He was supposed to be writing his Sunday sermon. But it was hard to write a sermon when he’d just returned from his honeymoon. A week in the sun. Blue skies, bleached sand beaches, an aqua surf. A small cottage with complete privacy…Donna. The two of them making love on that bed of damp sand beneath that brilliant sky…beneath a benign moon. In the crystal-clear water…. A little tap sounded at his door and he started. “Yes?” Donna popped her head in, then entered. They had left the heat and clear skies behind them; winter had come, with its first snow, which had immediately turned to a grimy slush. Donna was no longer clad in a skimpy bikini, a strapless sundress—or nothing at all. But the sweater she wore molded provocatively to the fullness of her breasts, and being well acquainted with the lush mounds that lurked beneath it, her appearance did little to dispel the sexy thoughts that had come to him with his memory of the island. “Hi,” she said cheerfully. “What are you doing?”
