Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I resist. I’ve been having these impulses for the better part of a year. I hate them. I ignore them. I fucking hope that if I never succumb to such urges, they’ll dissipate. But they’re getting more frequent and stronger.
My thirtieth birthday is mere weeks away.
Redoubling my focus, I twist the paperclip in the near dark. Despite a fumble or two, I manage to bend it in the shape I need. Thirty seconds later, the filing cabinet is open. A quick prowl proves Sydney’s files absent of information about her information source. Damn, the little firecracker must keep those notes elsewhere.
Locking the drawer again, I cast my desperate gaze to her laptop and boot up the machine, only to be confronted with a prompt for a password. Fuck. No idea what it might be.
Again, something subversive screams at me to grip the PC, connect to it with my mind, and coax it to tell me Sydney’s secrets. Like before, I shutter the urge. Instead, I search under her desk and keyboard in case she’s written down her password.
As always, Sydney is sharp and organized and hides her secrets too well.
Time to guess. What do I know about the woman, besides the fact she’s gorgeous, smart, and determined? I type in her birthday. The system rejects my attempt. Only two more before I’m locked out, so I’d better think smart.
Has she mentioned upcoming travel? Is she excited about Christmas? Does she have any pets? What is her favorite color? Favorite food? All common fodder for passwords, but I find myself genuinely interested in the answers.
Christ, I have it bad for her.
Three days ago, I picked up an anonymous blonde. The night before that, a well-curved brunette. Neither of them satisfied me. I’m hungrier than ever, crawling out of my skin for sex. But I only want Sydney. The need is getting stronger each day.
This intense attraction must be magically enhanced. I’ve never felt anything like it.
I don’t dare scratch the itch.
My fingers hover over the keyboard again. Think, think. As my fingertips touch the keys, a wave of energy rolls through me. Tingles drift up my arms. Then knowledge bursts across my brain. Cadensexy1.
Sydney finds me sexy?
No. I can’t think about that. Surely that can’t be her password.
Unless… Did my unintentional magic reveal it to me? As much as I hate that idea, there’s only one way to find out…
I type the characters in carefully and hit Enter. Almost instantly, her screen flashes, and her desktop appears. I’m in.
Bloody hell, her password shouldn’t have popped into my head. It shouldn’t even be possible…unless my bloody transition from man to wizard is near.
Shoving aside that terrifying possibility, I search her computer from top to bottom and find nothing but outdated stories, months-old missives, and work-related emails.
Cursing, I extinguish the torch on my phone and put her computer back to sleep. Now what?
It figures that Sydney is too smart to leave important information on a system that could be hacked. But waiting until Monday isn’t an option. Anka is alone, possibly in pain or danger. Sydney will, no doubt, be crafting more stories over the weekend. Every minute, Lucan slides closer to death. While I’m grateful Morgana Le Fay is no longer around to wield that damned diary of hers, the book in a human reporter’s hands can only be a disaster.
I have to talk to Sydney. I may even have to take Bram’s suggestion and seduce her. I’d rather not use Sydney—or risk getting closer to her. But time is short, and I don’t have enough of it to gain her trust through smooth talk alone.
It’s time for something rash.
Chapter
Eight
Sydney
As I sip tea the next morning, my thoughts drift to Caden. Again. Just like last night.
Not for the first time since meeting him, my dreams were explicit and filthy. I woke in a panting sweat, desperate for his touch. God knows I tried to put out the fire, but my battery-operated boyfriend was no match for my five-alarm blaze.
I shouldn’t be this fixated. Of course he’s attractive, but this is mad. The man wants nothing to do with me. Yet I can’t help but wonder… Does the little red book Aquarius gave me really make sexual fantasies come true?
Yes, I deal in the paranormal, but the possibility that a worn-down red book could improve my orgasm quotient with a few strokes of my pen sounds farfetched. Besides, what kind of sad sack would magically coerce a man who hasn’t shown the slightest interest into bed?
A sudden knock interrupts my reverie. Who the bloody hell is that? I’m not chummy with my neighbors, and I’m not expecting visitors on a Saturday morning.
Frowning, I dash across my flat and grip the knob, lamenting my lack of a peephole. “Who is it?”
“Caden.”
Shock trips my system. My heart stutters. He’s here?