Seduce Me in Shadow

“Morning, Holly.”



Sydney wanted to be angry at Holly for Caden’s dismissal, but after her description of his eavesdropping, she understood Holly’s position. Even if Caden had done it because he wanted to protect her, it looked fishy.



“You look like shit. Sleep more. If you’re losing some over Caden’s sacking, problem solved. Meet Zain Denzell.”



As if Caden could be replaced with any warm body . . .



In the doorway, Holly stepped back. A man edged forward, tall, lanky, and scruffy. He sported inky black hair, a goatee, a crooked nose, and an office-inappropriate T-shirt that said “Wanted: Meaningful Overnight Relationship.” But the eyes . . . those were sharp, almost dissecting. Sydney had the immediate impression that Zain was used to people underestimating him, and he preferred it that way.



“Hello.” She walked around the desk and stuck out her hand.



Zain approached, something between a walk and a swagger, then took her hand. She had a brief impression of slightly damp palms. He didn’t give off the demeanor of someone with large stature, but still hit her square in the chest, as if he was important somehow.



“Nice to meet you,” he said with a nod, then backed away.



“Likewise.”



Biting her lip, Sydney studied him. Not as easy on the eyes as the last one, but he’d be less distracting. Zain’s deference seemed a bit practiced, but she supposed anyone young trying to succeed in the news business learned to bow and scrape in a hurry.



Suddenly, he smiled. “Too awkward? Sorry. I’m a loner and not used to mingling with others, especially before noon.”



“You’re fine.”



Holly clapped her hands. “Great, now that the introductions are over, why don’t you and Zain spend thirty seconds forming a meaningful work bond, then start making me money?”



With that cheerful demand, Holly left, shutting the door behind her. Sydney rolled her eyes, and Zain laughed.



“Is she always that . . .”



“Brash? Absolutely. If you hear people talk about Cruella, you know who they mean.”



Zain rubbed his hands together. “We still have a few moments; tell me about you.”



Sydney perched herself on the edge of her desk. “I’m a reporter with deadlines who doesn’t have time for crap. You may not believe my stories, but if so, I don’t want to hear it.”



“No. I believe. Especially the magical war story.”



“That’s right. You’re the one Holly told me had pictures of the bodies in the tunnel. How did you get them?”



Zain hesitated. “I have a source who claims to be involved. That’s why I wanted to work here. I think we can blow the doors off this story and make big names for ourselves.”



She stood up straight, her interest in Zain zooming. “A source involved in the magical war? And you don’t think he or she is mental? Tell me more.”



“Can’t, really. He didn’t meet with me. I got a note, you see, that basically said, ‘be here at this time.’ I was, and found the bodies just after the battle.” Zain shrugged.



Odd. “Was this note delivered to your home?”



He winced, looking a bit sheepish. “It just . . . appeared in my flat.”



Like poof, as in magic? “Has it happened again?”



Nodding, Zain explained, “The last one said something big was coming and he’d let me know.”



“Why you?” Sydney asked. “Why not someone already working on this story?”



Zain lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve always been interested in magic.”



Possible, but it sounded convenient. Sydney’s guess was that Zain wanted this job, and had invented a reclusive source to get it. The pictures in the tunnel? For all Sydney knew, he could have Photoshopped them. Time would tell.



Repressing a smile, she sank back to the edge of the desk. “I’m working on a new angle about the battle in the tunnel. You know, where you took the pictures of the bodies? I’m having some difficulty. The last article I wrote—”



“Was rubbish,” he blurted, then looked sheepish. “No disrespect intended. But you got it all wrong. Mathias is the good guy in the magical world. He wants to end oppression.”



Sydney slanted him a considering stare. “I have a source, too, who claims Mathias repeatedly raped her. He doesn’t sound like a great bloke.”



“Energy,” Zain said. “Powerful emotions, commonly sex, fuels their magic, or so I’ve been told. They must have it frequently. She may have called it rape to win sympathy, but these people shag like mad to keep themselves charged up.”



