Impossibly, Cross’s gaze became even more glacial. “I understand Chris is your primary target—a good and kind man who makes himself exploitable by acting more from the heart than with fiscal sense. Whatever slight you feel you’ve suffered is irrelevant. I know who he is and what he’s capable—and incapable—of doing.”
“I won’t justify my actions.” Ronan shot a warning look at Raúl when the bodyguard shifted on his feet. “Vidal knows why I’m here.”
“To shutter his company, right? To make him pay. Yet now you’re business partners with my sister…? After years of careful positioning, you’ve suddenly altered course in a matter of days? Far more likely that either the takeover was an excuse to get close to Ireland, or once you realized she’d gained the majority of shares, you decided you needed her to wrap things up.”
Ronan snorted with disgust. “You sell her short and give me far too much credit. She’s a stunningly beautiful woman with the heart of a tigress. What man wouldn’t want her?”
“You’re wasting my time.” Cross turned away in a dismissal too reminiscent of his sister’s. As he walked away, he tossed over his shoulder, “When you’re ready to talk terms, let security know.”
“Ireland will have your head for this,” Ronan warned.
Cross paused, then turned slightly to look at him. “You think she’ll fight her family foryou?”
Ronan felt the bite of his words with an unwelcome sting of uncertainty and dismay. He’d put himself in the crosshairs for a woman who’d already decided she was done with him. Was he truly following his instincts, or was his dick running the show? He’d never been so obsessed with a woman, so desperate for the feel of her beneath his hands, so ravenous for her taste.
When the sun set, Ireland’s absence felt like going through withdrawal. And when he spent the night driving them bothto the extreme edge of pleasure, he feltaliveafter a lifetime of merely surviving. For the first time, he was putting his own needs and desires first, at great risk to everyone he cared for.
Sudden self-doubt made him take the first step. “I’ll come with you, but if you put a hand on me, I won’t come easily. Understand?”
The bodyguard with Asian features gave him a cocky smile. “We can play this however you like.”
Ronan bumped past him with a hard shoulder hit, noting that Cross chose to take one of the roped-off, curving staircases down to the ballroom floor instead, his steps light as he descended.
Returning his focus to the elevator ahead, Ronan recalled that it moved very slowly between the two floors. Plenty of time to neutralize Cross’s two bodyguards. They would likely take positions around him, putting their bodies between the car's walls and his fists. As long as he maintained center ground, he’d have room to maneuver. He doubted the two hotel security guards would join them in the elevator, but one of their colleagues was stationed at the bottom, so he had to plan for him, too. More were stationed in the ballroom itself.
Ronan had untied his bowtie and was unbuttoning his collar when the energy of the two men behind him changed perceptibly. They surged past him on either side at a dead run, heading toward the staircase in pursuit of their boss.
“Take him to the security office!” Raúl barked to the hotel security duo just as the taller of the two pressed his earpiece deeper into his ear and the shorter one tensed visibly.
Ronan was briefly startled into immobility. The way the two hotel guards looked at each other with a mix of shock and exhilaration gave him further pause.
The taller guard gestured urgently at him. “Come on! Let’s go.”
Suddenly, he wasn’t the focus but a nuisance.
Ronan turned to watch Cross’s bodyguards catch up with him on the ballroom floor. They spoke furiously, and the change in Cross’s posture made him uneasy. Peripherally, he saw one of the hotel guards run toward him, but he kept his attention on Cross as the man searched for and spotted his wife, then quickened his pace toward her.
“I said let’s go!” the guard ordered, grabbing him by the elbow and attempting to drag him toward the elevator.
“What’s going on?” he asked, yanking free of the man’s grip.
“Don’t make me tase you.”
“You truly don’t want to try,” he warned, resuming his walk toward the elevator simply because the conditions for his escape had markedly improved.
The guard—whose name badge read “Carlos”—activated the microphone on his earpiece wire and said, “Hey, Dan’s with me on the mezzanine. We’re bringing someone in for holding.” He paused as he listened. “I don’t think it’s related, no. Have we confirmed that someone was actually snatched? Like a domestic dispute?”
Ronan stepped into the elevator and positioned himself directly in the middle, followed by the two guards, who stood in front of him. Rolling his shoulders, he loosened up. A distraction at just the right time was the sort of serendipitous event that never happened to him—until he’d met Ireland.
In front of him, the two guards were still receiving information from their earpieces. They looked askance at one another. “Jesus,” Dan murmured. “No fucking way.”
“Can’t be right,” Carlos agreed. “She was just on stage a few minutes ago. She wouldn’t be grabbing an Uber.”
Ronan went very still, even as his heartbeat accelerated. “Tell me you’re not talking about Ireland Vidal.”
“Shut up,” Carlos snapped with a hand to his ear. “I can’t hear.”
Slinging his arm around the man’s throat, Ronan yanked him backward, using him as a human shield against his partner. “Are you talking about Ireland Vidal?” he repeated.
