Page 27 of The SEAL's Duchess
“Thank you,” Ryder muttered.
“Not at all. Good day.”
The line went dead. Ryder dropped the phone on the passenger seat and scrubbed both hands over his face, stubble rasping his palms. His heart was hammering as if he’d just run sprints in full kit.
Jesus, Ryder. Get it together.
He checked the truck’s dashboard clock. Ten-fifteen. Ellie’s preschool let out at one, which gave him a few hours. Enough time to swing by the library, apologize for last night, and maybe figure out why this woman had gotten under his skin. In the cold light of day, he’d get his perspective back. A reality check. Because whatever this was—it was going nowhere.
The drive to downtown Aurora Cove took twelve minutes through streets dusted with fresh snow. The sky hung low and white, flakes spitting against the windshield, plow lines along the main road blurring into one long gray ribbon. A day that made the world feel both endless and small.
Ryder gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, every block taking him farther from his usual routine. Thursdays were predictable—groceries, a stop at the hardware store, maybe coffee and pie with his mom if she was around. Simple. Regular.
Nothing about Ivy Lambourne was regular. She unsettled him—in a way that usually had him running.
So why the hell was he easing the truck into a space outside the municipal library instead of the grocery store parking lot? Clearly, he was losing his mind.
The Aurora Cove Library squatted in the ground floor of a tired red brick building that had seen better decades. Inside, the air was heavy with floor wax and the papery musk of old books, the radiator just inside the door hissing on its last legs. Mrs. Klinkhart glanced up from the circulation desk.
“Ryder Meyer.” Her smile was way too knowing. “Don’t usually see you in here during school hours.”
Great. By dinner, half the town would know he’d set foot in the library, and Mrs. K would haveallthe theories why.
He tugged at the brim of his cap in greeting. “Morning, Mrs. K. Just looking for someone.” He hurried past before she could start hurling questions at him.
He scanned the reading room—past the row of computers, the stacks of yellowed newspapers, the bulletin board with flyers curling at the edges?—
Ivy sat at a corner table by the tall windows, completely absorbed in the world spread around her. Winter light filtered through the glass, threading gold into her dark-blonde hair. Tortoiseshell glasses were perched on her nose, making her look sharp and impossibly elegant. A pale gray cashmere sweater traced the line of her shoulders, while slim dark pants showed the long curve of her legs crossed beneath the table.
Ryder’s throat went dry. His gaze lingered a beat too long on the sweep of those legs before he dragged it higher.Not much safer there—her mouth was soft distraction disguised as focus.She had one finger pressed to her temple, a pencil in her other hand tracking words across a page. Her lips moved faintly as she read.
This was trouble. The kind that could unravel him fast. He had Ellie to think about—always Ellie—and no business getting tangled up with a woman who’d be gone before the snow melted.
The table was buried under documents—geological surveys, maps marked with colored pens, reports with sticky notes bristling from their edges. She’d clearly been at this since the doors opened, driving herself relentlessly.
A now familiar ache pulled at him.
She was burning herself out, and no one was stopping her.
He moved closer, quiet on the carpet. Close enough now to read the title stamped across the report in front of her—SeabedComposition Analysis, Cook Inlet Region, 1994. Of course. Even in the middle of Alaska, she was still fighting her corner.
A page turned somewhere across the room, and the scratch of Ivy’s pencil against the paper was loud in the silence. He hesitated, caught in the spell of watching her. Then, because standing over her like a stalker wasn’t exactly the impression he wanted to make, he coughed.
She lifted her head and blinked as though surfacing from deep water, eyes refocusing—and when she recognized him, her face lit up. Not the careful smile she gave the world. Something unguarded and real. Like sunlight breaking through squall clouds.
Heat flooded his chest before he could slam the door on it.
“Ryder.” She pulled off her glasses, setting them aside. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to apologize.” He gestured toward the empty chair across from her. “Mind if I sit?”
“Please.” She began gathering some papers, making space. “But there’s nothing to apologize for. Your job doesn’t exactly come with regular hours, does it?”
There was no accusation in her voice, no hurt. Just understanding, as if she fully understood that his work meant interrupted plans and emergency calls.
“Still. I hated leaving like that.” He sat opposite her. Yesterday she’d been all sharp edges and control. Today, something in her had eased. Which was insane, considering she was knee-deep in reports that would give most people migraines. “You look rested.”
Her laugh was soft. “Hardly. I’ve been here since eight. But I found something interesting.” Her fingers skimmed the edge of a document. “What do you know about the geological history of the drilling sites?”
