Striking (Red Lips & White Lies Book 7)

Spilling your coffee is the adult equivalent to losing your balloon as a child.

Don’t judge my tears.

—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts

Present Day

“Hey, B . . .”

I look up in time to see my brother walking my way, the beautiful Caribbean sun setting in the distance behind him.

Wasn’t it just noon?

“Oops.” I grin. “I guess I lost track of time.”

Ares’s shoulders shake as he silently laughs at me, not at all surprised. Pretty sure I’ve never been on time for anything in my life. He looks down at my notecards and shakes his head. “We’re leaving tomorrow night. Are you going to spend the entire time studying?”

The book in my lap suddenly feels heavier in my hands. “If I have to,” I argue. “I told you this was my plan when Lennon offered us the villa. I take the boards in three weeks. I want to make sure I’m ready, or I’ll have spent the last two years getting my master’s in nursing for nothing.”

“You could take the test today, and you’d nail it. You know that, right?” He looks less than impressed when I don’t answer. “Are you coming with us to dinner?”

Dinner? Shit. When was the last time I ate?

As if on cue, my stomach growls. Luckily, Ares is too far away to notice.

I hold up the stack of notecards and my favorite pen. “Thanks, but I’ve got another few chapters I want to get through tonight.”

“Come on, Bellamy. You’re supposed to be on vacation, and you’ve got to eat something,” he pushes sweetly. Ever my protector. “Live a little. The notecards will be there tomorrow. I promise. We’re taking the boat over to the mainland for dinner. Have a few drinks and relax. We’re only here for a few days.”

“Listen, you’re only here for a few days, remember? I’m sticking around for the rest of the week when you go home,” I remind him. “I’ve worked too hard to get here to stop now. Two more weeks to go.”

Ares doesn’t look happy but smiles anyway. He knew my answer before he asked the question. “Want me to bring you back something?”

“No, thanks. I’ll find something to eat here.” It’s not like it should be hard. We’re staying in a private villa with a personal chef and staff. I’m not exactly going to starve. But I don’t bother telling him that either. He won’t listen.

“Text if you change your mind.”

In reality, I probably should have skipped this vacation, but seriously . . . how do you say no to a private island?

You don’t.

At least I didn’t.

One of my sisters-in-law, Grace’s best friend, happens to be a princess, and apparently, friendship has its privileges. Namely, a private island. So when Gracie and Ares asked if I wanted to join them and their kids for a quick getaway, and Lennon told me I could stick around for an extra week and study in peace and quiet, I packed up all my study materials and decided I could bury my head in my notes in a bikini on a white sand beach with bright turquoise water as easily as I could at home.

The first clap of thunder booms in the distance about an hour after everyone else has gone to dinner, followed by a single fat drop of rain . . . then, almost in slow motion, another drop falls, hitting the center of my open book . . .

Shit.

I scramble to gather my things and drop half of it in the process. My highlighters go flying as I jump up, managing to catch my headphones as they fall from my ears before they hit the sand, and rush back to the villa, just in time to see a bolt of lightning strike the dock where a boat I hadn’t noticed before is already pulling away.

“Well, damn. Guess we’re going to need another way off the island.”

What the hell . . . ?

I throw a book as I spin around, screaming, and manage to hit the sexiest man I’ve ever seen on the forehead with a fat textbook.

“Fuck,” he groans and rubs his forehead. “What was that for?” he asks, and oh my goodness. . . that voice. It’s silky smooth, like decadently delicious warm chocolate melting over ice cream, tempting you to blow your diet and lick the spoon.

And he’s probably here to kill me.

Great.

Guess I should have skipped studying after all.

“Who are you?” I demand as my eyes scan for any hint of the staff who were here earlier, but I come up empty. This can’t be happening.

I didn’t beat leukemia to die this way.

“Well, love. You’re standing in my house. So I’m fairly certain the better question is who the hell are you?” He holds up my textbook and arches a perfectly shaped blond brow my way. What man has perfect eyebrows? “And why, exactly, are you throwing a pediatric oncology book at my head?”

His eyes slide over my body, and I’m suddenly very aware my favorite white bikini with teeny pink bumblebees embroidered on it may not be the best choice for fighting off some kind of crazy man.

Great. This just keeps getting better.

I’m going to die half naked.

I cross my arms over my chest, holding the remaining books in front of my wet, barely covered boobs.

Wait . . . His house . . . ? What?

“Lennon Windsor-Beneventi is letting me stay here for the week,” I tell him, unsure whether I should let down my guard or try screaming again.

“Must have gotten our lines crossed. I was told Ares Wilder was staying for a few days, but I thought he left yesterday.” He rests my book on the marble kitchen counter and tosses me the fluffy white beach towel hanging from around his neck. We both watch as it falls to the floor when I don’t even try to catch it. And there goes that arching eyebrow again . . . “You don’t look like an Ares. And I would have thought a professional hockey player would be coordinated enough to catch a towel, love.”

