Isobel closed the space between them, her palms resting lightly against the firm muscle of his forearms. “You’re a good man, Ryder Hayes,” she said, voice steady but warm, “anyone with a clear set of eyes can see that.”
For a beat, he didn’t answer—just drew her in, folding her into him like she belonged there. She pressed into the breadth of his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breath. Neither spoke. The quiet between them carried a weight all its own, broken only when he tipped his head down and met her gaze.
“I oughta get Savannah back to my brother’s place,” he murmured, his voice a blend of backroads drawl and Fifth Avenue polish.
She stepped back, reading the sense of duty in his eyes.
His knuckles brushed her cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw l