Talk about rubbish. First, Aquarius’s cousin had an abused demeanor, not a satisfied one. She’d seen nothing to suggest the woman had engaged in mutually consensual sex. The rest sounded like a tall tale. If it was true, why would his source have confided this sort of information, when it had nothing to do with the war?



“Interesting.” She gave him a tight smile. “For my next story . . .”



The words I’ll just need a few pictures of this red book that grants sexual fantasies stuck in her throat. He might wonder how she’d acquired such a thing. And if he was the sort who would lie about his inside information, maybe he would try to steal the book from her. After Caden’s words of caution and everything that had befallen Aquarius’s cousin, it made sense to be cautious.



He sat forward, attentive, focused on her. Now she knew how an animal at the zoo felt.



“I’ve got it under control,” she said finally.



He frowned. “You don’t need me this week?”



“My last photographer already took pictures,” she lied. “But bring your snapshots of the bodies. I’ll look at those for my next piece. This week, I’ve got another story. Oh, and if you can, ask your source why, if Mathias is the good sort, abducted foreign soldiers were found among the dead in that tunnel. And what does he make of the Doomsday Brethren?”



The afternoon both flew and dragged by. Sydney crafted a story about the magical diary. Googling turned up sites about Aleister Crowley, Harry Potter—even a supposedly magical cat. The book she possessed couldn’t belong to any of these people. Finally, buried a few pages down, she found some scholar’s works about a supposed magical diary dating back to King Arthur’s time. She was no expert, but the markings on the book were too old to belong to Crowley, Potter was fictional, and as much as she loved the fantastical, the cat was beyond even her belief. The Arthurian angle fit best.



A grueling seven hours and a missed lunch later, Sydney submitted her story about the book. She hoped she’d gotten it right. If not, she had until tomorrow to retract it and invent another, in case Caden failed to appear.



She dug her keys from her handbag and unlocked the door to her flat, her mind on the story and Zain. Had she done the right thing by submitting that story and not accepting Zain’s help? Odd that the man hadn’t seemed at all puzzled when she’d mentioned the Doomsday Brethren. Then again, maybe he’d been following her stories.



Deep in thought, she turned to shut the door. There Caden stood in the shadowed portico, looming large.



Sydney gasped, hand over her chest. He looked out of sorts, sweating, agitated. She might have wondered if he was taking drugs, but he hated losing control too much for that.



“You scared me.” She lowered her hand and gestured to him. “Come in. Thank God, you came. I—I’m so sorry about Holly and—”



“I don’t bloody care about the job.” He took a step in, shed his coat, then shut the door behind him, his eyes boring into hers. “I couldn’t stay away from you.”



CHAPTER EIGHT



CADEN FISTED HIS HANDS at his sides, trying to keep them to himself. Sydney looked gorgeous and fiery in a short black skirt and a shiny, coppery blouse. The former clung lovingly to her hips; the latter provided a mouthwatering glimpse of cleavage. She’d swept her long hair back into some feminine knot that made his fingers itch to unravel it as he unraveled her. The remnants of reddish gloss stained her plump lips.



Without thinking, he found himself crossing the room to taste her lush mouth—and any other part of her she’d let him.



No! Down that path lay disaster. Damn it, he was here to end this mission, for Sydney’s safety—and his own heart. He could not do something irresponsible. Already, this was going to hurt.



Blast Bram and his grand schemes. Caden had only agreed to this one because it would keep Sydney safe. But she would also hate him forever.



“We should talk.”



She nodded and locked the door behind him, then headed for the kitchen, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder as she went. Damn. Caden wanted to be rational in her presence. A gentleman. But the urge to fuck her until she screamed his name, coupled with the gut-wrenching fear this was the last time he’d see her, made that impossible.



“Tea?” she asked.



“No,” he scratched out.



“Something stronger?” She reached to the top of a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.



Very dangerous. If he clouded his judgment with alcohol, no telling how little conversation and how much sex they’d have. He owed her his best behavior.



He shook his head. “Sit down.”



