Sydney hadn’t finished processing the thrill of his mouth on her skin and the knee-melting male scent of him when he lifted her against him and braced her back against the wall.

“The bedroom is just down the hall,” she whispered, though secretly thrilled that he wanted to take her rough and urgent against the wall, just as she’d written.

“Here. Now.”

He lowered her to his upthrust erection, probing until he found the creamy welcome he’d ensured with his fingers. Then he paused, stared into her eyes. The connection between them locked into place, jolting her. The ticking of her grandfather clock in the next room and his harsh breaths filled her ears. Her belly tightened; her heart knocked against her ribs.

Roaring through clenched teeth, he pushed her down onto his shaft, arching up to meet her, driving deep. She gasped, long and astounded, as he filled her completely, stretching her nearly to the point of pain. But that pain quickly turned to pleasure. The feel of him, hot and large, clasped deep in her body, overwhelmed her.

She drew in a shuddering breath. “More.”

No need to ask him twice. With his chest, he kept her pinned in place as he brushed his mouth across her shoulder and impaled her again. His arms and shoulders flexed as he lifted her up and pushed her back down, leaving a trail of fire. The veins and tendons rose in his biceps and neck. And the pleasure was unlike anything she’d ever imagined. Like opening a door and finding infinity, bright and endless and stunning.

He established a hard rhythm, holding her wide open with her legs over his arms. Her arms curled around him, her nails in the hard flesh of his back, as she moved with him.

Soon, her thighs trembled as she approached orgasm again, this one far bigger. Breathing? Impossible, and she didn’t care, not when her entire body rushed headlong to the kind of fulfillment she’d only read about. Again, he filled her, sliding deep, the slick friction of his stroke driving her quickly to a point from which she could not hold back.

Sydney moaned, and she felt Caden’s mouth near her ear.

His labored breathing sent a fresh bolt of shivers down her spine.

“I feel you,” he whispered between thrusts. “So tight.” Another surge deep inside her that had her clawing him again. “So ready.”

“Yes. Yes!”

His pace was nearly violent as he pumped again. More incredible than her fantasy even. And Sydney couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Let go,” he roared.

Those two words were all she needed to see stars behind her eyes, to fall off the cliff into a drugging release. He cried out, his fingers digging into her backside, his mouth clamped on her shoulder as a warm spray jetted inside her.

“Oh, shit,” she panted. “We forgot a condom.”

“I’m clean.”

“I am, as well. But not on birth control.”

He hesitated, and something regretful crossed his face. “With me, pregnancy is not an issue.”

Sydney opened her mouth to ask what that meant. Was he sterile? Had a vasectomy? Before she could voice her questions, he brushed erotic kisses down her neck until she shivered.

When he finally came up for air, he murmured, “Where’s the bed?”

Caden woke in the predawn, wrapped around a warm raspberry-scented body. Silky hair like fire streamed down a narrow feminine back. Soft. Everything about her felt that way as she lay against him, sleeping peacefully. Sydney.

Despite taking her against the wall earlier, then twice again in the bed, he awoke full of energy and ready for more of her. She was no longer a craving, but an addiction.

He’d been so bloody careful with her. No kissing of that sweet, lush mouth or tasting of the wet flesh between her thighs—no matter how badly he’d ached to or how loud the voice in his head screamed at him. But it didn’t matter. Everything in him cried out to take her again. And again. And he feared that if he kissed her, the dangerous, ancient words swirling in his head would fly out of his mouth. If they did . . . presto chango. He’d be mated in the blink of an eye, bound his entire life only to her, only able to derive his energy, obtain sex, and feel love with her. And if she didn’t accept his Mating Call, or chose to break their bond someday . . . well, his brother was a living, breathing example of the result.

He wanted no part of magical anything, but seeing what Lucan had endured, Caden wanted no part of mating, in particular. Quick shags from random beauties suited him. Putting himself in a position to be feral and out of his mind without Sydney? Unthinkable.

