Wylde (Arizona Vengeance 7)

“That dress is definitely flirty,” a deep voice behind me says. I whirl to find Aaron Wylde standing exactly where he said he’d wait, holding the gift he’d bought from me two days ago.

Damn it… I have to admit he looks exceedingly handsome in a pair of light gray slacks and a lavender-colored dress shirt. It’s hot as hell—love a summer day in Phoenix—and I’m guessing that’s why he’s without the matching jacket. His blond hair is swept back in waves from his face and whereas he was sporting some stubble when I met him the other day in my store, he’s clean-shaven now.

I’d chosen a sleeveless dress in a light coral that complements the vivid coloring of my hair. It’s made of chiffon, and it swishes lazily around my knees when I walk.

And when I say I’d chosen, I mean I raided Veronica’s closet as I had not one single thing suitable for a wedding. Luckily, Veronica has more than enough to compensate. It was just as convenient to raid her closet as to go shopping.

Cheaper, too.

I step onto the sidewalk, then move toward Aaron. Other cars pull up, people spill out, then start heading toward the front door of the sprawling mansion.

Aaron’s eyes rake over me, making me feel entirely self-conscious and just a bit pretty when I see the approval on his face. “You look beautiful,” he says, turning to offer his arm.

“Thank you,” I reply demurely, trying to remember the last time a man said that. Searching my memory, I work backward in time through the men I’ve dated in the past and I have to go all the way back to “him” before I can remember such a compliment.

I immediately scrub “him” from my mind, not wanting to taste the bile in the back of my throat, which is a frequent occurrence with those memories.

“You clean up very well yourself, Professor,” I tell Aaron, which is a phenomenal understatement.

He laughs as we walk up to the house. “I love that. Professor.”

“You really did school me,” I mutter, still a bit put out I’d gotten taken so easily. There’s a bit of a line waiting to get in the door, so I take the time to say, “You didn’t tell me that your friend who was getting married was rich as sin. I might have suggested a nicer gift than a wine opener.”

Aaron laughs again. It’s that sort of effortless sound a person makes when they find genuine humor in life. “Trust me… Erik and Blue might be rich, but they are very down to earth. In fact, beer bottle opener would have been more appropriate.”

“All evidence to the contrary,” I say, sweeping my hand against the backdrop of the grand house as we move onto the porch.

Standing inside the doorway, I’m surprised to find a boy—no, a man—in a wheelchair with another tall man standing beside him. It appears they are the welcoming committee.

Aaron pulls his arm loose from my hand and holds his fist out to the man in the wheelchair. “Hey, Billy… big day, huh?”

Billy smiles broadly, sort of rocking back and forth before bringing his own fist up to bump against Aaron’s. He doesn’t say anything, and I guess he might be non-verbal.

Aaron introduces me. “Billy… this is my friend, Clarke.” Turning, he says, “This is Blue’s brother, Billy.”

I bend slightly, bringing my face more in line with his so he doesn’t have to look up. I’m not sure what to say, but I say what anyone might to the young man. “Hi, Billy… very nice to meet you. You look very handsome for the occasion.”

Billy grins back.

Touching my arm to get my attention, Aaron nods at the man beside Billy. “This is my best friend, Tacker.”

At first glance, the big man by Billy is a little intimidating, especially with the brooding look on his face. But then he smiles, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Clarke.”

“You as well,” I reply.

Aaron leans in, giving Tacker a classic bro hug—hands clasped, pulling into each other slightly with a hard clap on the back.

A look passes between the men and I can read it loud and clear. Tacker is stunned Aaron brought someone to the wedding and I wonder why.

There’s a large table in the foyer where guests deposit their presents and Aaron drops the wine opener from his hold. To my shock, he replaces it with my hand, easily lacing his fingers with mine to lead me through to what can only be labeled as a great room.

It’s massive, despite the dozens of talking people milling about. Aaron leads me through the crowd toward the back of the house where glassed French doors showcase even more people outside.

We stop periodically on the way, seemingly making it no more than a few steps at a time before he’s introducing me to someone new.