She swallowed. Returned his nod. And slid into the car.
Wolfe wasted no time. He revved the engine and did a three-point turn, going out the back way and speeding away from the church like it was a devil’s sanctuary and their souls were at risk.
When they hit the open road and no one seemed to be following, he glanced over. She slumped in the seat, her hair hanging halfway down her neck, her graceful profile carved in stone. She stared out the window as if she was watching her life dissipate behind her. And in a way, it was.
Knowing what she needed the most right now, Wolfe hit the speaker system and Guns N’ Roses blasted out, hard and loud and raw. He didn’t speak.
Just drove.
three
WOLFE PULLED THE car into the Walmart parking lot and cut the engine. The probe of his gaze touched her face, but she was too weary to smile. After all, she never had to hide her real feelings with him. And right now she was about to go full-fledged mental if she didn’t get out of her wedding gown.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back. Want a soda? Water?”
Gen nodded. “Water would be good.”
“Keep the doors locked. The windows are tinted, so no one should see you.”
She blinked, trying to focus on the charred embers that now composed her life. “I left my phone. I have to tell them I’m safe.”
“We will. Just hang tight for a minute. Okay?”
She nodded again and watched him walk into Walmart. He got a bunch of stares from the teenyboppers milling around in the lot. Wolfe always got stares, but in a tuxedo he was lethal. With that tall, muscled body and wicked tattoo, he had bad boy wanting to be tamed stamped all over him. So different from David, with his angelic good looks and smooth charm.
David.
The full horror of what she’d done slammed through her. She’d run away and left him at the altar. The man she claimed to love. Her boss and chief of the surgical unit where her entire career was carved out. All of her stuff had been moved into his apartment. They held tickets for a Bermuda honeymoon. Her parents were probably sobbing, humiliated, and angry with her. Izzy was the one who brought stress—not her. Gen was the good one. The smart one. The one who never, ever caused any trouble.
What was she going to do? How could she go back to her life?
Thoughts and images swarmed in her head like pissy bees getting ready to attack. She pressed her fingers to her temples and wondered if she’d die by brain explosion.
The door opened. Wolfe thrust two plastic bags at her and a bottle of Poland Spring. “Here. First drink this. You look like you’re doing the freak-out thing.”
She swallowed a few sips of water. Then looked up at him for his next instructions. He gave a gentle smile and knelt down beside the car. Not speaking, he sifted through the tangled chestnut curls of her hair, and worked out each of the pins. Then he rubbed her scalp, pulling his fingers through the strands until they slid freely of knots. Gen studied his familiar features while he took care of her. Strong square jaw. Facial hair clinging to his upper lip and chin in a sexy goatee. Stinging blue eyes that burned like a laser, cutting through people’s bullshit and social veneers with no apology. His head was usually shaved clean, but he’d been growing it in, so dark curls softened his face just a bit. The serpent ink crept up his neck as if choking him. She was always fascinated by the tattoo. Traced in simple black, the impressive snake started low on his chest, worked its way up his arms and one shoulder, and ended right under his ear. Almost as if the creature was consistently whispering something to him. He was a gym rat, so the muscles under his clothes were hard and unforgiving, from his eight-pack stomach to the meaty biceps. Her gaze traveled to his wrists, where the matching leather bands were revealed by his rolled-up shirtsleeves. She’d never spotted him without them. He’d made the accessories famous by his underwear ads. Many young men followed his example until the wristbands became the hottest new trend.
Funny, from the moment they met, they’d been fated to be friends. Their heart-to-heart conversation set the stage for the future, with none of that crappy sexual tension or flirting. Just a good buddy of the opposite sex who meant the world to her. Kate was her best friend feminine equal, and Wolfe her male.
He reached behind her and pulled open the row of pearl-encrusted buttons down the back. He pointed to the bags. “Put these clothes on.”
She took out the denim shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops. “I look terrible in orange.”
His lip quirked. “Not much choice on the bargain table. The rest were extra large.”
“Sorry. Being a runaway bride makes me a bit bitchy.” Gen transferred to the backseat and tugged off the dress. Sweet, pure air filled her lungs once the tight fabric slid off, and she quickly divested her garters and stockings, scrambling into the comfy clothes and pulling off the price tags. She dug out a small package of hair bands from the bag and quickly scooped the strands into a short ponytail. Then got out.