“I cut the engine and turned in the seat to look, for the umpteenth time, at Donna. Donna was Donna O'Reilly of the shimmering black hair and soft, tender mouth, and eyes green as the sod of her native Ireland. Donna was five-three of sweetly curving temptation, a breath of brogue, and full of cute little tricks like laughing warmly into your ear while biting on it. That last sensational sensation I had experienced only a couple of times, since I'd met Donna less than eighteen hours ago when I'd... made the date for today, but I had stratospheric hopes because we were miles out of Los Angeles and headed for a picnic in the yonder hills. Until now our potentially mad affair had been merely words and two nibbles, but I'm an optimist — and so far Donna liked everything I liked: dancing, bourbon-and-water, rare prime ribs. Even tropical fish, which I keep and breed. Driving out she'd spotted the sign here and bubbled, "Oh, let's go in there. I know Mr. Gordon — he's spawning Amphiprion Percula today." Well, naturally I wheeled right in.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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