Caden shut the drawers with a quiet sigh. Damn! Where else would she hide notes? He spun around to a short filing cabinet. Locked, both drawers. He reached behind him for a paper clip. This wasn’t the first time he’d broken into a filing cabinet. But as he shaped the little scrap of metal for his purposes, a burst of energy flooded his senses. His fingertips tingled. A wave of dizziness and a cold sweat followed. Then a distinct urge to pass his fingers in front of the cabinet and focus on mentally unlocking it.

Biting back a curse, Caden resisted the magical impulse. He’d been having them for the better part of a year. Hated them, too. Ignored them and hoped that if he never succumbed to such urges, they’d dissipate. But they were getting stronger.

Leaning against Sydney’s desk, Caden focused on twisting the paper clip in the near dark. Despite a fumble or two, he managed to bend it into the shape he needed. Thirty seconds later, the filing cabinet was open. A quick prowl proved her files absent of information about Sydney’s source. Damn, the little firecracker must keep her notes closer to her.

Pushing the drawer shut silently, he locked it up, then cast his desperate gaze at her laptop. Maybe she kept information there? He booted the machine up, only to be confronted with a prompt for a password. He had no idea what that might be.

Again, instinct screamed at him to grip the machine, connect to it with his mind, coax it to tell him Sydney’s secrets. Again, he refused. Instead, he began searching under her desk, inside drawers, for scraps of papers with passwords lying about. But as always, Sydney was sharp and organized, and kept her secrets hidden.

Time to guess. What did he know about her, besides the fact she was gorgeous, smart, and determined? He typed in her birthday, and the system rejected his attempt. Only two more attempts before the system locked him out, so he’d better think smart.

Had she mentioned upcoming travel? Was she excited about Christmas? Did she have any pets? What was favorite color? Favorite food? All common fodder for passwords, but Caden found himself genuinely interested in the answers. Christ, he had it bad for her.

He’d picked up an anonymous blonde a mere three days ago. And a well-curved brunette the night before that. And still he was hungry, crawling out of his skin for sex. But since meeting Sydney, he was utterly fixated on her. This intense attraction had to be magically enhanced. He didn’t dare scratch the itch.

Focusing on the business at hand, Caden hovered his fingers over the keyboard again. Think, think. As his fingertips touched down, a wave of energy rolled through him, tingles drifted up his arms. Then knowledge burst across his brain. Cadensexy1. That was her password? Impossible.

But in the absence of other ideas, he typed it in. Her desktop appeared a few moments later.

Sydney found him sexy. Knowing that notched up his arousal. Not good. His fire didn’t need more fuel. He couldn’t jeopardize this job. He needed it to complete his mission. Sex with her would have to remain a fantasy.

Even worse, his unintentional magic had revealed her password to him. He’d never performed such an act before and feared it meant his transition from man to wizard was looming.

He scowled when he searched her computer from top to bottom and found nothing but old stories, months-old letters, and dull e-mails.

Caden extinguished the flashlight with a sigh. Now what? Figures that Sydney was too smart to leave important information unsecured. Waiting until Monday to move on this mission wasn’t an option. Anka was alone, possibly in pain or danger. His favorite redhead would be crafting more stories over the weekend. Lucan was sliding closer to death. That damned diary of Morganna’s . . . thank God she was no longer around to wield it, but the book in a human reporter’s hands spelled disaster.

He had to talk to Sydney. Charm her, Bram had said. He’d rather not use Sydney that way. He liked her too much. But time was short, and he didn’t have enough of it to gain her trust.

After a quick stop by the office manager’s desk, Caden had the information he needed. Time to turn on the charm . . . he hoped.

The next morning, Sydney sipped tea, still fixated on Caden.

She fingered the spine of the little red book Aquarius had given her. Would it really make her sexual fantasies come true? Even if it did, she’d be a pretty sad sack to magically coerce a man into bed who hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her.

