Striking (Red Lips & White Lies Book 7)

I prefer hangovers from books, not booze.

—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts

“Aunt B,” my five-year-old niece Molly yells like a war cry as she runs into my room and dive-bombs the bed, trampoline style. “Wake up! We’re going to the beach before we go home tonight.”

My head threatens to crack wide open with her high-pitched squeal, but I force my eyes to focus and manage a slightly painful smile before I grab her waist and tug her down with me. Quickly, I toss the covers over our heads, dramatically cloaking us in darkness and pulling her against me. “Let’s go back to sleep, Molls.”

She rolls over and presses her perfectly doll-like nose to mine. “Your breath smells funny, Aunt B.”

Out of the mouths of babes.

“That’s because you woke me up, sweets. I haven’t had a chance to brush my teeth yet.” I don’t bother mentioning that I had no intention of waking up this early either. Jake is the easy-going twin. He’s mellow, like his mom. Molly is a tiny terrorist destined to be an FBI-level negotiator one day. Arguing is useless. She’s definitely my brother’s daughter. “Did you have breakfast?”

She nods her small head and pushes big blonde curls out of her eyes. “Lennon’s big brother made pancakes. He flipped them in the air like Daddy.”

Lennon’s big brother . . . Memories of a chiseled chest and ridiculously strong hands dance in my mind.

“He did, did he?” I think back to how close I was to letting Rhys Windsor devour me last night, and a pang of regret sits heavy in my stomach before it growls. I need coffee and grease and an entire bottle of Tylenol. Not necessarily in that order. “Any chance there’s leftovers?”

Molly nods again and grabs my hand before she yanks the blankets back. “Come on, Aunt B. I’ll show you.”

I let the little whirlwind tug me out of bed, then squat down in front of her. “How about you let me get dressed, and then I’ll meet you in the kitchen?”

“In your bathing suit?” she barters, and I nod. Molly tilts her little head to the side, trying to decide whether she’s being played or not. A tiny finger with a sparkly purple painted nail taps her little lips. “Okay. How about I count to five?”

Like I said—FBI-level negotiator.

“How about you count to a hundred and five?” I laugh and ruffle her hair as I head for the en suite bathroom.

“I can’t count that high,” she squeaks.

“Just start counting. I’ll be fast.”

“Molly gave up somewhere right around one hundred. Not too shabby,” I finish telling Gracie as I lay out my towel on the lounge chair next to her and the sleeping triplets. My brother did not mess around when it came to knocking up his wife. Five babies in four years. This woman is a saint. “I never did find the pancakes though.”

“You don’t even like pancakes, do you?” Grace asks, rooting around in her bag for the sunscreen.

“Who doesn’t like pancakes?” Grace’s nanny, Janie, gasps, horrified.

“Ummm . . .” I murmur, unsure how to answer that without offending her.

“Found it.” Gracie passes me the sunscreen as a shadow moves in behind me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Yeah . . . who doesn’t like pancakes?” the deep, sexy voice that haunted my dreams all night asks as the equally sexy man it belongs to bends down and takes the sunscreen out of my hands.

The women beside me suddenly turn into two giggling girls sharing some kind of secret between them, which they apparently don’t want to let me in on before Grace stands and picks up two of the triplets. “We’re just going to put the babies down for their nap . . . inside. Your brother can handle the twins.”

Traitors.

She leans in to whisper something to Janie, who has my youngest niece in her arms. I have no doubt they’re talking about me. Or more accurately, Rhys and me. I saw the look Gracie shot my way when they got home last night. She looked between us, and her matchmaking wheels were turning.

“Was it something I said?” Rhys asks as he takes a seat on the foot of my chaise.

“Excuse me, Your Highness . . .” I tease. “This is my chair.” But seriously, being this close to him, completely sober in the light of day, without any sexy rain or even sexier tequila to blame for this ridiculous attraction, is basically cruel.

And this attraction is ridiculous.

We’re from two different countries . . . Two completely different continents . . . Two entirely different worlds. No good can come of this.

Rhys Windsor is going to be king one day.

And I’m . . . me.

My father was a fisherman, and my mother was a schoolteacher.

We’re blue collar not blue bloods.

I like my life. I love my job. I can’t imagine anything else.

But this attraction . . . there’s no denying it’s force, even if I wanted to try.

I gently push at his absurdly muscled thigh with the tips of my toes, attempting to push him off the chair, but my golden god doesn’t budge.

Not mine.

This man belongs to an entire country.

Coconut invades my senses as Rhys cracks open the cap of the sunscreen, pulling me back from my spiraling thoughts.

This is why I’m better with my head in a book.

“How are you feeling, love?” He squeezes a fat dollop of lotion into his hand and motions for me to turn around.

“Bossy much?” I glare but turn my back to him and lift my hair anyway. “What if I already have sunscreen on?”