Deep in slumber, she shifted, stretching against him with a sigh, her firm little backside brushing him in dangerous places. He hissed as a fresh jolt of lust pounded him. Then she settled back against him, her body limp and trusting. His temperature rose. She was definitely not helping his restraint.

Cripes, he had to get out of here. That bloody dream, a stupid whim, had brought him to Sydney’s flat. He wanted to exit stage left immediately. But this was a prime opportunity to search her place again, find something useful to his mission, then retreat, before he did something really foolish, like succumb to the screaming need to kiss her and prove all his instincts right.

Gently, he rose, moving away from Sydney by degrees, careful not to wake her. Then he edged off the bed, onto his feet. He’d start with her notes—and that bloody magical diary, if he could find it. Something he could take and call this fiasco a success.

On his feet, he padded across the hardwood floors and found his clothes where he’d left them in the foyer last night wadded on the floor. With a curse for his unusually impulsive behavior, he donned everything, then began searching.

A quick inventory of the front rooms proved that she hadn’t brought her laptop home. No notes, no scraps of paper with handy information, no Doomsday Diary. Bugger!

That meant he was going to have to return to Sydney’s bedroom and risk waking her. He debated leaving now, forgetting the mission for the moment. But if he was smart and avoided more personal contact with Sydney, he would not have another opportunity to search her flat.

In the bedroom, he ignored the voice in his head asking if disregarding Sydney was even possible and worked methodically. Nothing in her wardrobe except a neat row of clothes on hangers arranged in outfits. Her sexy chocolate skirt and soft cream blouse were wrapped in plastic from the dry cleaners, hung beside the bold black and white dress that clung to her small, curved frame like a dream and always made him wonder exactly what she had beneath. Now that he knew, how would he ever stay away?

Drawing in a bracing breath, he forged on. A scan of her bathroom made him smile, despite the less than optimal situation. Orderly rows of lotions and perfume bottles. Sticky notes of lists stuck to her mirror, reminding her to buy toothpaste and return a DVD rental. Always organized.

Focus, he warned himself. Notes, names, Doomsday Diary.

With no place left to search except the area immediately around the bed, he walked toward her like a man on a death march. He wasn’t quite convinced that he wouldn’t shed his clothes again, slide back into her bed and into her body.

Swallowing, he approached her side of the bed. Don’t look at her, he warned himself. Too late.

Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight streaming through the window. A burst of that glorious red hair covered her shoulder, and few of her pale freckles peeked from between the shining strands.

Damn, he sounded like a bloody poet. He was dying to kiss her—and didn’t dare.

Caden performed a cursory check of her dresser and found nothing except more lingerie in all types and colors that weren’t contributing to his ability to focus. But nothing more.

A few steps closer and he reached her small night table, on which he saw a stack of books. The top one was a book about paranormal research, the one beneath about the ghosts of Jack the Ripper’s victims. But he was most interested in the little red volume at the bottom.

Quietly, he shuffled the top two books to the side, then lifted the last. Small, red, gilt-edged, graced with an entwined ML symbol on the front. Bingo!

He didn’t open it. No time. No need. It wasn’t as if he wanted the bloody thing. He would return it to Bram so he could focus on finding Anka.

The night table had a little drawer, and he opened it, hoping to find something about Anka there.

The drawer contained some little reading glasses, a decorative bookmark, and an ambitious reading list. But that was Sydney. Unfortunately, the little drawer held nothing about her source, and he resisted the urge to slam it shut.

Sydney moaned, stirred, leaned across the bed, her arm outstretched as if she was searching for him. A little crease of a frown appeared between her eyes. Was she awake enough to realize he was gone?

Time to go. Leave now. He found nothing here in her apartment that would lead him to Anka. He’d try again at the office in a bit. A quick glance at the clock on her night table told him it was nearly six in the morning. He’d arrive early at Out of This Realm’s offices and search there.

But now he had to grab the book and go before she woke up and started asking questions that he couldn’t answer.

