Page 7 of Striking (Red Lips & White Lies #7)
BELLAMY
I like to think I’m a passenger princess, but I’d probably have to stay awake for that.
—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts
Y ou’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.
Atticus
Who’s the strumpet you brought home, and are you bringing her back to Lilihill or to your condo in the city?
Rhys
Call her a strumpet again and see what happens, wanker.
Atticus
Well now. It’s like that, is it? Does that mean I need to put on pants?
Rhys
Yes. Put on pants. How did you already hear I had someone with me anyway?
Atticus
You’re not the only one with minions, brother. Mine are just far more attractive and sexually adventurous.
Rhys
Forget it. I don’t want to know. Her name is Bellamy Wilder.
Atticus
Like Lennon’s friend, Grace Wilder?
Rhys
No, like Grace’s sister-in-law.
Atticus
Well then, that changes things, doesn’t it?
Rhys
Just put pants on. We’ll be at Lilihill soon.
Atticus
Do boxers count as pants?
Rhys
For the love of God, Atticus. Pants. It’s December. You’ll be fine. Did Devon have a delivery sent to the house?
Atticus
Yes. It came earlier. Your private secretary is a tosser. He wouldn’t even tell me what it was. Just that it needed to be delivered to the room next to yours. What the hell are you thinking?
Rhys
We’ll be there in five minutes. Be on your best behavior.
Atticus
I’m not a child.
Rhys
Thank fuck. I’d hate to think of a child with your proclivities.
Atticus
Listen, don’t hate because I know how to have fun.
Rhys
That you do. PANTS. Now.
Atticus
Fine. But you should know we’re going out tonight.
Rhys
Who’s we?
Atticus
Silas, Joss, and Clara. We’re going to Seven Swords after our meeting.
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.”