With a shrug, she tucked the book away in her nightstand and returned to the kitchen. Halfway there, she heard a knock at her door.

“Who is it?”

“Caden.”

Truly?

She couldn’t run to the door fast enough. After fumbling with the locks, she jerked the door open and stared in surprise.

Caden was there, in the flesh . . . and what incredible flesh it was. Tight black T-shirt, faded crotch-hugging jeans, and an expression that said he had more on his mind than business.

He swallowed. And stared. “Is now a bad time?”

“N-no,” she stuttered.

After a lingering glance down her body, he swallowed again. “Glad to hear it.”

Sydney frowned at his odd behavior, then looked down at herself—and gasped.

Her one indulgence was lingerie, of which she was wearing her latest . . . and skimpiest. Pale and silky, the lace-edged straps of the camisole hugged her shoulders. More lace tipped the low-cut V and hugged the swells of her breasts. Silk cupped her beneath their curves, just as she’d like his palms to do. The faint outline of her nipples showed through the flesh-colored fabric. His gaze, his stance, hardened as he stared. She wondered what else did, and fought the urge to look down.

He had no such hesitation, his gaze traveling over the sheer boy shorts that showed off every inch of her legs. Sydney suspected he could see a hint of the fiery hair between, as well.

Blast! The sound of Caden’s voice had made her utterly forget she was more than half naked before she answered the door.

“Wait here.” Sydney jogged away and returned a moment later wearing a matching dressing gown. Frowning, she belted the flowing garment around her waist. It didn’t cover everything, but enough to make her decent.

“Do you want to come in or stare at me like a mutant in a circus freak show?”

He swallowed. “You don’t look like a freak. At all.”

That voice of his poured over her like melted chocolate, rich, warm, tempting. Sydney drank it in, though she wondered if he truly meant it. First, a look. Now, a compliment. Uncharacteristic, to say the least.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked. “Too early to talk?”

She stepped aside and let him in. “I’m surprised you’re here at all. Is something wrong?”

“Must something be wrong for me to want to talk to you?”

On a Saturday morning? Yes. “How did you find me?”

Caden merely smiled. What the blazes did that smoldering look mean?

“Why not simply call?” she rephrased.

“You never gave me your number.”

“I never gave you my address, either. How did you get it?”

“I have my ways.”

Very cryptic. But since he was here, maybe she could work his unexpected visit to her advantage, see if he had a bit more interest in her than she’d suspected.

He shut the door and approached, standing close, almost touching . . . but not quite.

“I want to talk to you,” he murmured. “Say things I couldn’t at the office.”

Her belly fluttered. It sounded sexual. Until five minutes ago, she would have chided herself for wishful thinking. Now . . . ?

She remained close, and his warm breath hit her lips. His eyes locked onto her as if she was the only woman in the world. Forget flutters, her belly plunged to her knees.

Suddenly, he wanted to be cozy? They hadn’t worked together long. It was possible he’d simply been cautious. Maybe it was the reporter in her, but she needed to ask questions, get to the bottom of this.

“Sit down and say whatever you’ve come to say. Tea?”

“No, thanks.” He settled himself on her sofa and stretched his arms clear across the back.

The wide span of his arms, coupled with those amazing shoulders, made her salivate in a way she shouldn’t about a colleague. But he wasn’t helping, drat him, by looking so sexy—and staring as if she was edible.

“Come sit beside me.” He patted the sofa cushion.

Sydney looked between the two empty chairs in the room, then again at the sofa. Gingerly, she settled in next to him. “I’m listening and I like having you here, but if your visit has anything to do with my source for the articles, I’m not taking you with me to our meeting—”

“No, nothing to do with that. But it’s important and better said outside the office.”

Right, then. Well, that made her curious, especially when his gaze skimmed down her body, lingering. Though she wasn’t naked, his gaze made her she felt like it. “Go on.”

Caden hesitated. “Maybe you should change.”

