My Big Fat Fake Wedding(25)

“You haven’t asked yet.”

Violet laughs, then stops when she sees I’m dead serious. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she bites out.

I know my smirk lights her up, probably not in a good way, but I can’t help it. This is the game we always play, and it’s so easy to fall into the habit of poking her buttons.

“Fine.” She turns to me, bending at the waist and unintentionally giving me a view of two of the most delicious, mouth-watering breasts I’ve ever seen. “Ross Andrews, will you fake-marry me?” It’s the most venom-filled proposal in the history of the world. It’s perfect.

I grin, nodding. “How twenty-first century of you to do the asking. Of course, I will.”

I finally stand, ready to head to the dance floor, but the waitress appears with another drink for Violet. I guess Abi told them to keep them coming all night. I expect Vi to leave it on the table, but she downs it in a single gulp before leading me down the steps. As I watch her heart-shaped ass flex dangerously in her tight dress, my mind fills with ideas.

I’m going to have fun with this.

Violet needs me a lot more than I need her, which in business is called leverage. I might just indulge a little. I won’t go too far, but we need to sell this relationship to the public, to the media, and to our families. Getting sassy spitfire Violet to act all lovey-dovey and doting toward me, maybe even fawn over me a bit in front of my parents, might be my biggest and best prank yet.

We hit the dance floor, and out of the corner of my eye I see Kaede, who’s left Abi dancing with Archie. “Ross?”

“Can you drive the car home?” I ask Kaede, cutting my eyes to Violet. It’s code for us, saying everything’s cool, and Kaede nods. He knows I’ll fill him in on the details later.

The music changes, another club remix, although this one I at least recognize. Nikki Minaj and Arianna Grande work together to sing about goin’ side to side as Violet starts to move to the beat, her ass hypnotic as I dance right with her.

As I do, I’m more and more aware that whatever temporary relief my dick got from moving down the stairs is quickly evaporating as Violet dances. She can move, everything swaying in different directions and bouncing in ways that have my head spinning.

“Not bad.” She giggles, turning around and suddenly pressing her curvy ass up against my crotch. Her arm drifts up, pulling my head forward so she can speak hotly into my ear, “Mmm . . . not bad at all. You’ve got moves, Mr. Andrews.”

“Vi—” I start but stop.

This might not be the best idea, but fuck it. I grab her hips, grinding into her through her tight dress, and she moans, the two of us practically dry humping on the dance floor as the throbbing beat pulses through the soles of our feet. I tell myself it’s for the show, just a way to make appearances and start chatter about us, but my dick says differently.

I wrap my arms around her, laying my palms on her flat stomach to hold her to me. In response, Violet presses back against me, her head falling back to my shoulder, and she looks up at me, her eyes cloudy with lust and more than a few mimosas as the song keeps going. I can feel her lush body pressed against mine, making me want to pull the tight hem of her dress up and see if the smooth firmness I feel cradling my throbbing cock is satin, silk . . . or just toned ass.

Before I get too carried away, the music stops and Violet does too, her eyes a little confused at the interruption. She tries to step away, and I hold her close for a half second, getting one last feel of her against my cock. When I let her go, she stumbles in her heels slightly and I have to steady her.

Damn, she’s plastered. How many drinks did she put down before she started telling me about Colin and his bullshit?

“Ross,” Abi says from next to me, her right eyebrow lifted about three-quarters of the way up her forehead. Fuck, she’s been watching, and by the little upturn on the corners of her lips, she’s happy with what she’s seen, for some reason.

I love my little sister, but damn if she doesn’t gloat when one of her schemes goes off without a hitch. I guess she figures her little plan to solve both of our problems is already a success.

“I’m gonna take Violet home,” I declare, taking Violet by the hand. “Come on, Vi. I think you’ve had enough.”

“Drinks!” Violet yells, giggling. “Mimosas for everyone! I’m getting married!”

Vi pats my chest a bit too hard, and a group of girls on the dance floor drunkenly slurs out, “Con-grash-u-lashuns!” Well, I guess that’s that. We’re public.

I sigh as Abi grins hugely, waving her off and dragging Violet to the door. I grab a taxi and out of habit tell the driver to take me back to my place.

It’s not a long ride, and Violet’s still as bubbly as the champagne she’s been drinking when we get there. I lead her out and to the elevator. Violet gapes as the doors close, giggling again as she eyes me with a girlish smile. “What?” I ask, curious about what has her acting so silly.

She pushes her body against me. “Are you taking me to the penthouse?” Her voice lowers, like there’s a deeper meaning, but my brain’s too fuzzy from her closeness to figure out what she means.

I nod, trying to resist the luscious plumpness of her glossy lips, but when she stands up on her tiptoes to reach toward me, I can’t hold back anymore. I crush her to me, kissing her hard as the elevator quietly hums its way up the twenty-seven floors.