Chapter Eight

And Zoe realized then that she actually had: she was in white with gold and green, Keira was in light pink with gold and white, Willa was in forest green with gold thread shot through and wearing amazing long white gloves. Somehow it all worked together, the different outfits echoing each other and making the wearer shine that much brighter. She’d been so focussed on making Keira and Willa look good, she’d kind of forgotten about herself… though she loved her dress. She’d never really thought that she’d be the type to go for the full-on, long white wedding dress thing, but damned if she hadn’t when it came right down to it.

Willa and Keira had gone out first, standing at the top of the marquee to give the harp player the nod to begin, and that was when Wolf had come to Zoe, collecting her so that he could walk her down the aisle. Zoe’s father was a full-blown alcoholic and she hadn’t spoken to him in over twenty years, and after he’d abandoned the family when Zoe was barely thirteen, her Mom had gone the same boozy route. Zoe and Scars’ mountain wedding was small and intimate, and she was happy to have it that way.

Although it did have to be said that Zoe was saddened for her fiancé that his parents couldn’t attend. They’d died in a horrible car accident when Scars was just nineteen, and it was him desperately trying to free them from the burning vehicle that had put the scars on his body: his face, his hands, his forearms, his chest. She barely saw them anymore, but they were there. They would always be.

Wolf had entered the cabin, seen Zoe standing there in all of her bridal glory, and he’d stopped dead in his tracks. She’d looked right back at him, shocked at just how much hotter the man could look in a suit.

From time to time it occurred to her how odd and insane it was that this man was her oldest friend. They’d met when Zoe was ten and Wolf was thirteen, over twenty-five years ago now, and they’d grown up in the same shit neighborhood, they’d both dealt with alcoholics fathers, they’d both hidden out under Wolf’s back porch when things got especially bad in their homes. They’d survived the drive-by shootings on their street every other week, they’d survived their parents, they’d survived the gangs and drugs. They’d made it through, and they’d done it together. He was her brother, her savior and protector. He was a good man – despite actively being very good at being a very bad man – and she trusted him with her life, and with Keira’s. He was the reason that she’d moved back to Denver… he was the reason that she’d met Scars.

Another amazing thing was that Zoe and Wolf had never hooked up. Not once. God, they’d never even kissed, and seeing as they’d gotten drunk together countless times, it still kind of stunned them both that a bit of fooling around had never happened.

It’s not like Wolf wasn’t attractive to her. She was a woman, after all, and he was probably the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on – at least until she’d met Scars. But Wolf was tall and muscled, broad and strong, with wolf-gray eyes and dark hair that always seemed to need flattening. He moved with a lithe, rangy grace that could turn menacing with a single step, and his voice was smoldering and sexy. Zoe suspected that if it was possible for any man to raise the dead from their graves with a single sentence, Wolf Connor could do it with that his dark-honey growl. She’d seen women literally throw themselves at him when he’d given them that slow grin and muttered a few hot words. He was irresistible and she wasn’t at all sure how she’d actually resisted; her only working theory was that their friendship was so important to them, neither wanted to risk it for a few quick fucks. Not even for a temporary boyfriend/girlfriend thing – the man didn’t do commitment, and he’d never made that a secret.

But if she’d thought that Wolf was sex-on-legs whilst wearing jeans and a t-shirt and his MC cut, she was not at all prepared for how he looked in a dark suit, the crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned a bit to show off the tattoos and hair on his chest. His eyes were their usual stormy gray, his hair begged for someone to run a comb through it, his model-perfect face was all sharp angles and full lips. It was weird, but the conservative restraints of the suit only highlighted his feral, untamed nature – and made him all the sexier for it.

“Wow,” he’d said, still staring at her, those wolf eyes raking over her, from the top of her golden head to the tips of her high heels spun with golden thread. “You look fuckin’ amazin’, baby girl.”

Right away, Zoe blushed. “You think?”

“Hell yeah, I think.” He examined her dress more closely now, took in the tiny details, nodding at the simple, classic cut and the sleek satin. “Seems a shame to cover this up at all, but we don’t want you freezin’ to death out there when you say ‘I do’.”

“Right?” she said, warm and snug in her wrap. “I’m happy to do this outside, though. I know it’s what Scars really wanted.”

“Me too.” Wolf smiled at her, extended his hand. “So. You think I can I have the honor of escortin’ you to your future husband?”

“Hell, yeah, I think,” Zoe said, putting her hand in his. “I can’t wait, actually.”