Do you know anything about it?”

  “No, since that’s personal, I didn’t ask.”

  “I did. He said next to nothing except that it was his reason for returning here after over a dozen years away. He went on sabbatical from a prestigious job to work here, but never talks about his brother. He doesn’t sneak away to call or visit the hospital. He’s reluctant to talk about his brother’s ailment. It’s odd.”

  “He’s quiet, that one. So you fear he’s trying to scoop you and made up an ill brother to explain why he’s working here? Tried to get romantic with you so you’d share your source?”

  “Though it sounds far-fetched, I thought so, but now I wonder. Maybe I’ve been tired and paranoid. But he says he’s concerned for my safety, that Mathias could be dangerous. And why help me find a better angle for my story if he only wanted to steal it? Bloody puzzle. Just in case, I’m doing my best to keep him at bay. I don’t want the man getting my information and selling it elsewhere.”

  Holly nodded. “Good thinking. Does he behave guiltily?”

  “Oddly, yes. Guiltily . . . hard to say. Still waters run deep. Until he suddenly became agitated today, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man more still.”

  “Agitated? Do you think he’s violent?”

  “No. But I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. I can’t prove he wants my story. He argued very passionately that he doesn’t, but I can’t fathom another reason for his odd behavior.”

  Her editor frowned. “This story is too important to us. Keep your notes to yourself. Lock everything up. Don’t leave your computer untended without password protecting it.
And drop off the current one to copy editing tonight.”

  Sydney hesitated, then nodded.

  “Good. Other papers are starting to get interested. In fact, I had a call from a rival today, feeling me out on the same thing. Which reminds me! I’ve also had a ring from another bloke, claiming to have pictures of the tunnel and the bodies no one else has. Odd name . . .” Holly’s brow furrowed as the wheels in her head turned. “Zain Something-or-another!” She shrugged. “I’ll chat with him, see what he’s got and if we want to acquire it.”

  That should have made Sydney feel better, but didn’t. The fact remained, Caden worked beside her for a cause she could only guess at, while her interest in him had grown. “Brilliant.”

  “What’s next?”

  “In the magical war story? I don’t know. This trail is starting to get cold. I don’t think my source can tell me much more. And if I told her I was a reporter, I think she’d stop talking altogether. So unless there’s another magical battle, I’ll have to try some related stories. I have the supposed ‘magical diary’ that Aquarius gave me for my birthday. When she returns from holiday, I’ll ask about its origins.”

  “Have you tested it out?”

  A mental image of a naked Caden pressing her body to a wall and taking everything he wanted from her burned across her brain. She’d written that nearly forty-eight hours ago.

  Sydney sighed in disappointment. “Yeah. I don’t think it works.”

  With a gasp, Caden sat up in his darkened room, bathed in sweat. Oh dear God. That had been the most vivid dream of his life. Of all the times to have X-rated dreams, why now? And why about Sydney Blair?

  Closing his eyes, he relived her greeting at the door wearing a wisp of lace hardly worth mentioning. What happened next—wild against the wall after she stripped slowly for him—was straight out of his fantasies.

  He could have that tonight, have her. Now. She’d offered a mere two days ago and would have gotten naked with him that moment if he had accepted her proposition. There were a thousand reasons he shouldn’t and only one that compelled him: that bloody mating instinct that told him he’d found his “the one” and screamed at him to take her.

  Exhaling, still trying to recover his heartbeat, he looked down at his erection in the shadowy dark. Insistent. Painful. Fueled by the oldest magic there was.

  Bloody hell.

  He wouldn’t sleep again tonight, not while he ached and his blood was on fire and visions of Sydney against him burned into his thoughts. He could endure a sleepless night; it wouldn’t be his first. But tomorrow, he’d have to face Sydney at the office, his brain continually tripping over all the delicious ways in which she’d clawed his back as he thrust deep into her in his dream. He knew the musky scent of her arousal, the faint tang of her skin, the throaty groan she made when she came, and the peace of being with her and knowing she was safe and whole. And his.

  Closing his eyes, he lay back in his empty bed. Thinking about Sydney this way wasn’t going to help him get back to sleep or deal with her tomorrow. He turned to the clock. Eleven p.m.? He sighed, frustration cutting him like a razor.

  Bloody hellacious day. After verbally boxing with Sydney, he’d come home exhausted yet thrumming with sexual energy. All day, thoughts of stripping Sydney of her evil little skirt and finding out exactly what she had beneath plagued him. Once at home, however, the need for sleep had pulled him under. He’d crashed into bed around seven. The previous two nights, he’d slept nearly twelve hours. Very unlike him. So was having erotic dreams and waking up after a mere four hours of sleep because his body demanded her.

