Page 23 of The SEAL's Duchess
He leaned back, searching for the word. “Flimsy? That’s what I figured when you showed up yesterday in that coat and heels. Thought you’d flounder.”
“Maybe I will.” But her smile tugged sideways with no heat in it.
He shook his head. “The way you handled Sinclair on the rig says otherwise.”
She’d stood her ground without posturing, rock-solid where others might’ve folded. Stronger than he’d initially given her credit for.
“Thank you. It’s been a long road to get to this point. I have the battle scars to prove it.”
He could believe it. Against his better judgment, he wanted to know more. “What’s your gut say about all this drilling business?”
Ivy’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “My gut?”
“Yeah. Forget the surveys and lawyers. What does your instinct tell you?”
She was quiet for a long moment, stirring sugar into her coffee with mechanical precision. “Something doesn’t add up. The geology looks solid, but the baseline data’s full of holes. There are gaps where there shouldn’t be.”
“What kind of gaps?”
“Subsidence readings. Seabed composition reports. Basic stuff. Every time I ask, I get told the equipment was down or the results are still being processed.” She sipped her coffee and sighed at the taste. “I’m not trying to kill this deal. I just want to make sure it doesn’t kill anything else.”
Ryder set down his fork. She was fighting uphill and refusing to quit. “And?”
“And it makes me want more information. And maybe more time.” She met his eyes across the table.
“You’re not wrong to ask questions.”
Something in his tone made her study him. “You sound like you speak from experience.”
“Small towns have long memories. We’ve seen what happens when people rush into things without thinking them through.”
She nodded slowly. “George is under a lot of pressure. The investors want answers, the company wants the deal, and everyone wants it done yesterday.”
“And you’re caught in the middle.”
Her smile was wry but tired. “Story of my life.” She held herself straight but her eyes said something else.
“You ever let anyone else share the load?”
Her lips parted—caught between a truth and the fear of it. Her eyes flicked up, wide and raw, the kind of look that only came right before someone finally let go.
Ryder leaned forward, heart thudding.
The radio on his belt crackled to life, loud and brutal in the hush between them. “Coast Guard unit, stand by for rescue call-out?—”
Ryder froze.Not now.
He stood slowly, stalling.
Ivy drew a breath. The moment was gone, sealed behind her lashes. “Oh my goodness.” She fumbled for her scarf, alreadybacking away. “I should go too.” The words came too fast—a retreat.
Ryder reached out, hand brushing her wrist, anchoring her for one second longer. He swallowed the words he wanted to say—Stay. Tell me. Let me help you.
“Thank you.” Her eyes met his. “For the pie. And the chat. It helped more than you know.”
He let her go, though everything in him howled not to. “Anytime.”
The radio barked again, and with an effort he headed toward the door. Freezing air met him as the door banged shut behind him, the warmth of her skin still clinging to him.
