Striking (Red Lips & White Lies Book 7)

I like to think I’m a passenger princess, but I’d probably have to stay awake for that.

—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts

You’d think the stress of everything would have made it impossible for me to get any sleep on the flight from the villa to Mornea, but sleeping is only ever an issue for me when I’m alone. And I definitely wasn’t alone today.

As the jet comes to a rough stop, I realize exactly how un-alone I am. My feet are tucked under my legs on the cream leather sofa, and my face is pressed against a super soft t-shirt that’s stretched across an incredibly comfortable, firm chest. And the delicious weight of Rhys’s arm is wrapped around me, holding me tightly.

He feels too good and smells even better.

Damn it.

I had no intention of falling asleep on Rhys Windsor, but this man has some kind of freakish magnetic pull I can’t seem to avoid and haven’t even begun to understand, yet.

Ugh . . .

Please, sweet baby Jesus, don’t let me have drooled on him.

“Ahh . . . Sleeping Beauty wakes,” Rhys croons as I force my eyes open, and hallelujah, there’s no drool on his shirt. “We just landed, love.”

“Sorry,” I murmur as I push off him. His warm vanilla sandalwood scent wraps around me like a weighted blanket. Damn. A girl could get used to this. “I guess last night caught up with me.”

“Don’t be.” He runs his palm over my hair, and I swear I could purr like a kitten in heat. It’s heavenly. “Having a beautiful woman asleep in my arms isn’t a hardship.”

“I doubt you’d be hard up to find any woman who wouldn’t want to swap spots with me, Your Highness.” I’m not sure why I taunt him. But I do it anyway.

Sarcasm might be my love language, but it’s also my self-defense mechanism.

His midnight blue eyes darken as the cabin lights come on. Rhys cups my face and leans in until we’re close enough for me to see a tiny scar next to his eyebrow I hadn’t noticed until now. Why do I have the sudden urge to press my lips there?

“Ask me how many women I’ve taken to my home, Bellamy.”

Why do those words make a swarm of butterflies take flight in my stomach?

“How many?” I squeak.

Yup . . . squeak. Way to play it cool.

Good thing I never said I was good at sexy.

Rhys’s breath fans my face as his grin grows. “I’ve never brought a woman to Lilihill House. Atticus and I don’t bring people who aren’t in our inner circle into our home. Ever. And we certainly don’t invite people to stay with us. You will be the first.”

“Oh.” I have no other words. None. Because I’m utterly lost in this man. In his words. In his scent. In the stubble dotting his jaw. The stubble I drag my nails over, unable to stop myself. And the groan that pulls from his chest is everything, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“So yes, I have no doubt there are women who’d like to trade places with you. But I don’t want any of them. I didn’t invite them into my home. Just you.”

I’m not sure who moves first, but our lips are a hairsbreadth apart when a throat clears behind us. Again.

“Excuse me, Your Royal Highness.”

“Every damn time . . .” Rhys groans and presses his lips to my forehead, sending a wave of dizzying heat down to the very tips of my toes. “Someone had better be dead, Vaughn,” he growls, actually growls. And wow, I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger.

“No sir. But we were informed that there is a photographer outside. I wasn’t sure how you’d like us to handle him. I didn’t think we’d want to expose Ms. Wilder to that.” Rhys’s security officer isn’t how I’d imagine a protection officer for the crown prince of Mornea. Always dressed in a pristinely fitted black suit and starched white shirt, he’s maybe an inch shorter than Rhys and slightly leaner too. I’d guess he’s in his mid-forties, but what he lacks in stature, he more than makes up for with the look in his eyes. This man never appears happy. He’s barely looked at me and hasn’t spoken to me. Not that I’m upset about that. He kind of scares me.

“Handle him, Vaughn. I do not want him out there when Ms. Wilder and I disembark. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Vaughn nods and walks out.

Okay then. A man of few words.

I slip my feet back in my shoes and tug my gauzy cardigan on over my sundress. I hadn’t exactly packed for Mornea in December. Something Rhys must realize because he pulls his jacket from the back of the leather sofa and tucks it over my shoulders. “Wouldn’t want you catching a cold, love.”

Oh, this man is so hard to resist.

Not that I’ve decided whether I want to resist him yet.

Who am I kidding?

I wouldn’t be here, in his country, if I wanted to resist him.

“How will you deal with the photographer? Throw him in the dungeon?” I attempt to low-key sniff the lapel of his coat, but I’m pretty sure he knows exactly what I’m doing. Luckily, he’s too much of a gentleman to say anything.