  Go to Sydney, something in his head whispered. You ache for her. She wants you.

  “And then what?” he muttered to the empty room. He still had to work with her. And after what Lucan had endured, he didn’t want a magical mate, especially one intent on exposing Mathias.

  But Sydney haunted him. He wanted—needed—to feel her naked under him, to know she was his. He was bloody obsessed. To make matters worse, his transition was coming.

  Obviously, magic wasn’t going to leave him alone. His change from man to wizard wasn’t coming tonight, but it was coming soon. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. If male and born with the magical gene, somewhere around thirty, you transitioned and you endured. His birthday was in eight days.

  Caden shivered in the November chill, despite his overheated body. He reached for the blankets and groaned when they brushed his naked cock. The sensation made him grit his teeth and fist the blankets. The ache nearly flattened him with need for Sydney.

  Madness. He had to stop this. Had to put her out of his mind, douse his sex drive, get some sleep so he could function tomorrow.

  Reaching beneath the covers, he took himself in hand and stroked his turgid length once. Again. Again, rapidly picking up speed and pleasure. After his dream, it didn’t take much, and he soon felt ready to burst. A vision of Sydney, bare and wanton, blazed across his mind as his muscles tensed. His breathing ratcheted up; his hand moved faster. He dug his heels into the mattress and arched as the need detonated into a bliss that had him shouting at his peak.

  As the orgasm subsided, he cursed, still panting. He was every bit as hard and needy as he had been before masturbating. Visions of Sydney still gyrated in his head. Yet he was so damn tired. Drained.

  He closed his eyes, and the dream came back.

  “Touch me,” she whispered in his slumber. “Here.” She guided his hand over her breast, inviting him to toy with her hard nipple. “And here.” She brought his hand all the way between her legs, to where she was moist and burning and ready.

  Again, he wrapped his fingers around his erection. Like steel, as if his orgasm had never happened. Jerking his hand away, Caden cursed. He didn’t want more self-pleasure; it wouldn’t help, not when he craved a certain redheaded reporter and her honest, intelligent grit.

  Damn magic for ensuring he couldn’t ignore his feelings for Sydney.

  He rose and took a quick shower, tossed on a T-shirt, jog pants, and trainers. Then he hesitated.

  He couldn’t just cross town in the middle of the night, pound on Sydney’s door, and demand sex. It made no sense, especially after he’d raised her suspicions. She might even refuse to let him in her flat.

  If he made love to her . . . well, the whole event was fraught with personal danger, magical landmines. He refused to take a mate and risk Lucan’s fate. So he couldn’t kiss Sydney, taste her at all. Nor could he risk this job. He needed this job too badly for his mission to fail merely for a shag.

  But what he felt for sassy, smart Sydney was more than sex. Far more. He connected with her in a way he couldn’t explain, and Caden feared that, once he had her, the random women at the pubs he’d been using to balance his sexual energy would no longer do. Already, his fixation on Sydney frightened him.

  Definitely, he should stay home. Undress, go back to sleep, stop thinking about the sharp, sexy redhead. He raced to the kitchen of his little rented flat near the paper’s offices. Shadows darkened the room, faintly illuminated by London’s lights. There, on the counter, were his keys. He needed to leave them there, refuse temptation.

  In his dream, Caden had been unable to resist Sydney. What he felt now was ten times stronger.

  With a curse, he grabbed the keys, shoved them in his pocket, then stormed out the door.

  After midnight, Sydney unfolded herself from the couch and stretched. Lace and silk cupped her torso, the ribbon laces of her mini-corset rubbing the soft flesh between her breasts. The tiny sheer thong hugged her hips. She adored the feel of soft, feminine things against her skin. But her exposed cheeks ‘round back were a bit nippy. Time for bed, anyway.

  Grabbing her robe from the arm of the sofa, she made for the hallway with a yawn. Her next installment of the magical war story would run later this week. She hoped she’d taken the right approach in rewriting it as Caden suggested before turning it in. Contrary to Holly’s opinion, Sydn
ey did think the angle made a difference.

  All night, she’d thought of Caden. She’d half-expected the diary to work. Hoping that tonight was the night, she’d donned her sexiest lingerie, but as she’d told Holly, Aquarius’s claims that the diary was magical seemed to be crap.

  She took two steps down the hallway, before someone banged a fist on her door. Frowning, she darted for the foyer. Her telly was off and she didn’t have a yappy dog, so whoever stood at her door couldn’t be complaining about noise. Maybe someone needed help?

  Racing the last few steps to the door, she called, “Who is it?”