Chapter 26
After breakfast, Ivy padded into the living room while Ryder cleared up the breakfast dishes.
Her bare feet were silent on the hardwood.
Her ribs protested with every breath, a dull tenderness blooming along her left side—a souvenir from yesterday's seatbelt doing its job.
The wood stove still radiated warmth from the night before, the residual heat reminding her of everything that had changed in the span of only a few hours.
She’d slept in Ryder’s arms. Woken in his bed. Let him feed her, shield her, hold her. Let him strip her down until all she could do was shatter for him, her body arching into firelight, into the fierce certainty of his touch.
This morning was quiet—coffee pot humming, bacon and eggs. The peace she’d never let herself hope for and now scared her most, because the hunger hadn’t burned itself out. It had only deepened, stretching under her skin, settling deep inside, making her ache not just for his body but for this.
For mornings that felt like belonging.
The clink of Ryder washing dishes drifted from the kitchen. Domestic sounds of routines shared between two people who belonged in the same space. The kinds of sounds she’d never paid attention to before, but now they made her heart flutter.
She pulled out her phone to call George and swore under her breath. Ten percent battery. Her charger was at the hotel, and it certainly hadn’t been high on her list of priorities last night.
As if.
Still, no time to worry about it now.
She dialed George’s number and waited for him to pick up. Her gaze wandered to the bookshelf beside the fireplace. Family photos lined the top shelf—Ryder with his mom and dad, Ryder with his brothers—Caleb grinning, Wyatt scowling, eyes dark with secrets.
Then she saw it—tucked between the others.
Ryder, younger, wearing dress blues. Beside him stood a blonde woman with sharp cheekbones and intelligent eyes. She looked effortlessly beautiful, polished without trying, a woman who probably never had a hair out of place.
Miranda. Had to be.
Her fingertips brushed the glass over the woman’s face. Miranda looked capable, confident. A woman who could handle anything life threw at her.
Except motherhood.
Ivy exhaled a shaky breath.
If Miranda, with her perfect cheekbones and easy smile, couldn’t stay for Ellie, what chance did she have—duty-bound to an estate that would swallow her whole the moment she returned?
A stab of something sharp and unwelcome twisted in Ivy’s stomach. Miranda had had it all and had thrown it away. Jealousy followed immediately by shame for feeling it. She pulled her hand back just as George answered his phone.
“Ivy? Everything alright? You don’t usually call this early.” George’s voice was brisk, with the clipped tone of a man already juggling three problems before breakfast.
Ryder was singing off-key in the kitchen. Ivy pressed her palm hard against her thigh. Her London life was on the line. Alaska was in the next room. Two lives colliding.
“I’m fine,” she said brightly. Too brightly. No need to sound insane. “Just a minor accident with the rental car yesterday. Weather-related. Nothing serious.”
“Accident? Christ, Ivy. Are you hurt?”
Her eyes flicked to the doorway and the splash of running water.
Ordinary.
And terrifying.
She swallowed. “No. Really. Just the car. I spent the night in town. I’ll sort out the repairs with the rental company today.”
She hated not telling George the full story, but the alternative was explaining about Ryder, about how she’d ended up in his bed, about feelings she couldn’t begin to articulate even to herself.
Silence vibrated on the other end. “You sound different,” George said finally.
Because she was. Because Ryder’s shirt skimmed her bare thighs, her skin still sensitized from the memory of his touch.
Ryder took care of her.
She dragged a hand through her hair, closed her eyes for a second, composing herself. “I’m really okay, George.”
“Alright. Well, Sinclair wants to finalize the BlackRock deal tomorrow. Six p.m. London time, nine a.m. here.”
Her actual life demanded her attention. The one that existed an ocean away from Alaskan nights with protective men who made her feel too much. She gripped her phone harder. “Of course.”
“You sure you’re alright, Ives?”
Her throat squeezed. George’s concern was real, familiar—but it also felt a million miles away.
She pressed her fingers to her temple. “Yes. Just tired.”
How the hell did she make this work?
Ryder. England. All her responsibilities were pulling her in opposite directions.
“I’ll email you the agenda. Try to get some rest, yeah? You’ve been pushing too hard lately.”
She steadied her voice. “Thanks. George. I’ll see you later this afternoon.”
“You’re not coming straight back?”
“Uh. Some business first.”
“Business?”
“I’ll explain when I see you.”
Another pause. Heavier this time. “Okay. Love you, Ives.”
“Love you, too.”
She ended the call with her thumb. She wasn’t in the habit of lying to George.
But she had less than twenty-four hours to find out what the hell was going on with BlackRock. Suddenly, her personal life didn’t seem very important at all. People were depending on her.
“Everything okay?”
She turned to find Ryder in the doorway, dishtowel in his hands, concern creasing his features. His hair was mussed, and the sweatpants hung low on his hips, revealing a slice of his Adonis V.
She’d hoped one night would be enough.
Get him out of her system.
So why did just looking at him make her body ache for his touch?
“George, just checking in.” She schooled a smile and waved the phone at him. “Apparently, the business world doesn’t stop for weather emergencies.”
Ryder crossed to her, tossing the towel onto the coffee table.
“I called my mom while you were on the phone.”
She blinked. “Your mom?”
“She was a professor of biotechnology at the University of Alaska for years—she knows everyone in the science departments. I figured if anyone knew a geologist who could look at your data, she would.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Turns out one of her old colleagues—Charles Henderson—specializes in offshore seabed analysis.
Mom says he's brilliant. Uncompromising. Won't fudge the numbers for anyone.”
“Ryder—”
"There's a catch." His mouth twisted. "Henderson's a bit of a hermit. Lives off-grid up in the mountains. No phone. She gave me his address though.” He paused. “It's pretty remote. Basically a cabin in the woods.”
