Chapter 1 #2
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 both to the extreme edge of pleasure, he felt alive after 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.
“Goddamnit!”
When the other guard fumbled for his taser, Ronan thrust out one hand to stay him. “Don’t get excited, Dan. I just need you to tell me my girlfriend is fine.”
Dan paused. “You’re dating Ms. Vidal?”
“Why do you think your boss is so mad at me?” he bit out. “I want a goddamned answer. Is. Ireland. Okay?”
He knew instantly from Dan’s expression that she wasn’t, and the blood in his veins went cold.
Tilting her head back, Eva scanned the mezzanine in large part because it was easier for her to see as a height-challenged woman. Otherwise, her line of sight was filled with other, taller people’s shoulders, which absolutely didn’t help her find her husband in the boisterous crowd.
What she wouldn’t give sometimes to be as tall and lithe as Ireland instead of voluptuous and petite. Everything looked good on her sister-in-law, while she had to be careful finding things that flattered her.
Her breath caught when she spotted her husband walking away from Ronan Boudreaux—leaving Raúl and Chase behind to deal with him.
The Cajun’s white dinner jacket was illuminated by the fairy-lit shrubbery lining the glass railing, making him hard to miss in the otherwise gloomy space.
And, of course, she’d distinguish Gideon’s dark figure even among shadows.
No one else carried themselves with the utter command her husband did.
He was also so breathtakingly handsome that looking at him was a necessary indulgence.
“Hey!” she protested as her best friend deliberately stepped in front of her and blocked her view.
“Keep staring up there, and you’ll draw attention to them,” Cary warned.
Like her husband, he stood several inches taller than her despite her platform stilettos.
Cary Taylor was one of the rare male models to break into public awareness, and his dry wit—showcased on his widely followed social media channels—was as much his signature as his astonishing good looks.
“You know everyone in this place is trying to find your man for one reason or another.”
“Thank god it looks like they’re not going to come to blows,” she said wearily, fighting exhaustion.
She and Gideon had scarcely slept overnight, and the quick nap they’d managed only served to make her more tired.
Stress and worry weighed heavily; the past week’s events had taken an emotional toll on both of them.
“Never say never,” he singsonged, his green eyes lit with wry amusement.
"Don't even joke about it. You know someone will get a video if they fight.”
And the digital tabloids and gossip websites would pay to snap it up.
Cary shrugged. “Well, Gideon’s got that look of death and destruction on his face. And does he ever wear it well. He’s extra hot when he’s furious at someone.”
“Don’t I know it,” she groused. “It’s a pain in the ass to get turned on when he’s pissed at me about something."
“Not that he ever is for long.” Cary reached up and played with her hair, arranging the golden blonde strands to his liking. “You’re his Achilles’ heel.”
Turning her head to follow Gideon’s movements, Eva watched her husband bypass the velvet rope at the landing of the dual curving staircase, then descend with quick strides.
Dressed in a classic black tuxedo with a similar sheen to his collar-length raven hair, Gideon was a magnificent sight.
While she could admit that Ronan Boudreaux was a very attractive man with an earthy sex appeal, she agreed with the media coverage that proclaimed her husband the most gorgeous man alive.
Still, her gaze returned to Boudreaux, assessing.
He was a tall man, taller than Gideon’s 6’2”, but lean.
Too lean, she would say. But then that might be why he boasted such beautifully chiseled cheekbones, which highlighted steely gray eyes and framed a lushly carnal mouth.
He wore his hair longer than Gideon’s—thick and full, with sun-kissed streaks of pale blond amid darker hues of caramel and wheat. It rather resembled a lion’s mane.
She watched him precede Raúl and Chase to the service elevator with a predator’s loose-limbed, determined stride, clearly uncowed by her husband’s fury.
Then she lowered her gaze toward the bottom of the staircase in anticipation of Gideon rejoining her.
She couldn’t wait to get his impression of the man who’d put a target on her father-in-law, one of the finest and kindest men she knew.
Eva hadn’t had many opportunities to meet the men Ireland dated, because they were never introduced to the rest of the family.
She understood that her sister-in-law had yet to commit to a long-term relationship.
She not only supported that decision, but she also envied Ireland’s ability to make it.
She’d personally struggled with one-sided codependent relationships from the outset, her self-worth so low that she confused being used for sex as love.
It was because Ireland was so fiercely independent that Eva struggled to understand the hold Ronan Boudreaux had on her.
That Ireland had put the man on the guest list and then on the stage as one of the bachelors being auctioned off, while well aware of his vendetta against her father, made absolutely no sense, regardless of how attractive and sexy the man was.
“Eva.”
There was a fine tension in her father’s voice that turned Eva’s immediate focus to him as he appeared amid the crowd and joined them. She was immediately alarmed by his tightly schooled expression and flat gaze. “Dad. What’s wrong?”