building a ski run in hell?”
Quinlan took a deep breath.
“And if you did,” Ian started, his gaze still searching, and seeing too damned much, “where is the illustrious Mrs. Quinlan Kinncaid?”
He shifted and shrugged. “No idea.”
“See, he’s not married.” Gavin chuckled. “He’d have to be drugged again and out of his mind.”
That was just a little too close to the truth. He shifted again in his seat.
Ian’s eyes narrowed and now Aiden was leaning forward. “Or just seriously drunk.”
Bray leaned over the top of the seat. “If it’s Ella, at least she’s pretty, even if she’s a bit weird.”
Brody joined the group. Ever the lawyer. “Please tell me there was no marriage, and if so, you have a prenup somewhere, somehow.”
Quinlan shut his eyes and leaned back, ignoring them all. Their joking was too damned close to the truth and he didn’t want to deal with any of it just now.
“So are you or aren’t you?” Aiden asked.
As both rings were sitting in his pocket along with her damned note, that was an easy answer, though he wasn’t about to admit that. “Apparently not. She’s left me the ring and a sweet note and I’ve no idea where she is.”
“Do you have any idea who she is?” Gabe asked, joining the conversation. “It is Ella, isn’t it? Or did you elope with some Vegas showgirl?”
Several mutters and curses filled the air.
“I only ask ’cause I married this really sweet Vegas showgirl once. God, she had a pair on her, and legs that went on for fucking ever. And,” he continued, holding a hand up as questions were lobbed at him, “I didn’t remember her. I remember getting hitched. Remember the weird preacher dude and—”
“Can they be preachers in Vegas? Isn’t that like a priest in Sodom and Gomorrah?” Bray asked.
“Anyway, he wore this weird lime green suit, which is how I found him, and he said we never signed the license, which is how I slicked by. Don’t even remember her name. But she had the best ass I’ve ever seen and a dimple just . . .”
Great. Why didn’t he just shrug them all off.
“You should all see your faces, shocked to amused to completely pissed,” Quinlan said, forcing a laugh.
They all sat back and huffed.
Aiden pointed to him. “I knew you couldn’t be that stupid. Gabe, well, he’s a different story. I write it off to him being a cop and too many close encounters with death.”
“Hey!” the cop said. That rankled. “Why? Because I’m too stiff? Too predictable? Too set in my ways to find a great girl for a weekend fling and then marry her?”
“Yeah, we all foresaw your trip to Sin City,” Gavin said and sighed back himself. “This was, overall, a fun weekend. We should do it again. This time all of us, and not just some of us while others go seek diversion elsewhere.”
Ian was the only one who continued to watch him. Great. Just great.
Let him wonder, let him look. Let him search. Maybe then Quinlan would know where she was, because he had a marriage certificate for Clark County, Nevada, and it was notarized and had both legible sigs on the bottom of it.
He. Was. Married.
How the hell did that happen?
Married?
Insanity. Ella. Laughter?
Laughter. It had been so long since he’d really laughed and with her it had been . . . so easy. So . . . right. He’d even told her about the hell last year of being drugged and almost killed. How he got his permanent limp. Yeah, everything had been perfectly right.
Stupid too, apparently.
And champagne. Lots of champagne he’d licked off her heated skin, her chilled skin . . . off the dragonfly tattoo low on her hipbone. He remembered running his tongue along the Hindu symbols along the side of her left breast, tracing them with his finger. The way the lights played in her hair. A memory pierced his brain of him running her hair through his fingers while she said she wanted to change the color.
“To what? I thought you were going purple next time,” he’d
Quinlan took a deep breath.
“And if you did,” Ian started, his gaze still searching, and seeing too damned much, “where is the illustrious Mrs. Quinlan Kinncaid?”
He shifted and shrugged. “No idea.”
“See, he’s not married.” Gavin chuckled. “He’d have to be drugged again and out of his mind.”
That was just a little too close to the truth. He shifted again in his seat.
Ian’s eyes narrowed and now Aiden was leaning forward. “Or just seriously drunk.”
Bray leaned over the top of the seat. “If it’s Ella, at least she’s pretty, even if she’s a bit weird.”
Brody joined the group. Ever the lawyer. “Please tell me there was no marriage, and if so, you have a prenup somewhere, somehow.”
Quinlan shut his eyes and leaned back, ignoring them all. Their joking was too damned close to the truth and he didn’t want to deal with any of it just now.
“So are you or aren’t you?” Aiden asked.
As both rings were sitting in his pocket along with her damned note, that was an easy answer, though he wasn’t about to admit that. “Apparently not. She’s left me the ring and a sweet note and I’ve no idea where she is.”
“Do you have any idea who she is?” Gabe asked, joining the conversation. “It is Ella, isn’t it? Or did you elope with some Vegas showgirl?”
Several mutters and curses filled the air.
“I only ask ’cause I married this really sweet Vegas showgirl once. God, she had a pair on her, and legs that went on for fucking ever. And,” he continued, holding a hand up as questions were lobbed at him, “I didn’t remember her. I remember getting hitched. Remember the weird preacher dude and—”
“Can they be preachers in Vegas? Isn’t that like a priest in Sodom and Gomorrah?” Bray asked.
“Anyway, he wore this weird lime green suit, which is how I found him, and he said we never signed the license, which is how I slicked by. Don’t even remember her name. But she had the best ass I’ve ever seen and a dimple just . . .”
Great. Why didn’t he just shrug them all off.
“You should all see your faces, shocked to amused to completely pissed,” Quinlan said, forcing a laugh.
They all sat back and huffed.
Aiden pointed to him. “I knew you couldn’t be that stupid. Gabe, well, he’s a different story. I write it off to him being a cop and too many close encounters with death.”
“Hey!” the cop said. That rankled. “Why? Because I’m too stiff? Too predictable? Too set in my ways to find a great girl for a weekend fling and then marry her?”
“Yeah, we all foresaw your trip to Sin City,” Gavin said and sighed back himself. “This was, overall, a fun weekend. We should do it again. This time all of us, and not just some of us while others go seek diversion elsewhere.”
Ian was the only one who continued to watch him. Great. Just great.
Let him wonder, let him look. Let him search. Maybe then Quinlan would know where she was, because he had a marriage certificate for Clark County, Nevada, and it was notarized and had both legible sigs on the bottom of it.
He. Was. Married.
How the hell did that happen?
Married?
Insanity. Ella. Laughter?
Laughter. It had been so long since he’d really laughed and with her it had been . . . so easy. So . . . right. He’d even told her about the hell last year of being drugged and almost killed. How he got his permanent limp. Yeah, everything had been perfectly right.
Stupid too, apparently.
And champagne. Lots of champagne he’d licked off her heated skin, her chilled skin . . . off the dragonfly tattoo low on her hipbone. He remembered running his tongue along the Hindu symbols along the side of her left breast, tracing them with his finger. The way the lights played in her hair. A memory pierced his brain of him running her hair through his fingers while she said she wanted to change the color.
“To what? I thought you were going purple next time,” he’d
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