Beyond Reach

Beyond Reach
Sandra Field

Significant Others Blondes were usually more fun… . But Troy Donovan was proving to be the exception to the rule! He was tough, uncompromising and off-limits. He had no intention of letting anyone get close to him again. And that included Lucy - especially Lucy. He'd made it clear that whatever her relaxed interpretation of her new job was, it didn't include bedroom duties. Lucy Barnes was a brunette… and as far as she was concerned she could make her own rules.She may have traveled to the Caribbean on a whim but impulsiveness was only one of Lucy's weaknesses. The other was for tall blond men - and Troy was one of the sexiest she had ever met! He'd told her he didn't believe in mixing business with pleasure… and that was fine with Lucy. Why let business get in the way of anything?From the author of WILDFIRE: "Pure pleasure… " - Romantic Times

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#u57e583b6-3fe2-5496-9755-fcd3774abe53)

Excerpt (#u0f173f49-9642-56b9-9045-29b4966b8e66)

Dear Reader (#uee196d81-f5c8-572f-8250-140b757af844)

Title Page (#uc864431d-202b-57e6-b3ee-0e5f098285b6)

Chapter One (#uc33e7985-2235-5819-b94e-28a7374af9f5)

Chapter Two (#u21a0ffc4-a1e4-59e2-9d06-6fe4bb200c83)

Chapter Three (#ub4c377c0-6010-51b8-a36e-ab5b9946d0de)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“We’ll get along even if it kills us.”

To Lucy’s horror she heard herself say, “You mean you’ll actually be nice to me?”

“I’ve never in my life met a woman as contentious as you! Don’t you ever let up?”

“I wouldn’t be so cranky if you’d act like a human being,” she retorted. “It’s because you’re so—so unreachable.”

“Unreachable is exactly what I am, and what I intend to remain,” Troy answered grimly. “And don’t, if you value living, ask why.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the first of three scintillating books by Sandra Field. When Sandra first came up with the idea for Beyond Reach she fell in love with her characters so much that she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them behind. So she wrote another book. And then another….

“This series of three books crept up on me unawares. After Troy and Lucy met in the West Indies, I found myself curious to discover how marriage would change them. Hence Second Honeymoon, again set on an island, this time off the coast of Nova Scotia. Lucy’s laid-back friend Quentin and her uptight sister Marcia played minor roles in Second Honeymoon. Once Quentin had appeared on the scene, I knew I wouldn’t rest until I’d brought him face-to-face with Marcia, which I did in my next book, After Hours.”

Follow Lucy and Troy’s continuing story in Second Honeymoon, out in August 1996. Marcia and Quentin’s own romance appears in After Hours— coming in early 1997 in Harlequin Presents!

With warm wishes,

The Editor

Beyond Reach

Sandra Field

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

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_84a490c8-0150-5adb-9eba-a1ce6c9344c0)

LUCY BARNES stared at the words on the board as if she was mesmerized, as if someone was offering her precisely what she wanted most of all in the world.

The individual letters were printed forcefully on a square of white cardboard with an indelible black marker. A masculine hand, she’d be willing to bet, Lucy thought with a distant part of her mind, and read the notice again.

Wanted. Cook/crew-member for four weeks, starting immediately, on chartered 50-foot sloop. Maximum four guests. Apply at Seawind.

She raised her head, looking past the bulletin-board where the notice was pinned to the sunlit row of yachts moored along the cement dock. Several of them were sloops. Which one was Seawind? As if in response to her question, the wind from the sea lifted her hair, teasing its long mahogany-colored curls against her neck. The trade winds, she thought in pure excitement. The famous trade winds of the West Indies that she had read about in geography class, when she had been a little girl and had thought the whole world open to her… But that she had waited until now to experience. She could sail out of this harbor under their impetus. Sail among the green-clad volcanic islands that rose from a sea so blue that it made her feel like shouting for joy. She took two impetuous steps toward the dock.

