I chuckle. “How will we ever know if I want it, when you can’t keep your hands off me?”
“So you’re just following my lead then?” His hands trace up my arms until our fingers are linked, then he brings them down to criss-cross over my middle.
I’m completely locked in his embrace as we continue to dance. “Don’t want to bruise your ego in front of your friends.”
He tightens his hold, and I can feel the distinct hardness of him nestled against my arse.
“I think my ego’s doing okay.”
“Well, in that case.” I shrug and attempt to pull away, but Westley pulls me right back in.
“Where do you think you’re going?” My thighs clench together, trying to stifle the heat between them, but I’m certain it just makes it worse. “Trying to run? Trying to hide from the fact that you want this just as much as I do?” His words are decadent in their taunt, and okay, they have a little truth to them, too.
I twist in his arms, bringing us face to face. My hands crawl up his chest until I’m cupping his jaw, and staring into his gorgeous green eyes.
“Of course I want this as much as you do, baby.” I flutter my eyelashes in an over-the-top fashion, matching my tone. “We’re a couple, remember?”
“I remember,” he murmurs, as he slowly leans in.
I hold my breath, thinking he’s about to kiss me, but he pivots, pressing his lips to my jaw instead.
My body grows hot with desire, craving the game he offers, but it’s shattered when Rachel comes dancing over to us, hollering at the top of her lungs with two shot glasses in hand.
“A toast!” she yells, handing me a glass.
Phil comes up behind her, handing a shot to Westley along with a questioning arch of his eyebrow.
“To the happy couple.” Rachel clinks her glass against mine, then throws it back, and we all follow.
The chilled liquid hits my tongue with notes of sweet raspberry and subtle rose.
“Good god.” Phil’s face scrunches in a grimace. “What the fuck is this shit?”
“It’s gin!” Rachel smiles. “Crew’s dad’s new venture.”
“Maybe he should stick to fruit picking.” He smacks a hand against Westley’s arm. “I told you there’d be weird shit at this wedding.”
“This is raspberry and rose. Do you want to try the cherry rhubarb?” Rachel rushes off before Phil even has a chance to protest.
His shoulders drop in defeat. “At least my hangover won’t taste like arse tomorrow.”
I laugh as I wipe away a drop left behind on my lip and suck the finger into my mouth. West’s fingers dig into my side, and I look up to find his eyes locked onto my mouth.
“Here we go.” Rachel joins us again, clutching another four shot glasses against her chest.
Phil takes a deep breath, psyching himself up as he stares down at the pink liquid, then pinches his nose before downing the shot.
The bold, tangy flavour goes down easily for me, but it’s met with the symphony of Phil’s disgruntled sputters.
“That’s even worse.”
“Maybe it’s how you’re drinking it, mate,” Westley says.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Gin Expert, how the fuck am I drinking a shot wrong?”
Westley leans over, whispering in his friend’s ear and nods his head to something behind me. Phil follows where he points, then his face turns menacing, and he stalks into the crowd.
“Are you getting my husband into trouble again, Westley?” Rachel smirks.