“I could drive up there.” Relief flooded through her, followed immediately by practicality. “If you could drop me off in town, I can rent another car—”
“Like hell.”
The flatness of his tone made her look up. He looked at her as if she’d stepped naked into a blizzard.
“I can handle this, Ryder.”
“I’m sure you can handle a lot of things yourself.” He stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Her heartbeat stumbled as his scent hit her brain.
His expression grew an edge. “But you’re not going alone.”
The words struck deep—not because she needed help, but because Ryder was offering it.
For once, she didn’t have to hold everything together.
Part of her wanted to argue. She’d been handling her own crises for years.
But another part of her—a part she’d kept carefully buried for most of her adult life—melted at the fierce protectiveness in his voice.
No one ever insisted on taking care of her.
“Sarah’s happy to keep Ellie for the morning,” he continued. “I’m driving you.”
She should protest, should assert her independence, maintain some semblance of boundaries. Instead, she nodded, warmth spreading through her chest at the way he’d already arranged everything.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
Something in his expression softened. “You don’t have to thank me.”
She almost laughed. Trust Ryder to make it sound so matter-of-fact, like she hadn’t spent her life holding everything together alone.
He studied her, as if he wanted to fix the image of her in his mind. Then, his hand slid into her hair, fingers teasing her scalp before settling at her nape. “Get used to it.”
The quiet conviction in his voice undid her more than any grand gesture. Her chest tightened, her pulse tripping.
When his mouth covered hers, there was nothing tentative about it. His touch anchored her, his thumb pressing against the base of her skull as his lips moved over hers with an insistence that left her clinging to him.
He pulled away just far enough to see her face, his kiss less a goodbye than a promise of more. “Now. Let’s go find out about this geology report.”
Twenty minutes later, they were in his truck. The heater blasted, warm air fogging the windshield edges. Still, a chill settled deep in her bones.
Ellie’s car seat in the back caught her eye in the rear-view mirror—a tiny anchor to everything real about him.
This wasn’t just about her and Ryder. It was about the little girl who’d already lost one woman. A responsibility she could never take lightly.
She glanced sideways at Ryder, his profile all focus and quiet strength, and her stomach twisted with something she couldn’t name.
She’d never been in a relationship that lasted more than a few months. Had never felt for anyone what she felt for Ryder. This was uncharted territory, and she had no idea if she was equipped to navigate it without causing damage to the people she was starting to care about.
“You’re quiet.” Ryder glanced over at her. “I overheard. You didn’t tell George the truth.”
“Why worry him needlessly?”
“Maybe you’re so used to handling everything alone, you don’t know how to let people in.” His pulse beat in his temple.
His words stung. “Ryder—”
“Someone should worry about you, Ivy.”
Her throat closed, her pulse a frantic flutter under her skin. She’d spent years being the one who worried—never the one worth worrying about.
“Someone has to hold it all together—”
“Yeah.” He reached over and covered her hand with his, fingers warm and solid against her skin. The weight of him pinned her to the moment, breath shuddering in and out of her chest. “It doesn’t always have to be you.”
His statement shouldn’t have affected her, but it landed in a place she’d kept carefully armored for years. The place where she stored all the exhaustion from being everyone’s solution, everyone’s go-to person when things went wrong.
“It’s not that simple.” She offered him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
“Isn’t it?”
She wanted to argue, to explain about duty and responsibility and how the estate would have foundered years ago if someone hadn’t stepped up to manage every crisis. “George needs help to run the estate.”
“The goddamn Duke of Lambourne,” he muttered, releasing her hand to steer.
Ivy smiled. “He is that.”
“How come you’re not a duchess?”
She huffed a laugh. “You can only be a duchess through marriage. Lovely bit of medieval nonsense that somehow survived into the twenty-first century.”
Ryder was quiet for a beat, then glanced at her—a half-smile slanting across his mouth. “Well, you’re my duchess.”
His words shouldn’t have punched as hard as they did, but warmth bloomed through her chest, stealing her voice.
“Ryder…” It came out a scant whisper.
He wasn’t talking about titles. He was talking about belonging.
“I know,” he breathed. “I know it’s complicated.”
She was falling for a man an ocean away, a man with a daughter and a past he didn’t talk about. Complicated barely scratched the surface.
Her mind flicked back to the photograph on his shelf—the blonde woman.
“There was a picture at your place. Ellie’s mum?”
He rolled his hands on the wheel, knuckles pale.
Silence stretched, filled only by the rumble of tires on frozen asphalt.
“She left when Ellie was three months old.” His lips pinched.
Ivy didn’t breathe. The noise of the tires was the only proof the world hadn’t stopped.
“I came off a shift—my mom had Ellie. Just a fucking note from Miranda on the counter. Sorry, I can’t do this. That was it.”
“You don’t know why?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. She made her choice. Ellie didn’t get one.” He flexed his hands. “I won’t let that happen to her again.”
His words were stripped bare, but the muscle in his jaw told her the wound still bled.
When the road ran out, Ryder killed the engine and came around to her side of the truck, opening her door. He helped her down, his hand firm on the small of her back. When her feet hit the snow, he didn’t step back. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her mouth, slow and certain.
“Whatever happens when we find out what this data means,” he murmured, “we’ll figure it out.”
We. The word rose inside her like warmth after frostbite.
As if they were already a team. As if the life she was imagining with him wasn’t just wishful thinking but something they were building together.
She was falling for a man and potentially becoming part of a family.
Her eyes burned and her throat constricted.
Hope.
Reckless, impossible hope that maybe she could be enough. That maybe she could stay.
And this time, she didn’t fight it.