Life Blood: Cora's Choice #1 Read Online Free PDF

me of my jacket.  “This way, please.”
    I stepped forward after the host, my head still muddled with sleep and disbelief, not quite certain that I could trust any of this to be real.  The narrow dining room was dim and intimate, with twelve tables that I counted as we passed.
    There was a movement in shadows of the farthest corner, and I raised my eyes as the host led me onward, knowing who it was even before I saw him—feeling him, somehow, in the darkness.  And there he was, standing, watching me with his hungry eyes, wearing another impeccable three-piece suit and a black silk tie.
    Mr. Thorne.

C hapter Six
     
    H e really isn’t that tall, I thought as I took the chair the host pulled out for me.  But that chiding did nothing to still the racing of my heart.  Mr. Thorne looked down at me across the expanse of snowy linen.  His slow smile was predatory.
    Damn him, I thought, my breath catching.  No one has any right to be that handsome.
    “Drinks?”  A server appeared at the table.
    “We will have a bottle of the Valdicava Brunello di Montalcino,” Mr. Thorne said.
    “Excellent choice, sir,” the server said and disappeared.
    “I hope you understand that I cannot possibly afford this,” I whispered tensely.  “This is not exactly an insurable expense.”
    His lips quirked.  I tried not to stare at them.  “My treat.”
    I tried again.  “I don’t think this is the proper kind of setting for a doctor and patient to meet.”
    “Does the name Mr. Thorne mean nothing to you?” he asked, delicately stressing the title.  “I am no one’s doctor.”
    A waitress appeared, bearing a bottle of wine.  She uncorked it and poured a glass for each of us.  I murmured my thanks, waiting for her to leave earshot before I pounced.
    “If you aren’t a doctor, then what the hell do you think you are doing?” I demanded.  “Why did you touch me?”  I shook my head.  That wasn’t what I had meant to say, and the words made my cheeks redden.  Way to keep the moral high ground, Cora.   “Why did you take my blood?” I corrected.
    He lifted the wineglass and took a small sip, as if to hide his amusement.  “One hardly needs a medical degree to be a competent phlebotomist.  And I did not hear you protesting at my skill.”
    His fingers on my wrist...  I could almost feel them again.  How could any touch so clinical become anything but?  I realized suddenly that my lips had parted, my breathing speeding up involuntarily.  I took a gulp of wine to recover. 
    I tried again.  “If you’re not a doctor, how can you help me?”
    “Do you think I am playing at this?”  His expression was grave.
    “I don’t know.  How could I know?” I asked.  “You seem rich enough to be able to play at anything.”
    “Not this,” he said, his eyes narrowing.  “Not with lives.”
    Not anymore.
    That thought appeared abruptly in my head, as if it had been dropped there.  Rattled, I took looked away and tugged at my necklace, then took another—much more controlled—sip of my drink.  I had a feeling that the bottle was ruinously expensive, full of subtleties and delicate bouquets that only the most refined palate could appreciate. 
    To me, it just tasted like red wine.
    Another server materialized beside our table.  “This evening’s meal begins with a selection of twelve mezzethakia,” he explained, setting a plate in front of each of us.  “The first:  smoked wild salmon with crème fraiche and coarse ground sea salt on a filigree of squid-ink toast.”
    The food looked exquisite, though it was small enough to finish in two bites.  “You ordered for me?” I asked as the server retreated back toward the kitchen, a little offended.
    Again, that slow smile that melted my middle.  “The menu is price-fixe,” Mr. Thorne said.
    I stared blankly.
    He added, “It means you pay a great deal of money to eat whatever the chef cares to feed you.”  He lifted the salmon on toast in one