Striking (Red Lips & White Lies Book 7)

The right man will raise goosebumps on your soul.

—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts

Sleep doesn’t come easily for me. It hasn’t been my friend in many, many years. Not since I spent weeks alone in a hospital isolation room, waiting for a bone marrow transplant. As soon as they were allowed, my brothers took turns sleeping in my room, but something about those first nights has stayed with me for over a decade. Something I’ve never quite gotten over.

I deal with it, but I don’t like it.

I come up with every imaginable reason to stall going to bed most nights. Like tonight . . . I go through the closet, looking for my pajamas, but what I find instead is more like the kind of lingerie I’d look at but never bother to buy myself. Long chemises, short, silk nightgowns, a white satin babydoll with tiny pink bumble bees embroidered along the trim . . . Where in the world did he find this? Or more accurately what did he tell Joss so she could find it, and how did she do it on such short notice?

I’m tempted to slip it on but feel like it might be a bit much and decide to take a peek inside Rhys’s closet instead. His closet is perfectly organized. Suits and shirts hang perfectly in color-coordinated rows. Glass-topped drawers of watches top one row of drawers, ties another, and belts yet another. I decide to explore a little and find a Mornea Air Force t-shirt hanging between his polos. It’s a threadbare mossy-green tee that’s likely to hang down to my knees, but it soft and smells like him. Something about that relaxes me just a little. Something I refuse to focus on as I slip into his shirt and climb into his bed, like I promised.

Dark-green sheets are cool against my warm skin, and the heavenly scent that is only Rhys envelops me, dragging me under. I turn to my side and wrap my arms around a pillow as my eyes grow heavy. Maybe I’ll just close them for a few minutes.

Rhys

Atticus and I walk up the steps of Lilihill sometime before the sun rises the next day, completely drained. The high council fought every single thing I’ve said for the past . . . Fuck. I don’t have any clue what time it is. I reach for the door, but Atticus leans against it instead.

“I’m not up to verbal sparring, little brother. Say whatever you have to say so I can sleep before we spend another day fighting the government.”

“Lennon and Maddox are in there.” He nods toward the door. “I’d hoped we get a chance to talk about Operation Queen Bee.”

“Queen what?” I close my eyes and fight off the exhaustion pressing against my skull. “Are you talking about Bellamy?”

“Who else would be Queen Bee, brother? If you’re serious about keeping your marriage a secret⁠—”

“Stop,” I order him, and thankfully, he fucking does because I don’t have it in me to have this fight right now. “We’ve both made concessions, and we both agreed this is not the time to announce anything. I need your help with this, Atticus.”

“And you have it. I was just warning you that our sister, her husband, her baby, and her in-laws are in our house. It could get . . . tricky.” He’s trying to protect me. For all his casual jokes and over-the-top attitude, Atticus would protect me above all else. I know it in the depths of my soul. “I had them placed in the west wing, so they’d be as far away from you and Bellamy as possible. But we’re all still technically under one roof.”

“One eight-thousand-square-foot roof, brother,” I remind him. “That’s four and a half times the average citizen of Mornea’s house. I think we’ll be fine. I’ll use the private entrance to my wing for the rest of the week and have Bellamy do the same.”

“It’s risky, brother. But I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“Thank you. I’ve asked Joss to give her a bit of a tutorial.” Apparently, my wife loves to study, so I thought I’d get her in her comfort zone.

My wife . . . My queen.

The one who’d better be sleeping in my bed.

“That’s a good idea. They’ll be having more fun than either of us. Good thinking.”

He might be loyal, but he rarely agrees with my plans.

Fuck. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

We walk inside, and he heads right to the bar cart. “Have a drink with me.”

“I think you’d better watch how much you’re drinking. The world is watching right now. You don’t need them to assume you have a problem,” I warn as he hands me a glass.

“My problem is the time until your queen pops out an heir. I’m now next in line to the throne, and I’d rather burn it down than sit on it. So how about you go upstairs and start working on that?”

The steps creak as our new brother-in-law joins us.

“Maddox.” Atticus shoots a weary smile his way and pours another scotch. “You made it. Is Lennon awake?”

“No, she’s sleeping.” He holds up his glass and looks at me. He’s a cocky American, but he loves my sister, and I trust that he’ll protect her, so he’s good enough for me. “Am I supposed to bow to you now?”

“Do I look like I fucking care if you bow?” I swallow the amber liquid in one mouthful, then shake my head. “Our father is going to be here any minute. Just don’t be a dick in front of him.”

“In front of him or to him?” The cocky fucker clarifies, and the exhaustion intensifies.

I don’t have the energy for any of this.

“You can handle him however you’d like. It’s not going to be good. Trust me. I’m going to shower. I’ll be back down later.” I turn to Atticus and silently make sure he knows not to let anyone come for me before I head for the stairs. “You’re in charge, Atticus.”

I quietly let myself into my rooms and toss my jacket and tie to the couch, then walk into my bedroom and strip out of everything else. The thick drapes are drawn, blanketing the room in silent darkness. I take a few steps into my bedroom, and the stress that’s been a constant today fades away when I find Bellamy tucked under the blankets. Her arms wrapped around a pillow and her dark hair spilling around her.

My fingers itch to touch it.

To smooth it away from her face.noveldrama

As if she can feel my presence, she rolls over, and the sheet dips down, giving me the faintest hint of her body. Damn . . . she’s stunning. Instead of wearing one of the silk nightgowns I had brought in her for her, her beautiful breasts are pressed against my favorite Air Force t-shirt. The one I got years ago during training. Before I ever went on any missions. It looks a thousand times better on her than it ever could on me, and fuck if seeing her in my clothes doesn’t make me want to rip it off her and show her just how good I think we can be together. To prove to her . . . to both of us that she’s mine.

She smiles in her sleep, and fuck me, she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

I slide in behind her, and as if drawn to me by an invisible force, she turns and throws an arm around my waist and pushes a leg between mine. A sweet sigh slips past her lips, and she presses her face against my chest. She fits in my arms like she was always meant to be there. Like she was made for it. And she’s still wearing her rings.

I press my lips to her forehead, unable to resist, and she hums deep in her throat.

“Rhys?” she murmurs.

“Yes, love.” I press my hand against the small of her back under her shirt, and she shimmies closer. “Bellamy . . .” I warn.

“What time is it?”

Fuck.

Her sleepy, sexy voice brings back a torrent of memories from yesterday before we were interrupted.

“It’s late.” The words are ripped from my throat as her knee grazes my cock. “Sleep, my queen.”

“I could get used to that,” she whispers.

“Being my queen?”

Bellamy doesn’t answer right away, and I think she’s fallen back asleep until she presses her lips to my heart. “No. To being yours.”