“Ares is my brother.” I take a step closer to the massive island in the center of the kitchen, knowing the big-ass knives are in the top drawer. If this dude is insane, I’m going to need something to protect myself, and I already threw my heaviest book. “He’s the hockey player.”

The lights flicker but manage to stay on as the blond, adonis-like god in front of me reaches for an apple from the bowl of fruit on the counter. “So, not Ares Wilder . . . Do you have a name?”

I nearly swallow my tongue as I finally take a hot minute to notice all the beautiful muscles on display in front of me. This possibly crazy, possible stalker, hopefully not a murderer is dressed in hunter-green board shorts and absolutely nothing else. His dirty blond hair is mussed as if he ran his fingers through it too many times to count, or maybe got smacked in the face with a book once. Ooopsie. And my God . . . his chest and arms look like they’ve been chiseled from stone.

Who is he?

“You first,” I demand, then wonder if that was a dumb move.

My tall, blond, and delectably handsome, possibly serial-killing stranger shakes his head like it’s funny that I want his name, and his lips pull up into a crooked smile. “Rhys Windsor.” He offers his hand for a shake, and I just stare. “Lennon’s older brother.”

Well, hell. I just smacked the future king of Mornea in the head with a textbook. How’s that for first impressions?

Another crack of thunder booms outside, and I want to jump out of my skin. “Umm . . . I guess I should apologize for the book to the face?”

“You could start by telling me your name, since it looks like we’re going to be together for a little while.”

“Right . . .” I’m not sure why I’m suddenly more nervous now than I was moments ago. “Bellamy Wilder . . .” I look around the kitchen and realize I don’t see any guards or anyone else for that matter. “Where is everyone?”

Rhys shrugs like it’s the least of his concerns as he crosses the room and opens the fridge. “Are you hungry, Bellamy Wilder?”

He bends over and sticks his head in the massive refrigerator, and oh my . . . this man looks just as good from the back as he does from the front. And that grin is in full effect when he pops back out of the fridge with a charcuterie board covered in plastic wrap and two beers in his hands. “Come on, my little bee. Don’t make me eat alone.”

I stand there, silently staring.

His little bee?noveldrama

What the hell?

“You don’t say much, do you, love?” He chuckles, and the sound is velvety smooth. Yup, definitely melted chocolate . . . and there’s something about that laugh. Something that finally knocks some sense back into me.

“Haven’t you ever heard of stranger danger?” I finally ask and internally groan.

Way to make yourself sound like a five-year-old.

“Can’t say that I have, but in all fairness, I’ve had my own protection detail since my mother’s first ultrasound.”

I’m not sure if he’s actually serious, but I think he might be.

“That sounds awful,” I admit as I put the rest of my study materials on the table and take the beers from his hands. “Where are they now?”

“They were on the boat leaving the dock before the lightning hit it. They already messaged. We’re fine, and there are men in the officer’s quarters on the property. So, no stranger danger to worry about.” My cheeks flame from the quick dig as I follow him into the living room.

Unfortunately, I guess there’s no chance of a do-over, and this will forever be how I met the prince of Mornea. Fabulous!

Rhys is oblivious to my inner humiliation as I follow him out onto the covered porch and watch as he places the food on the coffee table and takes the beers from my hands. With quick moves, he opens both bottles before handing one back and tapping the long neck of his against the top of mine. “To riding out the storm together.”

Well, hell. I guess dying from humiliation is slightly better than being butchered on vacation by a serial killer. “To riding out the storm.”

Rhys

I was looking for an escape.

I’d hoped to get two days of peace and quiet.

Solitude—something I rarely get these days.

Instead, I was greeted with chaos in the form of Bellamy Wilder.

An incredibly delicious form, might I add, book to the face notwithstanding. I could have headed to one of the many empty rooms in the villa, alone, to find the peace I’m looking for, but this tiny woman has piqued my interest. She’s magnetic. Which leads me to now—quite a few beers and a good amount of tequila later, sitting on a covered porch, listening to the rain as it lulls us under her spell.

Not that I’m complaining.

Why would I?

I’ve got a beautiful woman next to me with miles of tanned, toned, perfect skin on display and a raging hard on in my shorts as she giggles about something she just said to herself. Sober Bellamy might be quiet, but slightly sloshed Bellamy certainly isn’t.

It’s strangely relaxing.

Something I haven’t felt in months.

And I’m as hesitant to embrace that feeling as I am to let go of it.

“Rhys?”

I drag my eyes up Bellamy’s legs again. This time, they’re bent at the knees next to me as she digs her feet under my thigh. It took her a few beers to loosen up and get chatty. But once she did, she decided she doesn’t give one single shit that I’m the heir to the throne. It’s been a minute since I’ve been able to say that about anyone . . . and it’s fucking fantastic. She’s fantastic . . .