“Do you?” Can a voice drip with sex?

And seriously, why does that accent have to sound so sexy on him?

“That’s not the point,” I pout.

Fantastic. Now I’m acting like the two-year-old.

Rhys rubs his big hands over both my shoulders, and I feel his touch everywhere. My God, that feels good. Too good.

Somehow, I resist the urge to moan and close my eyes and drop my chin to my chest instead as I silently melt under his touch.

He leans forward, his lips skimming my ear. “Well, now you do, love.”

Holy shit, I think I could come from his voice alone.

Even worse, I might want to try that.

I press my thighs together and bite down on my lip.

That isn’t an option.

Rhys Windsor is not an option.noveldrama

“Aunt B,” Jake calls out as little feet pound their way up the beach, soft sand flying in every direction. Water drips from his hair down his face as he comes to a stop, nearly tumbling over until Rhys steadies him.

“Whoa there, lad. Let’s make sure you don’t get a face full of sand.” He sends a wink Jake’s way, and my nephew squirms in his hold until he’s steady on his feet again.

“Will you come play with me, Aunt B?”

Saved by the five-year-old.

I take his hand in mine, then pick him up and toss him in the air. “That sounds like a good plan, Jakey.”

“Sounds more like you’re running away, little bee,” Rhys murmurs as I look back and smile.

“Maybe I am,” I taunt as I head for the ocean, and the prince coughs.

“Damn . . .” I swear I hear him curse, and okay, so maybe I add a little extra swing to my step. If I’m going to walk away, you better believe I’m going to make sure my ass looks good doing it.

“You come, too, Rhys,” Jake yells over my shoulder, and I know without a doubt there’ll be a victorious smile on the prince’s face if I turned around right now.

Rhys

No sooner have I ended my Zoom meeting with my private secretary than my phone is ringing with an incoming FaceTime from my sister.

I answer the call on my laptop and smile when Lennon’s face appears on the screen with my new nephew, Brennan, tucked in her arms. She’s positively glowing. “Hello, big brother.”

“Hello, poppet. How are you and the little man doing?”

She presses a kiss to the soft dark peach fuzz covering his head. “We’re good. How are you? I heard you bumped into Grace and Ares at the villa. Sorry about that. I must have mixed up the dates.”

Something about the look in her eye makes me think she knew exactly what she was doing. “Nothing to apologize for. Grace and Ares left a few hours ago, and I’m leaving tomorrow. It all worked out.”

“Did it?” She waits for me to answer, but Lennon hates silence and gives in quickly. “Did Bellamy go home with them? I told her she should stay for a few extra days and study in peace.”

“No. She stayed.” Short. Sweet. And to the point. Basically, I’m driving her crazy, and I know it.

Lennon’s eyes crinkle as she purses her lips.

She should never play poker.

That’s one of her many tells.

“Spit it out, poppet.” I lean back in the oversized leather office chair and wait her out. She’s not great at quiet. She’ll break soon enough.

“Bellamy is very pretty, isn’t she?” she asks with a singsongy lilt in her voice.

And there it is.

Her agenda.

“Stay in your own lane, Lennon.” The warning is weak. I’ve never been harsh with my sister, and I’m not about to start now. But I’m also not about to take advice on my love life from her either. “Nothing is happening between Bellamy Wilder and me.”

“There could be.” She smiles and pats Brennan’s back as their bulldog jumps up on the couch next to them. She’s relaxed. More relaxed than I’ve seen her in years. It’s a beautiful thing. “She’s a nice girl, Rhys. Maybe you should ask her out. She’d be so much better than the last few the paps have caught you with.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow. When would you like me to date her? When I’m back in Mornea and she’s in America?” I argue, knowing why she’s doing this. The press has been all over me to settle down since news of Lennon’s marriage broke. They’ve documented my every fucking move for years, but lately, the interest seems to have grown to an unbearable level. “I don’t have time to properly date anyone. I was lucky to be able to get away this weekend.” I soften my voice. I don’t want to worry her with how badly I needed a break. “You know the schedule Grandfather has me on.”

“But it’s barely forty-eight hours.”

“The crown never sleeps.”

Lennon adjusts Brennan in her arms, but it doesn’t mask her worry. “Are you okay, Rhys? Really okay? I feel like all you do is Grandfather’s bidding, mixed with the occasional bad life choice.”

My shoulders shake with silent laughter. “Those bad life choices you speak of aren’t choices. They’re just a little fun where I can find it.”

“Whatever you say, big brother.” She shakes her head but seems slightly lighter. “Relaxed looks good on you, Rhys. You should do it more often.”

“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

Lennon glares, and I give in. “I’ll try,” I humor her, but judging by the tilt to her head, she’s not buying it. “Stop worrying about me, Lennon.”

“I promised Mummy I’d never stop.”

And just like that, I feel like I’ve been hit by a ten-ton weight.

