Striking (Red Lips & White Lies Book 7)

“That was the last one, love.” I watch as Bellamy’s yawn morphs into a beautiful smile. One that could light up the entire palace. Kings have gone to war for less.

Sometime around midnight, we moved from the kitchen to the living room, taking up space on opposite ends of the couch. Basically close enough to tempt but not close enough to touch. Especially once a pile of notebooks was dropped between us.

Judging by the sun that’s begun to rise outside, I’d guess that was nearly five hours ago.

“Are you sure?” she asks as she pushes tortoise-shell glasses up into her hair and rubs her eyes. “That was torture. I thought we were never going to get through them.”

I stare, awed, debating an idea that came to me two cups of coffee ago. “Can I ask you something?”

The little minx smiles and stretches her arms high above her head, exposing the soft curves of her stomach and so much tanned, toned skin . . . Skin I want to taste.

Fuck.

“You just asked me something, Your Highness.”

“Always with the sarcasm,” I murmur and drop the last notecard to the pile between us with Bellamy tracking my movement.

She picks up her mug and pouts when she looks inside. Pretty sure it’s been empty for the past hour. “You haven’t known me long enough to assume it’s an always kind of thing. It could just be that you bring the sarcasm out of me, you know.”

I bite back a laugh. She doesn’t even realize how sarcastic she is. “Whatever you say, little bee. Just answer me this one thing—do you love nursing or do you love helping patients and families deal with everything that’s thrown at them?”

“Why?” A curious expression wrinkles her eyes as she sits up. “Did you think I did that bad with the study questions? I hate taking tests, but I thought I did pretty well.”

“No, it’s not that.” I reach for my phone and pull up the website for the foundation I started in my mother’s name after her death, handing it to Bellamy. “I was just thinking there’s a limited number of people you can help with your job⁠—”

“Choose your next words wisely, Rhys, or your security team might need to intervene.” Fire blooms on her cheeks with her threat, and fuck me, but it’s incredibly enticing. Not many women are willing to go toe-to-toe with me.

I tap my finger to the phone and pull up the About page on our website. “I created this foundation in honor of my mother after we lost her. I’ve raised millions of dollars in her name, and yet I don’t feel like we’re doing enough good with it. I think we can do better. More.”

Bellamy’s scowl softens as she reads our mission statement. Her teeth absently graze her bottom lip as she takes it in and brings her eyes back to mine. “I’m not a researcher, Rhys. You’d need someone with a very different degree than mine for that.”

“I have researchers, love. A whole team of them. I’m given updates monthly on their trials and their plans, as well as the what-if’s and what-could-be’s. But that’s all dependent on a breakthrough happening. I think there’s more we can do.”

“You have to give them time,” she scolds like a nanny lecturing an impatient child. “People have been researching cancer for years. It takes time. You never know when or where the next breakthrough is coming.”

“I have patience.” I reach across the couch and take her soft hand in mine, ignoring the electricity stretching between us from that single touch. Her head snaps to our connection with wide eyes. “I also have the best team I could possibly gather. They’re amazing, and I’m not looking to replace them.”

“What are you looking for then?” Her words don’t hold the same bite as they had a minute ago. Lucky for me, since my next ask is a big one.

“Help me do more. Help me create a new division.” Mindlessly, I run my thumb over her knuckles, unable to pull away. “Help me focus on more than the bureaucracy of everything. I want to make a difference in people’s lives in other ways. You can help me develop a system where we offer patients and their families some kind of reprieve while they’re going through the hell you went through.”

I don’t add the hell my mother went through.

We had all the resources in the world, and it didn’t make any difference.

It couldn’t change the agony of losing her.

I can’t imagine how hard it can be on families without the resources that were available to us.

Bellamy’s eyes widen as my words take root. And there goes that light again.

Goddamn, she’s beautiful.

“What do you mean? What kind of system? What kind of help?” Excitement laces her voice and grows with each new question. “What would you want me to do?”

“Bellamy.” I run a hand up her arm and tug a lock of her dark brown hair between my fingers. “You would know better than anyone what families need. What would most help the patients and the people who love and support them. You could take your time figuring out what you want to do and how to make it work. You know this damn disease from both sides. What better person to take this on than you?”

She pulls away and pushes up to her feet with a gorgeous glare on her face. “You’re not doing this just to get in my pants, right? Because I’ve got to tell you, Your Highness, you’re Greek-god hot. You probably don’t have to give me millions of dollars to help people just to get me to sleep with you.”

“Greek god, huh?” Maybe one day I’ll tell her my great-great-grandmother was a princess of Greece. But for now, I stand and take her face in my hands. “Good to know, love. But the first time I fuck you won’t be because I offered you a job.”

Her pink tongue darts out and runs across her pouty lips, and I relax as her breath catches. It looks like I’m not alone in this.

Whatever the hell this is.

Everything it shouldn’t be.

Thank fuck.

