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

a shadow of the sensations that I had felt then to rush over me again.  I saw my need reflected in his intensity, and I bit my lip hard.  He felt it too, this connection between us.  For some reason, that was far from reassuring.
    “In my office, I nearly did something that I had sworn never to do again,” he said.
    “Attack me?” I said, my throat suddenly dry.  I dropped my voice to the merest whisper.  I had a hard time making myself say the words.  “Rape me?”
    His face tightened, whether in anger or scorn, I could not tell.  “No, it would never be a rape.  I would do nothing to you—to anyone—that you wouldn’t want me to.  But it would still be wrong.”
    “How do you know that I would want it?” I whispered furiously, even as prickles of heat ran over my body to pool deep in my center.  I shifted slightly in my chair, ignoring the tugging sensation between my thighs.  “How dare you— presume to tell me what I want?”
    I could have drowned in the darkness of his eyes.  He reached across the table.  I could not move.  He took my chin in two fingers and rubbed his thumb along the line of my jaw.  I leaned forward, into his hand, toward him.  Every nerve sang in the wake of his cool touch, reaching so deep inside me that I whimpered, my hands curling into fists on the tabletop. 
    He smiled, and my heart stuttered.  “You would have begged me.”
    I jumped when he released me just as the server set the next course in front of us.  “Mascarpone stuffed date, with olive oil and sea salt.”
    “Thank you,” I murmured hoarsely.  I did not lift my eyes from my plate until I had eaten it clean, embroiled in my sudden confusion and acute, excruciating awareness of the man across the table from me.
    He was right.  I knew he was right.  I would have begged him—begged him for everything.  But I didn’t know why.  What was wrong with me?  Had I lost my mind?
    I had to say something, to fill up the space between us with words, because what hung there now was too much for me to handle.
    “Do you spend this much time with every patient?” I asked, pretending to busy myself with turning my wineglass and examining the glint of the wine in the candlelight.
    “It depends on how far they make it through the process,” he said evenly.  “You must understand that nine out of ten are eliminated at screening.  And of those who pass, a considerable number still decline the procedure.”
    I frowned at that, looking at my short fingernails rather than meeting that disconcerting gaze.  “Are they all terminal?  Like me?”
    “Yes,” he said.  “Given the risks of the procedure, imminent death is a prerequisite.”
    I couldn’t help myself then.  I looked up to find him regarding me steadily.  “Then why refuse it?”
    “It is a choice of the last resort, Ms. Shaw,” he said.  “It comes with a ninety-nine percent chance of failure and death, as you noted so aptly last time we met.  For many people, a certain death tomorrow is better than a near-certain death today.”
    “I don’t think I’m going to die,” I said.  I didn’t know where my conviction came from, but I was very sure.
    “No one who makes this choice wants to die, Ms. Shaw.  Yet most still do.  I want you to understand the gravity of your decision.  Once the procedure is begun, there is no stopping it.  No turning back.”  His voice was gentle, the warm honey of his tone making it almost soothing, even though the words he was delivering were blunt.
    I shook my head.  “Any chance is better than none.”  I stopped.  “The procedure itself—is it so terrible?  Is it an operation?  Radiation?  Chemotherapy?”
    Another plate was delivered, the old ones whisked away.  I barely noticed the server’s explanation of the spanakopita.
    “It is over in a matter of minutes,” Mr. Thorne said.  He twirled a fork in his fingers, and it glinted in the flame of the candle.  “Blood is collected, and