Sydney bit her lip, then crossed the room. She settled on the sofa, and he sat beside her, intentionally keeping space between them. Bloody hell, she smelled like peaches and jasmine and softness. He swallowed as need clawed at him. Everything about her called to him. It was sharper tonight, painful almost. His body shook. As hot as he felt, he would have sworn it was July during a swelter, not late November.



“Why are you here?” she whispered. “If it’s to pick up where we left off—”



“No.” He would restrain himself, talk to her. Keep her safe. “I came to explain.”



She raised a ginger brow.



“I swear, I haven’t tried to steal your magical war story. Who would I sell it to?”



“We have competitors who are ruthless and not picky about ethics.”



Though he’d known she suspected he plotted to steal from her, her suspicions still hurt. “I’m not one of them. Please trust me on that.”



“Holly caught you eavesdropping. What were you doing?”



Bloody hell, Sydney proved over and over how sharp and direct she was. As always, he admired—no, desired her—for it. “I wasn’t planning to steal your story. I wanted to know what was happening with you. If . . . you were seeing another man.”



Another man? Had he been jealous? “There’s no one else. For the record, I did not ask Holly to release you. In fact, I spoke to her before we ever . . .” Sydney scrubbed her hand across her face. “Holly is my trusted mentor, so I asked for advice. Whatever you believe, I never thought she’d sack you. I asked her to take you back, but after she caught you eavesdropping, she refused.”



“I understand. It’s all right.”



“If you weren’t stealing, then why all the questions about my story? Why romance me?” Sydney bit her lip and hesitated. “Was any of it real?”



God, he wanted to avoid answering that telling question and just ask her if Anka was her source. But that was impossible. Sydney would ask too many questions. And the first would be, how did he know Anka, a magical woman? If he was honest and said that she was his brother’s former “wife,” Sydney would know he was close to magic. She would want more information about magickind that wasn’t his to give or safe for her to know. Or she could think he was one of Mathias’s minions, looking to torture Anka again. If Sydney thought that, she would shut him out completely. But he owed her as much of the truth as he dare give.



“Everything I felt, every touch, every concern, was real. Being with you . . . was incredible. This is a terrible time in my life for romance. I should’ve stayed away. But you’re damned hard to resist.”



She flushed, and he smiled.



Then he sobered. How the devil could he answer her questions about his interest in the story? Damn. He felt rotten. Tired, hot, and aroused, his thoughts were sluggish and his body demanding. Worse today than yesterday by far. Bloody transition.



Sydney still looked at him expectantly, and the more information he gave her, the stickier the explanation. Lies upon lies upon lies, and he hated them. The truth was no better. The more he gave her, the more she’d put in another story, further jeopardizing her.



Finally, an idea hit him like a bolt. A godsend. He sighed in relief.



“I’m looking for a witch named Anka.” He watched Sydney’s face, but it remained impassive. If she knew Anka, she hid it well. “Nothing has helped my brother’s condition, and I spoke with a . . . healer who believed that Anka had magical powers that could help Lucan. I’ve tried everything else to make my brother whole, to no avail. Anka disappeared recently, and when I started reading your stories in the paper, I wondered if she was your source.”



Not a lie . . . just not the whole truth.



Regret and sadness crossed her face. “I can’t tell you if the woman you’re seeking is my source. As much as I want to help your brother . . .” She grimaced. “I can’t.”



Caden nodded. “I know. Working with you under false pretenses was wrong. I didn’t mean to be dodgy. I was desperate.”



He refused to coerce her into compromising her ethics and giving him her source’s name. She’d resent him, and he couldn’t tolerate adding more fuel to the anger she’d feel after tonight. Already he felt guilty for doing his best to stop the story that could help her prove her merit to the world and her stodgy parents.



Somehow, he must devise another way to locate Anka, and he could barely think beyond his exhaustion and need to touch Sydney. But now he must deceive her again. The knowledge burned, though this was for her own safety—and that of magickind.



“The other reason I came was to prove I have no designs on your story. I’ve found two people who are experts on that old book Aquarius got you, the one you want to write about.” He nearly choked on the lie.