Beyond Ordinary

Beyond Ordinary
Mary Sullivan

Can you outrun your past?Angel Donovan can't. The moment she crosses the town limits of Ordinary, Montana, she feels the weight of who she used to be looming.But there's one person who sees beyond her former wild-child self–Timm Franck. Too bad he's also the one person she's wary of…with good reason. Thanks to his journalistic skills, the private details of her scandalous upbringing are a matter of public record.Despite her efforts, avoiding Timm is an impossible task. The man has made it his business to stay close. To make amends?Or to give them a shot at a relationship they never had? Whatever his motivation, Angel can honestly say this is the last place she expected to find something–someone– so extraordinary.

Timm felt her breath warm on his neck

Angel’s soft hair brushed his chin, tantalizing him, reminding him of his adolescent hopes and dreams, always of her. He experienced a moment of disbelief that the one he’d wanted was here, now…with him.

She gripped his biceps, her hands warm through his cotton shirt, her fingers tight. Her nails bit into his skin, bringing him firmly back into the moment.

He pressed closer. Her hip, firm beneath his other hand, burned his palm. With his eyes closed, he feathered the skin above her jeans, and it was softer than anything he’d ever felt.

He was drowning in her scent and her heat. He had to touch her more.

Dear Reader,

Most people wander this earth wearing hard outer shells to protect their vulnerable cores. But those exteriors don’t reflect who they really are. The problem is that the world assumes what they see on the surface is all there is. What a shame. I wanted to explore this idea and look at what kinds of problems it can cause.

Angel Donovan has been forced into a certain role by fate and, no matter how hard she tries, can’t get her hometown to see her differently, to recognize that she is not the same person on the inside as the beautiful face and killer body lead people to believe. I liked the idea of a woman breaking free of preconceived perceptions to show the world that she has depth, that the person on the inside is every bit as beautiful as the one on the outside.

Timm Franck has the opposite problem. He is a decent, smart, nerdy guy who was burned and still carries the scars. He has no problem showing people who he really is on the inside. He just doesn’t want to show them his chest full of scars.

I know of too many people who worry about their outer shell not being beautiful enough and fail to show that what they have in their cores is much more worthy than surface beauty. Revealing ourselves to others can turn out to be the best thing we’ve ever done! May you find the courage to do it.

Happy reading,

Mary Sullivan

P.S. I do love to hear from readers! Please contact me through my website at www.marysullivanbooks.com.

Beyond Ordinary

Mary Sullivan

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mary likes to break through the shells of new people she meets, discovering the pearls of their personalities. We all seem to have so much to give to each other. She has enjoyed meeting so many great people through her writing career, especially readers. This is her fourth Harlequin Superromance novel. Mary loves being part of the Harlequin family!

To my mum,

who enjoyed reading her daughter’s books.

Love always.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

ANGEL DONOVAN LIMPED home to Ordinary, Montana, on her wounded Honda Gold Wing, pulling to a stop on the shoulder of the highway a couple of miles shy of town.

Out of gas.

She’d been gliding on fumes for the past quarter hour.

She tugged off her helmet and brushed sweat-dampened hair from her forehead, then dismounted.

The hot breeze outrunning nightfall across the prairie feathered her hair around her arms and her back, in the space between her vest and the waistband of her jeans. She should cut off every last black inch of it.

With one strong swing of her arm, she heaved the helmet into the closest field where it rolled across dry soil beneath yellow wheat, its red gloss disappearing under the dirt it picked up.

She unhooked her saddlebags and laid them down a few feet away, took out the can of lighter fluid she’d bought in Bozeman and sprinkled it over the bike.

It glowed golden in the horizontal rays of the setting sun, its chemical scent a counterpoint to the dry, earthy aroma of the fields.