Wild Side (Rose Hill #3)

20. Rhys

CHAPTER 20

RHYS

Tabby:

Still allergic to pussy… cats? The bouquet didn’t seem to bother you at all. ;)

Rhys:

Exposure therapy. ;)

This fucking backless dress. That fucking kiss.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I know Tabitha’s dress pickings were slim, I’d put money on this being another one of her antics intended to drive me absolutely insane.

Ditching me on a bowling team.

Getting a cat I hate.

Kissing me like she means it.

Choosing a wedding dress that makes it impossible to touch her in even the most casual of ways without feeling her bare skin.

We’re at the Bighorn Bistro for the reception, surrounded by friends and family—Ford and Rosie, West and Skylar, and the unlikely pair of Bash and Crazy Clyde.

We kept it simple and casual with our small group. The food is incredible. Farm-to-table, locally sourced, and served up family-style. The wine is French and fucking delicious.

Everything is going great for our big fat fake wedding… except I can’t stop resting my hand on my wife’s bare back.

Dinner has been cleared, and people have moved into smaller groups. Tabitha and I stand chatting with her parents in the corner. Her dad is telling a story about how one of the first recipes she ever tried to make was a lemon chicken dish.

He’s chuckling so hard he can barely get the words out. “It came out so terrible that even our family dog wouldn’t eat it.”

There’s a manic energy to her parents. Like they’re so desperate to make today happy that they are ignoring the elephant in the room. Or multiple elephants in the room.

The fact that Erika isn’t here. The fact that their daughter married a man who has been around for the blink of an eye. I guess I can’t blame them.

“Our Tabby Cat has come a long way since then,” he finishes, holding his glass up in a a toast.

Tabitha shakes with silent laughter, and the muscles in her back flex beneath my hand, the little dip over her spine becoming more pronounced with the movement. She may be petite, but she’s strong. Hours standing, unloading food orders, and doing all the physical labor that comes with running a kitchen show in her build.

Those first weeks, I was concerned about her weight, especially the gauntness in her face, so I love seeing a little color come back to her. I take great satisfaction in knowing what I did today may have played a part in perking her up. And my dick takes too much satisfaction in the way she just stepped closer, her hip bumping against my side as her arm circles my back. The warm weight of her frame pressed against me, makes me stiffen. Everywhere.

She looks up at me, white teeth on full display, sparkly eyes amused. It’s only taken a couple glasses of wine for Tabitha Garrison to get really comfortable faking it in public.

“So, what’s the honeymoon plan for you two?” Lisa, her mom, asks with a suggestive brow waggle.

“Not so sure yet,” Tabitha replies as I eye her warily. “We’ve got Milo, and I can’t leave the bistro for long. Plus, Rhys needs to get back to work soon.”

“That’s a shame. Maybe for your one-year wedding anniversary? You know we can always help with taking Milo off your hands.”

Tabitha just takes another sip of her drink and offers her mother a thumbs-up. I keep my mouth shut. Usually, I can sidestep work conversations by staying silent.

“What is it you do again?” Paul asks. “It’s escaping me right now.”

“I’m in the entertainment industry.” I force my lips into a casual smile and take a glance around the room, as though ready to change the subject. But Paul doesn’t take the bait.

“How interesting. What part specifically?”

I feel my heart rate accelerate. I don’t like lying, but I don’t especially like sharing this either. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about what I do, I just… My privacy feels like the one part of my life I can control. Something all my own.

“He’s a stuntman.” Tabitha bullshits with such ease that I do a double take.

“A what?” Her mom looks confused.

“You’ve probably seen him jumping off a building in a movie or something.” Tabitha waves a hand casually. “They always call him when Jason Momoa is too scared to do a scene.”

I can hear the amusement in her voice, her barely contained laughter. I shoot her an unimpressed glare and try not to cringe over her parents’ ooh s and aah s.

Then Doris taps Lisa on the shoulder, and the conversation moves away from us, leaving Tabitha and me, backs to the wall, looking out over the restaurant. She sighs contentedly, pride brimming in her eyes.

“I love this place,” she says simply.

“A stuntman ?”

Her lips twitch. “Just supporting my husband the best way I know how. I mean, I could have said porn star.”

I grumble and turn my head to give her my most menacing look.

“No, I know. That’s gotten old. Touring male stripper was on the tip of my tongue, but if that got back to Doris, she’d be booking you for ladies’ night at the Reach.”

My molars grind, and her expression turns smug. Her hand drifts down and then up, slipping beneath my tuxedo jacket. Her fingertips poke my side as she walks them along the crisp white shirt near the waistband of my pants.

Then I watch her perfectly painted lips—the ones I can’t stop thinking about—as she asks, “What’s wrong, husband? You look like you can’t decide whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”

My eyes bounce between hers. Amusement glitters in their depths, and goddamn. This woman is going to be the death of me.

Call it the wine. Call it the good vibes. Call it the shared insanity that we both signed up for today, but I let my hand slip lower. My fingers breach the dropped hemline at the back of her dress and slide beneath it, rubbing across the thin slip of fabric that lies flat over her hip.

I stay looking out over the room full of people, hand down my wife’s dress, doing my best to appear casual as I respond. “Kill you or fuck you, Tabby?” My voice drops lower. “Oh, I’ve decided.”

“Fuck,” she mutters, teeth strumming her bottom lip as she glances away.

“Yep. That’s the one.”

My fingers hook under the side of her underwear and give a teasing tug that makes her breath hitch. I maintain the pressure, twisting the fabric and watching her tongue dart over her bottom lip hungrily.

Should we be playing this game in a room full of wedding guests?

We shouldn’t be playing this game at all. But Tabitha and I seem to get a thrill out of going toe-to-toe, and at least we can fall back on newlywed antics if we get caught with our hands down each other’s pants.

“Friendly reminder that this marriage is fake ,” she mutters, focusing just a little too hard on the table where our friends sit.

“Nothing fake about how wet you are right now.”

A low rumble of a laugh spills from her lips as she offers Rosie a smile from across the room before spinning to face me. Her movement pulls our hands from each other’s clothes, and with me now pressed up against the wall, she looks perfectly confident again.

Her hands glide up over my lapels again, just like they did during the ceremony. But where she looked like a deer in the headlights then, she looks like a wolf in the forest now.

“Poor husband.” She pouts dramatically. “Obsessed with a pussy he’ll never get.”

I smirk and arch a brow at her. “Is that so?”

She nods and smiles like the Cheshire cat as her thigh slips between mine. Her hip presses against my erection. “It’s okay.” She pushes onto tippy-toes and presses a kiss just beside my mouth. A fucking tease. “I promise to give you privacy while you consummate this marriage with your hand later tonight.”

With that, she turns and saunters away. And I’m left standing alone at my own wedding reception with a raging hard-on and a brain full of thoughts about my wife that I swear weren’t there mere days ago.