Page 23 of The Monster and the Last Blood Match

He was breathing heavily and refused to look at her.

“Beckham?” she whispered, using his name for the first time.

His eyes snapped to hers. “Nothing. Nothing happened,” he growled, and then he stormed from the room without another word.

She was so terribly confused.

Why hadn’t he followed through?Why did she wish he had?

Chapter Eight

Reyna wasn’t used to the new clothes.

She wondered if she would ever get used to the new clothes.

There was nothing in her closet that was less extravagant than her ensemble from yesterday, and her wedges had disappeared. Beckham had probably had someone trash them, since they had set foot on warehouse soil.

She almost wanted to wear something over the top, but she still didn’t know where she was going. And fear of what had happened last night and Beckham’s uncontrolled anger kept her from acting out. She slipped into a plain black dress that was surprisingly comfortable. The material felt light as air. She wished for her Converse in that moment, but ended up in a pair of four-inch black heels. They squished her toes a little bit but otherwise had a good bit of cushion in them.

She teetered over to the mirror to take a look. Though she felt ridiculous, she had to admit that she looked good. Not great. But passable.

Beckham was waiting for her when she exited her room. He was dangerously good-looking in a stark black suit with a black shirt and tie. The way he drank her in was enough to say that she had done well. He stared at her a full ten seconds longer than normal before returning his gaze to his phone.

“Acceptable?” she asked, turning in place. Now she really did feel like a baby doll.

“You look fine.”

Fine. Right.

“Let’s go.” He headed toward the elevator. She hurried to keep up, but in her ridiculous heels, it was a struggle. The doors nearly closed on her, and she tripped forward and threw her arm out to catch it. It opened right back up.

She grappled for proper footing but couldn’t catch herself. She stumbled right into Beckham, her arms grabbed onto his suit, and her body collided with his chest.

“Oh God,” she groaned, trying to right herself and only slipping farther.

Beckham’s hand reached out, touched her waist, and held her securely in an upright position. But she was still pushed against him, staring into those bottomless pools of darkness.

“Um…sorry,” she whispered.

She swallowed and tried not to look up at his lips. The lips that had been kissing her neck last night. No, she wouldn’t think about last night at all. Not about the kiss or the bite or how much she had wanted it to happen when he had touched her. Like right now with his hand on her waist.

Reyna stumbled back a step. She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

“Be more careful,” he said gruffly.

“Noted.” Reyna shivered under his gaze, feeling the full weight of his power. How could she be thinking about his lips? The only thing he wanted to do was rip her throat out. And he could do it with ease.

Except he hadn’t.

At least, not yet. She swallowed hard and tried to keep her unease at bay as the elevator whooshed down to the bottom floor. As they exited, Beckham received a phone call.

“I have to take this,” he said. “Go get in the car. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay.”

She wondered who was calling him so early. Then again, she had never even had a phone call, so what did she know? It must be important.

She hurried across the marble floor as best she could without slipping. It was probably the least sexy thing she had ever done in her life. Her walk was more of a waddle. Her feet were pinched, and her dress kept riding up. When her feet touched down on the carpet before the sliding glass doors, she hastened her steps.

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