He was suggesting that she put on more clothes after thoroughly looking his fill? Odd . . . his burning stare said he was two seconds from ravishing her; his behavior was cagey. Sydney prided herself on being able to read people, but Caden had her baffled.

Instinct told her that something was off. That same instinct told her she wasn’t going to solve this mystery unless she played along.

Finally, Sydney left the room, sashayed down the hall, and shut her bedroom door. Caden lamented losing the stunning view. The woman revved his body thoroughly into overdrive. But he was here to find clues to Anka’s whereabouts and the book—and to make this magical nightmare go away.

Caden raced into action and began searching. If Sydney had an appointment to see the woman this weekend maybe he could find an address, a phone number, a name that would prove this goose chase worthwhile.

With the clock ticking, he started with a nearby antique secretary propped against the wall between her living area and her kitchen. Immediately he could see she hadn’t stashed the little red diary here. Bills, pictures, a list of things to do, a little calendar with various dates written inside . . . like Aquarius being on holiday. No mention of where she was headed.

He sighed, righted everything, then dashed to the kitchen. Next to the phone he found a shopping list and a neat row of phone numbers for restaurants that delivered. Gads, the woman lived by lists.

Meanwhile, the damn clock was ticking, and he didn’t care that she needed milk from the market and had a local pizzeria on speed dial. Ignoring an odd tingle and a cold sweat, he scanned the room and saw her handbag sitting on a little table near the front door. No time to be squeamish about invading her privacy.

He unzipped the flap, pushed aside her coin purse, keys, and lipstick. A notepad with a pen attached. He flipped it open. Eureka! It was littered with notes. Some large, some sideways, some in an odd shorthand he couldn’t decipher. He lifted one page, another, a third . . . at the seventh, he paused. A whole page dedicated to the story of magickind she was slowly, foolishly revealing.

Saturday @ 4, A’s place, one of her notes said. This Saturday? Who was A? Anka or someone else, like Aquarius? Had Anka been free long enough to have her own place? If she had, why hadn’t she returned home? Where was this place? Was it possible that Mathias knew who she was and where she lived? Nothing else on the little scrap of paper answered any of those questions. Damn!

Just below that was a list of seemingly random thoughts under the heading possibilities. She had written yet another list with items like “decomposition of bodies,” “magickind living among humans,” “magical war/other battles,” and “origin of the magical diary.”

Caden took a moment to absorb those horrific possible stories. Sydney had already written about the battle in the tunnel. Any of these would seem like natural follow-up. And if she wrote a single word of the Doomsday Diary in Out of This Realm, Mathias and the Anarki would hunt her down within hours. Mathias ate sweet morsels like Sydney for snacks. The thought made his blood freeze.

His reaction made little sense; he barely knew the woman, but Caden’s first instinct was to protect her with his life. He knew he’d die before letting Mathias hurt her. And he didn’t want to question why.

Caden heard fumbling from the end of the hall. With a curse, he shoved the little notepad back into place, then crept to the living room, planting himself on the sofa before Sydney stepped in, wearing a pair of long, flowing pants and a curve-hugging sweater. He liked the lingerie better. But this outfit emphasized how small she was. If he was to lay her down and cover her body with his, he would completely envelop her and mold every lush little curve to him. . . .

Not a smart train of thought. He was losing what little spare room he had in his jeans, and Sydney’s quizzical expression told him that she’d done some thinking while she was changing. That was never good.

“What’s so urgent that you had to hunt me down over the weekend? That you couldn’t say in the office?”

She always got to the point. All the women he had dated who chatted endlessly and never really had a point—they drove him mad. The one woman he wished would prattle and simply let him lead the conversation was having none of it. He sighed.

“Sit beside me.” He patted the sofa cushion beside him once more. Charm her, he reminded himself.

She settled in, studying him as if she could read his thoughts. He tamped down on the urge to squirm.

“The office is always hectic,” he commented.

“We’re in a deadline-driven business.”

“True, but that doesn’t leave us much time to get acquainted.”