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)
A quick inventory of the front rooms proves that she doesn’t keep anything work related here. No laptop, no notes, no scraps of paper with handy information. And no Doomsday Diary. Bugger!
That means I’ll have to risk getting near Sydney again to search her room. I debate leaving and waiting for a moment less fraught with danger and magical landmines. But if I avoid more personal contact with Sydney, like I should going forward, I won’t have another opportunity.
It’s now or never.
In the bedroom, I ignore the voice in my head clamoring at me to crawl between Sydney’s sleek thighs again and claim her. Instead, I prowl through her wardrobe and find nothing except a neat row of clothes on hangers, arranged in outfits. Her sexy chocolate skirt and soft cream blouse are wrapped in plastic from the dry cleaners, hung beside the bold black-and-white dress that clings to her small, curved frame like a wet dream. I’ve always wondered what she looked like underneath it.
Now that I know, how will I ever stay away?
Dragging in a bracing breath, I forge on. Despite the shitty situation, a scan of her bathroom makes me smile. Orderly rows of lotions and perfume bottles. Sticky notes of lists hang from her mirror, reminding her to buy toothpaste and return a library book. Always so organized, my Sydney.
No, she’s not mine. Stop that.
I need to focus on notes, names, the Doomsday Diary…
With no place left to search except the area around the bed, I tiptoe closer. I hold my breath, trying not to inhale her luscious scent in case it compels me to shed my clothes, slide back into her bed, and drown in bliss with her again.
Cautiously, I approach her side of the bed. Don’t look at her, I warn myself.
Too late.
Her pale skin glows in the faint moonlight streaming silver through her window. A burst of that glorious red hair covers her shoulder. A few of her pale freckles peek from between the shining strands.
And I sound like a bloody poet.
I force myself to look away and perform a cursory check of her dresser. Inside, I find nothing but lingerie of all types and colors. It’s impossible not to imagine her in all the softness and lace. That’s definitely detrimental to my restraint.
Swallowing back a dizzying wave of lust, I shut the drawers and move to her small night table, finding a stack of books. A tome about paranormal research rests on top. The one beneath is about the ghosts of Jack the Ripper’s victims. Interesting, but I’m eager to reach the little red volume buried at the bottom.
Quietly, I shuttle the top two books aside, then lift the last. Small, red, gilt-edged, graced with an entwined ML symbol on the front.
Bingo!
I don’t open it. No time. No need. It isn’t as if I want the bloody thing for myself. I just need to return it to Bram so I can focus on finding Anka to help Lucan.
Since Sydney hasn’t stirred, I risk opening the little drawer in the night table to see if she has any notes there about her source of information. I’m convinced she must be Anka.
Instead, I find a decorative bookmark and an ambitious reading list—nothing else. I resist the urge to slam the drawer shut in frustration.
Still, Sydney moans and stirs, rolling across the bed with her arm outstretched as if she’s searching for me. A frown creases between her brows. Is she awake enough to realize I’m no longer lying beside her?
It seems so. Even if I’m not done searching, I have to leave. I can’t risk her waking me up. I’ll only be tempted to shag her again.
A quick glance at the clock on her night table tells me it’s nearly six in the morning. I’ll arrive early at Out of this Realm’s offices, before anyone else, and resume my search there.
For now, I grab the book. And with a last lingering glance at Sydney, I turn and duck out of her bedroom, clutching the Doomsday Diary. A few more steps to the front door, then I’ll call Bram and let him come pick up this bloody book. That ought to make the ruthless wizard happy. And hopefully, taking it out of Sydney’s grasp will force her to move onto another, safer story.
Relief rolling through me, I yank open Sydney’s front door and step over the threshold, into the foggy London morn.
An instant later, the diary dissolves in my hands.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
What the devil! I pat my shirt, my pants’ pockets, but the Doomsday Diary is gone.
A litany of possible reasons scrolls through my head as I dash back to Sydney’s room. The familiar red volume sits on her night table, stacked under the other two books as if I never touched it.
Cursing, I snatch the book again, hoping more than believing that I can leave with the volume. But as I step over her threshold, it dissipates in my hands. Another quick glance reveals that the book found its way back to her bedside table.