“Cross,” Ronan said by way of greeting.
One black brow winged up over those familiar-hued eyes. “You were next up on my agenda after this”—Cross gestured at the partying crowd with a careless wave of his hand—“but now works just as well.”
Studying Ireland’s brother, Ronan noted strain around the man’s eyes and mouth. He appreciated the small reminder that Gideon Cross had the same inherent human frailties as he did, because damned if he wasn’t intimidating. There was iciness in Cross’s gaze that Ronan recognized as ruthlessness.
Cross carried the power inherent in his multibillionaire status with ease, his posture relaxed despite whatever troubled him. Two tuxedo-clad security guards flanked him, and two liveried members of the hotel security team waited by the elevator. Ronan was aware that the show of physical force was superfluous. The general public was overly fascinated by Cross and his wife for many reasons, one of which was that both werehighly proficient in self-defense disciplines. The bespoke tuxedo Cross wore did a fine job of showcasing its wearer’s powerful physique.
Ronan’s mouth curved in a short smile. He’d fended off multiple attackers more than once, so Cross and his security were a threat he could manage. Still, he was aware that Ireland wouldn’t be pleased if he got into a fistfight with her eldest brother. “Unfortunately, the timing isn’t as good for me,” he answered. “I have a previous engagement.”
He resisted the urge to look down at the crowd to search for Ireland. It was never wise to look away from a threat. And he preferred to hold out hope that when she didn’t find her brother, she would head to the airport and accept his invitation to spend the weekend with him in Louisiana.
It would go against her nature to resume their…entanglement. She was commitment-averse and had already broken things off. But he knew the pull he felt toward her was reciprocated, and her desire to protect him from her family’s wrath meant something. He had to believe it was enough to afford him more time with her.
As if Cross had read his mind, he spoke smoothly but with unmistakable command. “You’ll stay away from Ireland. You’ll deal with me moving forward.”
“Désolé.” Ronan’s accent deepened as it tended to do when he dealt with an irritant. “But I’m disinclined to take orders from anyone, especially regarding who I choose to keep company with.”
Stepping forward, Cross closed some of the distance between them. Ronan was a couple of inches taller, but the other man had a good twenty pounds on him because he’d lost weight since arriving in New York. Food insecurity from childhood made eating on the road problematic.
“You can’t afford to play games with me, Boudreaux. You’ve come to my town to attack my family, then made the fatal error of involving my sister in your bullshit. How much that costs you depends entirely on how quickly I forget you exist.”
The threat wasn’t bluster; that was evident in Cross’s posture and tone. Feeling a tingle of warning course down his back, Ronan reassessed the man before him.
“Ireland has everything well in hand,” he rejoined. “I’ve made, and continue to make, concessions for her that I won’t make for anyone else—including you. You’ve misjudged the situation if you think there’s any remedy you can provide. I already have what I need and can’t be bought.”
Cross’s face hardened. “You can regret, and I can make you feel it in countless ways. You’ll soon see the lengths I will go for Ireland.”
“Well, we have something in common after all,” he drawled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He moved to bypass Cross, highly conscious of the time. It wouldn’t do for Ireland to arrive at Teterboro before he did; he wanted to give her no excuse to change her mind if she made it that far. And if she was still at the masquerade, he wanted another chance to convince her to go with him.
Cross sidestepped in front of him. The distance between them became too close for comfort. “This area of the hotel is closed to the public, so you’re trespassing. Security will escort you to a holding area until we can resolve the situation.”
Ronan froze, startled. He’d considered the many ways Cross could be atracasfor him but had never imagined being detained against his will. His blood began to heat. There were some things he could not tolerate, and confinement was one of the bigger ones. “You know damn well I’m Ireland’s guest and that she escorted me up here.”
“Do I?” Without looking away, Cross asked over his shoulder, “I don’t recall seeing Mr. Boudreaux’s name on the guest list. Raúl?”
One of the bodyguards behind him shook his head, his face impassive. “No, Mr. Cross.”
“It’s under McCaffrey,” Ronan bit out between clenched teeth.
“Didn’t see that, either.”
Brows raised incredulously, Ronan felt the first true stirrings of disquiet. “You want to talk about fatal errors? Attempting to restrain me in any way is absolutely one of them. Expect one or more of you to get tossed over this balcony.”
Cross bared his teeth in a blindingly cruel smile. “Dropping a body or two on the police commissioner, mayor, or governor—who are all having a splendid time below—would only compound your troubles, but take that risk if you want. You’re the one with a murder rap for killing an officer of the law.”
Ronan’s fists clenched at his sides. The two security professionals behind Cross moved in.
“What do you think you’ll accomplish by this?” Ronan’s drawl was now so pronounced he sounded like his brother Jules, but he refused to give ground, remaining solidly in place. “I can’t be strong-armed into giving up my interest in Vidal Records or Ireland. She’s the only one who can change what we are to one another.”
“And what is that, precisely?” Cross’s disdain was icy.
“Partners in Vidal Records. Beyond that is none of your damned business.”
“Now, you see… My sister has many talents. Unfortunately, one of them is the ability to find and date the bottom feeders of the male gender, who invariably become my business. You just got there quicker than most.”
“They say women are attracted to men like their father.”
