Page 4 of Striking (Red Lips & White Lies #7)

BELLAMY

I prefer hangovers from books, not booze.

—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts

“ A unt 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.”

“ M olly 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.

“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

N o 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.”