The Vampire Who Loved Me by Teresa Medeiros Read Free Book Online

discovery. It seems that wherever I go, there are always women willing—no, eager—to offer me a little sip of themselves. I take just what I need to survive, and in return…I make sure they get what they need.” His jaded gaze flicked over the pale scars on her throat. “Since you were the first woman I ever drank from, I suppose I have you to thank for teaching me that lesson.”
    Portia almost hated him in that moment. Hated him for taking an act born out ofdesperation and tenderness and trying to turn it into something sordid and dirty.
    As if that wasn’t enough of an affront, he took one step toward her, then another. “I’m not nearly so careless or clumsy as I was with you. I’ve even learned to drink from other places so the scars won’t be so visible.” He lifted one hand to her throat, his fingertips caressing the marks he had left on her with a seductive tenderness that made her shiver. “Did you know there’s a particularly juicy little artery on the inside of a woman’s thigh, just below—”
    “Stop it!” Portia shouted, slapping his hand away. “Stop being so horrid! I know exactly what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work!”
    He backed away from her, holding up both hands in mocking surrender. “You never did scare easily, did you, Bright Eyes?”
    He was wrong. She was terrified. Terrified of the way her pulse had raced beneath his fingertips. Terrified of the power his touch still had over her. Terrified she might be no better than those women who were willing and eager to satisfy his cravings as long as he satisfied theirs.
    But he wasn’t the only one who had learnedhow to bluff in the past few years. She smiled at him, using her dimples to their best advantage. “I hate to wound your legendary vanity, but I have no intention of scurrying out the door just because you say ‘Boo!’ to me.”
    She shrugged off his coat and tossed it toward the bed, removed her bonnet and set it carefully on the table, then began to tug off her gloves one finger at a time. As she slipped out of her pelisse, one of Julian’s eyebrows shot up, as if to inquire just what garment she might consider removing next.
    Keeping the ribbons of her reticule looped around her wrist, she settled herself gingerly on the edge of the wing-chair and took another dainty sip of the port. “Your growling and posturing might impress the sort of women you’re accustomed to consorting with, but quite frankly, I find them to be a bit of a bore.”
    The dark wing of Julian’s eyebrow shot even higher. “I beg your pardon, Miss Cabot. I obviously mistook you for the enchanting child who used to hang on my every syllable with breathless delight.”
    “I’m afraid even the most enchanting of children must someday grow up. I hope it won’tdisappoint you to learn that I no longer believe in mermaids, leprechauns, or werewolves.”
    “But you still believe in me.”
    Portia barely managed to hide her start. Had he developed a talent for reading minds along with his other dark gifts?
    “You still believe in the existence of vampires,” he clarified to her keen relief.
    “I haven’t any choice, have I? Not when your brother has spent the last five years driving the worst of them out of London.”
    “Well, that would explain why they’re overrunning the alleys of Florence and Madrid.” Scowling, Julian poured himself another glass of port and settled one lean hip against the opposite corner of the table. “Adrian has obviously been neglecting his duties as your guardian. I would have thought he’d have you married off by now to some wealthy viscount or earl who could give you a half dozen babes to keep you in the nursery where you belong.”
    “I’ve been out of the nursery for several years now and I’ve no intention of going back. At least not for a very long while. So tell me,” she said, blinking up at him, “while you were traveling the world learning how to enslave weak-willedwomen with your