Rhys shakes his head and pulls the front of the coat closed before leaning down and stopping inches from my face. “I can think of a few things I’d like to do to you in the dungeons, little bee.”

“Promises. Promises.” My voice sounds shaky as I press my hands to his chest. “How about you feed me before you punish me.” It’s a weak attempt to tease, but the heat in his eyes makes my knees weak.

“As you wish.” He presses his hand to my back and guides me down the stairs onto the tarmac and into a waiting black Mercedes Benz G-Class.

“Where to, sir?” the driver asks as Rhys slides in next to me, and Vaughn closes the door behind us.

“Lilihill House, Jensen.” Rhys looks at me with a devious grin that warms me from the inside out. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Rhys

I pull an unusually quiet Bellamy close for the quick drive from the private airstrip back to the palace grounds and enjoy an unexpected moment of peace before the storm I have no doubt is coming once word gets around court that I’ve asked her to stay with me.

She sits up and points beyond the window. “Ummm . . . that’s a castle.”

“That’s Rosenhall Palace, love.”

“It’s beautiful.” The awe in her voice is one I’m unfamiliar with. When you’ve grown up here, it’s easy to take its beauty for granted. “I thought we were going to your house?”

“We are. Rosenhall Palace is the official residence of the king. Lilihill House sits on the grounds, along with quite a few other residences for family and staff.”

I check the time on my phone to make sure I’ll be on time for my meeting and am notified of an incoming text.

I stretch my arm behind Bellamy and tug her hair. “Want to meet some friends at a pub after my meeting?”

She drags her eyes away from the window and smiles. “Princes go to bars?”

“Princes go to this one,” I tell her as we pull to a stop in front of Lilihill. “We don’t have to stay long.” I climb out of the car and hold out my hand. “Come on, little bee. Live a little, remember?”

After a moment of hesitation, she places her hand in mine. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“You do. Everything you need has already been delivered to your room.”

“How?” she questions as her brow furrows with the adorable frown lines. “Wait. Don’t answer that. You didn’t have to do that, Rhys.”

“I didn’t do it because I had to. I did it because I wanted to.” I guide her up the front steps and brush my lips over her ear. “Let me spoil you.”

She sucks in a breath but refuses to turn her head, and I’m going to count that as a win.

We’re greeted by our housekeeper as we step inside. She dips down into a curtsey, her eyes wide and darting between Bellamy and me. “Welcome back, Your Royal Highness. Would you like me to fix you a bite to eat?” She studies Bellamy for a beat. “Perhaps a cup of tea?”

“Are you hungry, love?” I press my hand firmly to the small of her back and feel her relax a small fraction. That’s another win in my column.

“No, thank you.”

“Mrs. Smythe, this is Ms. Bellamy Wilder. She’ll be staying with us as my personal guest for a few days. Please help her with anything she needs while she’s here.”

“Yes, sir.” The old woman beams like I just gave her a box of her favorite chocolate cherries as she nods. “Ms. Wilder.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bellamy offers weakly before turning back to me. “Is there any chance I could take a shower before we go anywhere? I’d like to wash the recycled plane air off me.”

“I could—” Mrs. Smythe starts, but I raise my hand, stopping her. This woman isn’t a chore to be dealt with, and I want to get as much time with her as I can while I can.

“I’ve got it. Thank you. We shouldn’t need anything else tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiles at the two of us again and scurries away. Mrs. Smythe has worked for my family since before my mother was born, and I’m certain she’s never seen another woman in this house. She probably has hearts in her eyes instead of pupils right now.

“Let’s get you settled. I have a quick meeting to attend. But I’ll be back after, and then we’ll celebrate.”noveldrama

She lifts her head and sighs. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet, Your Highness.”

I catch her chin and hold it up. “You’re going to call me that on your knees one day, little bee.”

If I didn’t have this meeting, that moment would be now.

Unfortunately for both of us, duty calls.

Atticus stops me as I walk up the grand staircase of the palace. “Ahh . . . brother. Just in the nick of time.”

“I see you have pants on.” I move around him and down the hall toward our offices. Ceremonial rooms and staff offices are on the first floor. Royal offices and our private secretaries are on the second. The royal residences are on the third floor, and the fourth has been closed off for years.

“You win some, you lose some.” Atticus shoves his hands in his pockets. “Care to tell me why I’ve been included in this summons?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Warning bells go off in my head. “I have a meeting with grandfather and the council.”

My brother’s smile shifts into confusion. “That meeting was canceled, and I was told we were both summoned to his office. I assumed you knew.”

I replay his words over in my head.

Why the hell wasn’t I told the meeting was canceled?

I could have stayed on the island for another day.