And then she stopped. Think, Lucy. Think, she ordered herself. You’ve already landed yourself in one mess by acting on impulse. A royal mess. One that you’re not finished with yet. Are you going to compound it by taking another leap into the unknown without considering all the consequences? Let’s face it. An hour ago all you wanted to do was get on the first plane out of here and head home. Where at least you know the rules, even if you don’t like them very much. Chewing her lip, she stood indecisively, the sun beating down on her face and arms, her flowered skirt blowing against her legs like a sail luffing in the wind.

How she wanted to be on that boat! Four weeks of sailing among the Virgin Islands. Four weeks…

Lucy thrust her hands in the pockets of her skirt, looking around her. On the other side of the road that led into the marina there was a wooden bench under a tree adorned with fat clusters of orange flowers. An oleander hedge flanked the road, its sharp-pointed leaves rustling gently, its salmon-pink blooms bobbing up and down. So much color, so much beauty… Lucy marched across the road and sat down, and knew even as she did so that this way she could see if anyone else came along to read the notice and try for the job on Seawind.

The slats of the bench were hard under her thighs. The dappled shade of the tree played with the flowers on her skirt. Tame flowers, she thought absently, running her fingernail along the stem of a tidy little rose. Northern flowers. Nothing like the exuberant blossoms of Road Town, capital of Tortola, largest of the British Virgin Islands. Where she, Lucille Elizabeth Barnes, now found herself.

Her money-belt dug into her waist. At least she still had that. Her money, her return ticket and her passport. Even if that was all she had. Her luggage was sitting in the guest bedroom of the villa belonging to Raymond Blogden, who had been—very briefly—her employer. And there it was likely to stay until she went back with reinforcements. Large male reinforcements. Because she wasn’t going back alone, that was for sure.

Her two sisters had thought she was crazy to answer the advertisement in the Ottawa paper, while her cool, commonsensical mother had said, ‘But what about the clientele you’ve worked so hard to build up, Lucy? Surely if you leave for a month—especially after you’ve just been ill for three weeks—some of them will look elsewhere? Had you thought of that?’

But the ad—rather like the printed notice on the bulletin-board across the road—had seemed like a message from heaven.

Family vacationing in British Virgin Islands requires a massage therapist for month of April. Excellent salary and comfortable quarters in hillside villa in Tortola.

The ad had been placed in March, when winter had been at its worst in Ottawa. Dirty snowbanks edging all the streets. Gray, overcast skies. Not a blossom to be seen anywhere… only the dull, dispirited green of pine and spruce trees that had been battered by frigid winds since December. No wonder she had jumped at the chance of warmth and color and sunshine! To top it all off, she’d been ill for nearly a month, miserably ill, with a flu virus that had clung to her as tenaciously as the patches of ice had clung to the front steps of her apartment building. She had craved a change of scene, a break in her routine. Something different and exciting.

Her lips twisted wryly. Well, she’d certainly gotten that. Rather more than she’d bargained for. Shutting from her mind the ugly little scene that had been played out in the spacious hallway of the hillside villa, she firmed her mouth and tried hard to think in a manner of which her elder sister Marcia would approve.

She could go to the police station, explain what a fool she’d made of herself, trust that they would help her get her luggage back and then head for the airport. Her return fare, luckily, was an open ticket, prepaid by Mr Blogden. She could fly out on the first available seat and go back to Ottawa. Because her mother was right. She, Lucy, had worked extremely hard over the last four years to build her reputation and steady list of clients, and it was irresponsible of her to jeopardize everything she had struggled so long to establish.

She got up. The police station was only a few blocks away. The worst part would be the explanation of why she had fled the Blogden villa at high noon minus her luggage. After that, she’d be home free.

She should go home. Of course she should. Even though she’d finally paid off the last of her student debts, she had her eye on a little house in the country outside Ottawa. If she was going to take on a mortgage she had to do everything in her power to ensure a regular income.