To the Ends of the Earth

PROLOGUE
She was perfect. Sleek, sensuous, responding to the lightest touch.

And therefore dangerous to the man who tried to control her. He would have to be catlike in his reflexes. A moment's inattention would--

The phone rang, destroying his concentration.

Travis Danvers looked up from his computer screen and blinked like a man surfacing after a long dive into un-charted waters. His blue-green eyes were unfocused. He rubbed his short, tawny beard, shook his head briskly, and tried to concentrate on the here and now rather than on the ever-changing interplay of wind, hull, water, and sail.

Through an open window near the desk, the scent and sound of ocean waves poured into the room, calling to Travis at a level deeper than words. The Santa Ana wind had blown Southern California's usual smog all the way to Catalina Island. The land lay revealed in all its bronzed, late summer splendor. The ocean was a shimmering, restless blue.

He should be out there on the water, feeling the Wind Warrior heel over as her sails filled and she stepped into the wind.

The phone kept on ringing.

Travis glared at the dainty instrument. He hated all phones in general and this one with a special passion.

Pink.

Bloody hell. What was my cousin thinking of when she redecorated the house -- Easter eggs and nurseries

The phone rang for the eighth time. Travis blew out a breath and flirted with the seductive idea of ignoring the phone and slipping back into the computer-driven virtual world where he tried out new ideas for catching every last whisper of wind in a ship's sails.

The phone rang. Number nine.

With a muttered curse he saved his most recent design changes, grabbed the silly pink receiver in his big hand, and snarled his usual telephone greeting.