With a last lingering glance, Caden turned and ducked out of Sydney’s bedroom, Doomsday Diary clutched in his hand. A few more steps to the front door, then he’d ride the Tube home and call Bram. Recovering this bloody book ought to make the wizard happy, even if it didn’t help Lucan.

Caden was playing that conversation in his head as he opened Sydney’s front door and stepped over the threshold, into the foggy London morn.

An instant later, the book dissolved in his hands.

CHAPTER SIX

POOF! THE BOOK WAS gone. Disappeared.

What the devil! He patted his shirt, his pants’ pockets, but . . . nothing. The Doomsday Diary was gone.

Stepping inside and easing the door shut, he scanned the house and made his way to Sydney’s room. He spotted the familiar red volume on her night table, stacked once more under the other two books. And he cursed.

Grabbing the book once again, he hoped more than believed that some magic would permit him to leave with the volume this time. But as he stepped over her threshold, it dissipated once more. A quick glance in Sydney’s room again revealed the book had found its way back to the bedside table.

He raked a hand through his hair. Bloody magic. Illogical, unpredictable crap. Why the devil couldn’t he remove the book from Sydney’s flat? No doubt there was some vexing magical reason. Caden hoped Bram could explain it, but couldn’t spare time to call the wizard now.

As he turned to leave Sydney’s flat again, the rustling of sheets nabbed his attention. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see her sit up and halfheartedly hold the sheet over her breasts. “Going somewhere so early?”

Sydney could be tough as nails, but after last night, she looked vulnerable to him. All that moxie of hers protected a sensitive inner core. Suddenly he could see that she wanted to be cared for, wanted a man to find her worthy, be the center of his universe. In that moment, he wanted to be that man for her.

Instead, he was ducking out, and she knew it. Pain lanced deep in his chest when the dawn light illuminated the tension in her soft brown eyes. Lying to her, though necessary, felt like a bomb detonating in his belly.

“Of course you are,” she answered herself, and drew the sheet higher over her breasts. “You’ve had your night with me. Curiosity fulfilled. Another notch in your bedpost. It’s not as if you made me any promises.” She hung her head, looking very much like she’d berate herself for giving in to him the moment he’d gone. “Go.”

“Syd—”

“Don’t say anything. No doubt I’ll find someone else and forget last night, and that will be that.”

Like hell she would! His reaction was instant, undeniable, and violent.

Caden backtracked and cupped her cheek, aching inside. Staying wasn’t smart; it would only tempt him to claim the lifelong mate magic intended for him—one he feared would be his undoing. Yet seeing her dejected was agonizing. But making her his for always had consequences he couldn’t handle—and she may loathe. Staying with her would change their lives forever—not necessarily for the better.

If he left her without a word now, their relationship would be over. He’d rather give himself a lobotomy with a rusty knife before crushing her, as her expression said his departure would. To complicate matters, every bit of ground he had gained, the little bit of trust he had managed to resurrect, would disappear as quickly as the Doomsday Diary had if he simply walked out.

If he wanted to find Anka, escape this magical freak show, and avoid hurting Sydney, he must stay a bit longer, reassure her, get the necessary information, then devise a way to leave that would not crush her heart—or leave a hole in his.

“Sydney, I’m not some lothario sneaking off the morning after. I need to change clothes for work, and I’d like to call and check on my brother before I go in.”

Her face softened a bit. She’d never worn her emotions so openly, and it was disarming. Could he read her now because he knew her better? Or even more, because he felt connected to her?

“I’m not stopping you. Go.”

Damn it! He should, but he couldn’t.

He sank onto the bed, sitting beside her half-supine form. He couldn’t resist holding her hand. “It would be better if I did not smell like sex at work. Our boss may not appreciate it.”

“It doesn’t take long for Holly to catch on.” Sydney sent him a halfhearted smile.

“Not only do we not want her angry, we have important work to do.” Caden took a deep breath and plunged in. “This magical war story could be quite dangerous. Let me protect you. Please. Don’t meet your source again without me. I’ll find a way to set her at ease and—”