Leave it to Lennon to place this woman in my path.

That was probably her plan all along.

My little sister loves to give me shit about my love life, but I thought now that hers was stable, she’d let up. Guess I was wrong.

“Hellooo . . . Earth to Rhys . . .” Bellamy snickers at my silence. “Come on. It’s your turn to answer.”

Right. My turn.

According to her, when Americans are bored and stuck in a storm, they get drunk and play games. I can think of a far better way to spend the night, but somehow with her, this works. “Remind me what the question was, love.”

She giggles, and my cock jerks in my shorts.

Fuck . . .

“What exactly do you do for work? It’s not all ribbon cutting and speeches every day, is it?” She leans her head back against the couch, showcasing her inky black lashes and her dark hair splaying out behind her like a naughty halo.

Yup. I’m a goner. Fuck me.

“Hardly.” Although that sounds pretty good most days. “Mornea is a constitutional monarchy. I work with my grandfather and Parliament in all areas of the government. It’s all boring rubbish, but it keeps me busy.” She looks disappointed with my answer, so I drop my hand on her knee and squeeze. Bad move. Her skin is soft, and my dick is hard. Nothing good can come of this. When her eyes zero in on the contact, I squeeze again. “But I do get to use the oversized scissors to cut the occasional ribbon or two.”

That perks Miss Wilder right up, bringing a beautiful smile to her delicate lips. Lips I can’t stop picturing wrapped around my cock. “Remind me, Bellamy, how old are you?”

“Twenty-six. Why?” She scrunches her eyes like she’s trying to do math but having a hard time. “How old are you?”

Christ. She’s so young.

I force my hand to stay put and not slide down her creamy thigh like my fingers are itching to do.

This is not a stranger.

This family means something to my sister.

My sister, who’s been yelling at me for fucking my way through Mornea since we lost our mother.

“Too old,” I groan.

“How old is too old?” She nibbles her lip and bats those lashes again.

My thumb traces circles on her knee. “Thirty-three.”

“Damn,” she giggles again and finishes her beer. “You’re practically an old man. Do you need a cane to help you walk?”

Before I can answer, a bolt of lightning flashes behind us, and a tree cracks. Bellamy practically jumps out of her skin and her bikini as she jolts up and into my side. Her perfect breasts are pushed up in the tiny halter top tied behind her neck, and I swear to everything holy in this entire bloody world, I’m going to hell because all I want to do is untie that perfect pink bow.

My finger slides slowly along the soft skin on her shoulder and dips down her spine, sending a shiver over her skin.

This woman is young.

Too young.

She’s also my sister’s friend and an American, for fuck’s sake.

So why does her skin feel like the sweetest sin I’ve ever touched?

“Rhys . . .” Bellamy tilts her head up, and eyes the color of spiced caramel lock on mine. And whatever she sees there has her breath catching in her throat.

“This is such a bad idea, little bee . . .” I murmur as my finger plays with her bow. One tug is all it would take. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

My voice sounds harsh. Desperate.

It sounds like barely held control.

Control that’s fraying.

Control I never release my hold on.

She pulls her plump bottom lip between her teeth, and I swear my cock weeps in my shorts. “What if I don’t want you to stop?”

Fucking hell.

I slide my hand to her face and pull her toward me. If I’m going to hell, I’m making sure we both enjoy ourselves before they open the gates.

“Excuse me, Your Royal Highness⁠—”

Pretty sure they won’t be calling me Your Royal Highness in hell.

Or maybe they will . . .

Bellamy drops her forehead to mine, and all I’d have to do is lean the slightest bit forward to taste her cherry-stained lips. But I don’t. I wrap my hand around the back of her head and hold her there for a moment, breathing her in before we break this insane connection. “Yes, Vaughn?”

If this man hadn’t been the head of my royal protection team for a fucking decade, I’d have him fired for interrupting us.

“The Wilder family was able to dock on the other side of the island. Your guests are being driven back as we speak. I was asked to let you know.”

“Thank you,” I offer before he nods and walks away.

Not exactly my guests when I didn’t even know they were here.

Bellamy rises from the couch on shaky legs. “I guess we better clean this mess up.”

“Leave it. The staff will get it,” I tell her, not sure where to go from here.

“Umm . . . You might be Your Royal Highness, but my mother raised me to clean up my own mess.” She grabs the empty beer bottles and the half empty bottle of tequila. “So I’m just going to take care of it myself.”

“Bellamy . . .” I groan, feeling like a complete ass.

“Stop, Rhys . . .” She doesn’t sound sure, but those two words are the only two she ever has to say. “You said if I told you to stop, you would.”

That I did, love.

That I did.

She turns away, shattering what’s left of our connection and takes a step toward the beach. “Look. It stopped raining, and there’s a rainbow . . . It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah . . . it is.” She’ll never know I was looking at her, not the ocean.