“Come to Mornea with me and tour the foundation offices. Look at what we’re doing and the untapped resources we have. Help me make it better.” The golden flecks in her warm-brown eyes dance under the early morning sun, and my God, I want to see what they do when this woman is coming undone under my touch. “My plane leaves in a few hours.”

“I . . . I can’t just move to another country for a job . . .” Her words are soft and unsure. Like she’s questioning herself. “I have a family. Friends. A life. I can’t just leave them all?”

“Was that a question, or are you turning me down, love?”

I’m not sure I’ve ever begged a woman before, but there’s something about this one . . . I might be willing to give it a try.

She looks down at my phone, still clutched in her hand. “I’m not sure.”

“Then come with me. No strings. If you don’t want the job, help me structure it for someone else.”

Bellamy

Pretty sure I’m too tired to function because hell no is on the tip of my tongue. I don’t want to share this man with anyone. Not even a hypothetical employee. And I’m not sure what that says about me, other than I’m certifiably insane.

He’s a prince. Not a boyfriend. Not a husband.

He’s offered me a dream job, nothing more.

But his hands on my face and that look in his eyes . . . I’m a goner.

Oh my God, what the hell is wrong with me?

Rhys towers over me, easily standing at six-four to my five-five. And hello, size kink I never knew I had. Because there’s something to feeling small and delicate in his ridiculously strong arms that has me melting in a way I haven’t before.

I nibble my lip, debating my answer, and when I look back up at him, I swear heat flares in his eyes. This is already a tangled, messy line between us, and I haven’t even taken the job.

“Rhys . . . you have to know this is crazy, right? I live on the other side of the world.” That argument sounded much stronger in my head.

“Actually, little bee, you live on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, not the world. I can get you back to Kroydon Hills in less than eight hours.” He drags his thumb along my jaw, and I fight the shiver that desperately wants to work its way down my spine. “Come home with me, Bellamy.”

Can I do this? Hop on a jet and fly to Mornea?

I have a job. Granted, I’m not completely thrilled with it.

But that’s why I got my master’s. To do more.

This could be more . . . Or it could be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.

I’m not sure I’ve ever done anything this impulsive in my life.

I’m a planner. I always have been. When I was little, my tea parties had set menus.

My best friend likes to tease me because I like to write down my daily to-do list. She’s always on me to just use my phone. But it’s not the same. I like to be able to actually check things off my list. I get off on it. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I’ve even been known to add things to my list after they’re done, just for the quick hit of dopamine I get from crossing that bitch off.

Basically, I’m the least impulsive person I know.

But right now . . .

Just this one time . . . I think I want to throw my carefully constructed plan away.

What can it hurt? I wasn’t planning on flying home yet anyway. I lift my chin and lick my lips. “I didn’t pack any nice clothes.”

Ho-ly Hell.

The smile on this man’s face would incinerate my panties if I were wearing any.

“Come with me, and I’ll take care of the rest, love.” His voice holds a promise of so much more than clothing. One I desperately want to take him up on. One I should probably be scared to death of.

“How long would I stay in Mornea? Wait . . .” Anxiety takes hold. “Where would I even stay?”

“How long were you planning on staying here?” he counters.

“A week,” I whisper, unsure of absolutely everything right now.

“Then I’ll have you home in a week. And I’ll make sure to help you study every day between now and then. If you don’t mind my obnoxious brother, you can stay with us at Lilihill House. It’s big enough that if he does drive you nuts, you’ll have plenty of privacy to escape to.”

“Do you have an answer for everything?” I mutter as my pulse pounds like an anthem in my head. “Wait. Don’t answer that.”

I think about his offer.

About the vacation time I already have scheduled because I’ve built up so many days that if I didn’t use them, I was going to lose them.

The test I’m supposed to take in a few weeks.

And then I think about my empty townhouse.

The one I live in alone.

The one I hate going back to at night.

The one with walls that feel like they’re closing in on me.

“One week, and you’ll help me study every night?” I can’t believe I’m even considering this.

Rhys’s lips tug up on one side in a sexy, crooked grin that makes this already gorgeous man absolutely irresistible. “One week, and if you decide you don’t want to take the position, I’ll fly you home on my family’s jet myself.”

“What . . . do you double as a pilot?”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know they’re a mistake. Rhys’s grin grows impossibly wider. “I was a fighter pilot for the Royal Air Force for five years.”

I shake my head because seriously . . . Rhys in a uniform. That image is my undoing. “And this isn’t because you want to sleep with me?” I push back weakly.

He curves his hand around the back of my head, and an unfortunately sexy smirk slides across his lips. “No, love. I wanted to sleep with you before I thought about the position. The fact that you happen to be exactly what I need for the foundation is just a bonus.”

“But won’t Human Resources have a problem with it, if I take the position and sleep with the boss?” I taunt, knowing if I go home with him, there’s absolutely nothing to stop the chemistry between us from combusting.

“Are you feeling harassed, love?”

“Not yet.” I carefully tuck his phone back in his pocket. “Let’s see if that changes after a shower, a nap, and a flight halfway across the world.”