Later that night, I make my way into the kitchen in search of a glass of water . . . or maybe a bottle of scotch. Either would do just fine, right about now. But what I find instead is infinitely better.

Bellamy is sitting at the counter, a spoon dug into a carton of butter pecan ice cream. Her dark hair is pulled up into some type of messy bun, with a pen sticking out of it and soft pieces falling down to her shoulders. A pink cropped tank top and tiny little matching ruffled shorts barely cover any of her sun-kissed, creamy skin, and a mess of colored notecards are spread out on the counter with a handful of highlighters and pens scattered everywhere.

She’s a gorgeous mess.

And like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to her. Destruction be damned.

“Why didn’t I see you at Lennon and Maddox’s wedding?” I ask as I move closer, and the way she nearly jumps out of her skin brings a smile to my lips.

“You’ve got to learn to make noise when you enter a room,” she gasps and glares at me, her face flushed and so fucking pretty. “I have to request time off quarterly and couldn’t get anyone to switch with me at the last minute.”

I knew she couldn’t have been there. I never would have missed her. I take stock of the messy counter, and I pick up a notecard and read the question on one side.

“A twenty-four-year-old woman comes to the office for evaluation of urinary frequency . . .” I look up at Bellamy and grin. “Well, that sounds wretched.”

“Just read the question, Your Highness.”

Cheeky little American.

“Where was I . . . ? Okay. She’s been doing so for the past three days. She has also noticed vaginal discharge. The patient has never had these symptoms before. A urine sample is obtained for urinalysis and culture. Which of the following additional findings would be most suggestive of a diagnosis of pyelonephritis?” I look at the card, slightly disturbed. “What the hell are you studying?”

Bellamy reaches for the card, but I hold it out of reach. “I’m studying for the boards.”

“I thought you were already a nurse?” I ask, confused. I’m positive yesterday she said she was a nurse in a hospital. “Didn’t you already take the test before they let you around patients?”

“I’m already an RN.” Bellamy shakes her head, clearly wondering how I’m not following. “I’ve just finished my classes for my master’s in nursing. I’m taking the nurse practitioner boards later this month.”

“Beauty and brains.” I flip the card over, looking for the answer. “All right then. Your options are⁠—”

“What are you doing, Rhys?” A red flush creeps up her cheeks that I’d like to trace the entire way down her body with my tongue.

“I’m helping you study. I couldn’t sleep anyway. Might as well do something useful.” I read over the options and wonder if I can properly pronounce the words. Guess I’m about to find out. “Follow along, love. Your options are: A) bacteriuria; B) leukocytosis; C) microscopic hematuria; or D) white blood cell casts.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she argues one last time before yanking the pen out of her hair and pointing it at me. “Fine. D) white blood cell casts. Now will you please let me study?”

“I told you. I’m going to help you study.” I pick up another card and read it over. This one is more obvious. Fucking cancer. Then it clicks, and I stare at the woman in front of me. “What is your specialty?”

“Oncology,” she answers, like I knew she would. “Why?”

I flip the card and show her the question, and her mouth forms a perfect O.

“Why would you want to deal with this disease every day? I can’t imagine voluntarily being part of that pain day in and day out.” Scotch just beat out water, and I know exactly where the staff keeps it.

“Because if it weren’t for the nurses when I had cancer, I’d have constantly been scared. They kept me sane, and they treated me as much as my cancer. My doctors were amazing too, but they focused on the cancer. The nurses mattered, and I want to be able to do that for other people.” Her voice trails off as she hands me another card. “So I have to pass the boards. If you really want to help, keep asking questions.”

“You had cancer?” I know I’m a few steps behind, but I’m not sure I registered much after that. Pain seeps deep into my bones, imagining her going through the hell my mother did. “Are you . . . Are you okay now?”

My chest tightens, and my head spins.

I keep my thoughts to myself, but Bellamy sees it. She sees the pain, and she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t push. Just places her hand on mine for a moment as I gather my thoughts. “I’m great now. Healthy. I see my doctor twice a year and try not to think about it otherwise.” She leans in closer, closing the distance between us. The pull between us is so fucking strong. “Are you okay?”

I don’t know this woman.

Not the way I want to.

Not in any way that would explain this pull to her.

I cup her face in my hand and stare into those mesmerizing eyes. “I leave tomorrow.”

We hang here, frozen in this limbo.

Neither of us moving.

Not wanting to break whatever this is but knowing we have to.

I drag my thumb along her jaw, needing to touch but knowing I shouldn’t.

“Bellamy . . .” I groan, feeling like I’m standing on the edge of a blade, wondering which way it’s going to tip and how much damage will be done with our next move.

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, leans into my touch. But when her eyes open, the spell is broken, and there’s a determination in its place. “I guess you better start asking me questions if you’re going to help me study then, Your Highness. Next one. Come on.”