Page 9 of The SEAL's Duchess
The downdraft turned the already bitter morning air into something that felt like it came straight off a glacier. She hunched deeper into Ryder’s jacket and caught another hit of his scent. How could someone so infuriating smell so good? It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t smell of the ocean and safety. The thought made her want to shrug out of his jacket entirely.
“Stay low, follow my lead.” Ryder’s hand touched the small of her back to guide her forward.
The touch was brief, but sent another unwanted flutter through her. She didn’t need protection. She’d been taking care of herself—and everyone else—for years. But something about the way he moved, the calm certainty in his voice, made her want to lean into that strength.
Stop it, Ivy.You’re here to do a job.
Inside, the helicopter’s interior was cramped but functional, all business with jump seats and safety equipment secured to the walls. Ryder helped her into the harness and checked the straps. The safety webbing pressed against her chest, and it was an effort to breathe evenly. He worked quickly.Good. The last thing she needed was more condescending care from someone who’d already written her off.
But she swore he lingered a second too long once her harness was secure, as if he hadn’t quite decided to pull away.
“First time in a helicopter?” Ryder settled into the seat between her and Walt Patterson.
“Just tourist trips. I’ve studied rotorcraft design but mostly from the ground.” She offered a half-smile. “I know the specs, but it’s different being inside one that’s actually working for a living.”
“It’s louder than you expect. And bumpier.” His voice carried no judgment as he placed the headset on her head. He tucked hair behind her ear before settling the mic against her cheek. The touch of his fingers burned lightly against her cheekbone. “The headset will help with the noise.”
She jerked back slightly, annoyed at her own reaction.Get a grip.He was just being professional. The heat climbing her throat every time he touched her was her problem, not his.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice clipped.
He nodded and moved on to help George, who was cursing as he fought to secure his harness. The turbine engines reached full power, and the aircraft lifted off with a stomach-dropping lurch. Ivy gripped the safety straps, her knuckles white, as the ground fell away beneath them. The vibration traveled through the seat into her bones.
“You okay?” Ryder’s voice came through the intercom, crackling with static.
“Fine,” she said, relieved her voice came out steady.
They banked west over the Pacific, and Ivy caught her first glimpse of the endless ocean stretching toward the horizon. The water looked deceptively calm from this height, deep blue-green with white caps.
Beside her, Ryder’s arm rested on his knee, fingers loose, completely at ease with the motion of the helicopter.
She could picture him in action—coordinating rescues, rappelling down to pluck people from sinking boats, skilled and sure while chaos erupted around him. A man built for crisis. Just as capable as he claimed to be.
Which somehow made his dismissal of her sting even more. She hated that she wanted his approval—hated that when he looked at her, her body reacted without permission.
The radio crackled with air traffic control chatter, voices clipped and professional. His brother Wyatt responded with call signs and coordinates that meant nothing to her but seemed to flow naturally from him. This was their world. The technical language, the protocols, the assumption that everyone knew their role.
She was an outsider here.
George pressed his face to the window. “Look at that coastline. You can see everything from up here.”
Ivy followed his gaze, taking in the rugged shoreline and the small town they’d left behind. From this height, the world and its problems looked manageable.
She allowed herself a sigh.
She could do this.
“BlackRock Deepwater Vega, two o’clock,” Wyatt announced after twenty minutes.
Ivy leaned forward, squinting through the spray-dotted window. The structure emerged from the haze—a massive industrial complex rising from the water like a steel island.Even from miles away, she could appreciate the scale, the lattice of support structures and the bright orange helicopter deck perched on top.
It’s massive.She glanced at her brother.Are we out of our league?
“Bigger than I expected.” George widened his eyes.
Maybe they were out of their league. But she’d kept seventy-five families housed and an estate from collapse. This was just another battlefield.
They flew closer. The rig was a steel city—cranes, derricks, figures in hard hats moving in sync.