“You don’t think this is about your American, do you?” He seems nearly giddy over that possibility.

“She can’t be my American . . .” But even true as those words are, they feel like a lie. Which makes no sense.

“Interesting . . .” he drags the word out dramatically. Typical Atticus. If he can find a way to make something theatrical, he goes for it with his whole chest.

“What are you getting at?” I corner him in front of the king’s closed doors. “Don’t make something out of this, brother.”

The warning is weak. Another lie.

“You didn’t say she wasn’t. You said can’t be,” he challenges, knowing he’s right. “Listen, I’m not sure when I became the voice of reason, but the king is going to lose his mind if you bring an American to dinner.”

“I already told you, we’re not dating,” I snap, wanting to get this over with so I can get back to Bellamy and what little time I’ll have with her before she’s gone. I can’t explain it, not to myself and certainly not to my brother. But something about my little bee settles me, and I’m not willing to give that up just yet.

“Semantics,” Atticus tsks with a smile that rivals the Joker’s. “Oh, you are fucked, brother.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I groan before the outer doors to Grandfather’s office swing open, and his private secretary steps out.

Munson is an older gent, with a handlebar mustache and a stick lodged firmly up his ass. “Your Royal Highnesses. His Majesty is waiting.”

“Thank you, Munson.” Might as well get this over with.

“Is he in a mood, Munsy?” Atticus and his fucking nicknames. “I want to be prepared.”

Munson looks stoic as ever as he ignores Atticus. An act he’s perfected over the past fifteen years. “He’s inside.”

Atticus grips Munson’s shoulder. “One day, you’re going to pull that stick out of your ass, Munsy. And I swear it’s going to be a glorious new world for you when you do. Just think of all the new things you’ll be able to enjoy shoving up there instead.”

“I’m sure I will, sir.” Munson’s voice is void of any emotion as Grandfather’s inner office door opens, and the King appears, apparently tired of waiting for us. Exhaustion lines his eyes as he looks down at his watch.

Not a good sign.

“For once in your life, could you leave the man alone, Atticus?” The words are spoken in a way he only does if it’s my siblings and me, a warm smile on his face the rest of the world rarely sees. Until the door closes and that smile vanishes.

Then it’s all business, and it’s all directed my way.

Well, this definitely isn’t good.

“Sit.” The order is barked at us, and I’m reminded the man in front of me is my king first and foremost as I sit in one of the two chairs across from his antique writing desk. The crown may have attempted to modernize over the course of the past fifty years, but the king has not. He tosses a newspaper down on his desk, and I wince when I see the headline:

The picture under the clichéd headline isn’t even new. It’s from an event three months ago.

Must have been a slow news cycle.

“You are thirty-three years old, and next in line for one of the oldest thrones in the known world.” Well hell, he’s seriously pissed if he’s throwing that out there. “Grow up and act like it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Atticus pouring a glass of scotch before he drops down onto the couch and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. For just once in my life, I’d like to enjoy being the spare instead of the heir.

With my frustration growing, I fold the paper and hand it back to Grandfather. “It’s an old picture. Clara is just a friend.”

The woman in my arms wasn’t even my date. She was my best friend’s. The one Josselyn can’t date publicly, thanks to her old-school, narrow-minded, aristocratic asshole family. One steeped nearly as deeply in tradition as my own.

“She’s a commoner, Rhys” he groans. “A bartender. It’s like you kids are trying to be the death of me. First your sister goes and breaks off her engagement to the douchey duke and marries the American mob prince. And now you . . .” He finally sits down behind his desk, refusing to use the cane as his doctors insist.

Atticus chuckles, and Grandfather glares. “Do you think I don’t know what you all called him? I was as glad as the rest of you when she broke that off. I just wish she’d gone about it a different way.”

He’d shared it with me in confidence, one night, but judging by the way he chokes on his scotch, I’m not sure he’d ever told Atticus.

“My boy, it’s time.” His anger softens as my future shrinks to the size of a pin head. “You need to find a partner. Someone who can help you bear the weight you’re going to have one day, because they’ll be the only one who can.” I hate when he talks like this. Knowing what the future holds and being forced to realize it’s closer than you want it to be are two very different things.

It was supposed to be my mother next.

I was going to have a lifetime before I had to think about these things.

Before my birthright was going to become my entire life.

“Your sister’s marriage has put a magnifying glass on this family. The eyes of Mornea and the entire world are watching us.” He looks between Atticus and me and shakes his head before narrowing his eyes on me. “Especially you, lad. You are the future king. It’s time.”

“Time for what?” I regret the question the moment the words leave my mouth.

“To find a wife.”