Blood Type (Blood Type 1)

At around eleven at night, two women showed up in her room and got to work on her hair and makeup. When she attempted engaging them in conversation, they remained silent. She didn’t know if they were under orders from Beckham not to give anything away or if they really didn’t know what was going on. Either way they transformed her face until she almost didn’t recognize the sexy vixen wearing the smoky makeup. The hairstylist pulled her dark hair into a sexy updo with loose tendrils framing her face and falling out of her twist.

When she walked out of her bathroom, she found a small white bag on her bed. She peeked inside, and her eyes widened in surprise. Of all the things Beckham could have suggested, the last thing she expected was skimpy lingerie. She hoped that something was going over this.

She ran her hands over the soft silk and laces of the outfit and then stripped out of the dress she was wearing. A woman came in a minute later to assist her into the red and black corseted top. She tightened the laces until Reyna was afraid she wasn’t going to be able to breathe. The corset was paired with ruffled black boy shorts, thigh-high stockings that attached to the bottom of the corset with ribbons, and a pair of black-heeled boots. She felt ridiculous…but also sexy in a way she never had before.

“Where is my dress?” she asked.

The woman handed her a black silk kimono that didn’t look like it would even cover her ass. “Here you are.”

“Wait…but where is the dress that goes over this?”

“This was all we were provided.”

Reyna slid the kimono over her shoulders and pulled it closed over the revealing outfit. Not that it did much to hide the fact that she was wearing very little.

What the hell had she got herself into? She was dressed like a real escort.

Reyna pushed down her apprehension and decided to own it. She had gotten herself invited to the Vault. There was no way she was about to walk away just because she was dressed in even more scandalous clothing than normal. Beckham had seen her half-naked. This wouldn’t be so bad.

When she left her room, Beckham turned his gaze to her, and she let the front of the kimono drop open. His eyes swept her body. He inhaled deeply and his lip quirked upward for a split second. He tried so hard to hold on to his cool demeanor, but she could tell that her outfit affected him. She may have been pissed at him, but it was always nice to feel sexy.

“Stay close to me,” he said, walking toward her. “Everyone is going to want to get their hands on you in that.”

“Everyone?” she asked.

He smirked. “Oh yes…everyone.”

“Even you?”

His eyes darkened, and he looked away from her. “Just don’t leave my side. You have no idea what you’re about to walk into.”

She wanted to ask him to tell her, but the look on his face stilled the question on her tongue. He wasn’t going to answer. She knew that much. He was enjoying the anticipation.

She focused her attention instead on imprinting the way Beckham looked in that moment to her brain. Head cocked to one side, dressed in a black suit with a black shirt underneath unbuttoned at the top. All black from head to toe and utterly delectable. It might be easier to avoid wanting to jump his bones if he didn’t look so damn attractive.

In the place of their normal Town Car was a sleek black limo. Her eyes lit up. She had never been in a limo before. Never even dreamed that she would have use for one. The driver opened the door for her, and she slipped into the backseat. Beckham followed after her.

“There’s one more piece to your outfit,” he told her once the car started moving.

“Oh?” she asked, intrigued.

He removed a thick black ribbon of silk from his pocket. He looked devious in the dim lighting.

“Have you ever been blindfolded?” he asked.

She swallowed and shook her head. “Is that necessary?”

“The Vault has strict security. No one is supposed to know the exact location unless you’re an elite member. It’s a precaution.” He twirled his finger in place. “Turn around.”

She slowly did as instructed. Her heart pitter-pattered in her chest with anticipation. She hated herself for getting so worked up over it—but damn, she wanted him. Even through her anger and his stupidity, she wanted to feel alive again with him.

He slid the fabric over her eyes and everything went dark. He tied it in a tight knot at the back of her head. His hand slipped down her back once he finished. “How is that?” he asked.

“I can’t see anything.”

She tightened her legs together. Without her sense of sight, she was susceptible to everything else tenfold. The smell of his musky cologne, the light touch of his hand against her skin, the small physical distance between them—and how desperately her heightened awareness made her want to bridge it.