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experienced asense of wonder that for many people this paradise was part of a daily routine. She couldn’t imagine not having to be somewhere at certain times most of the day, every day.
    She glanced at her watch and frowned when she realized twenty-five minutes had passed during her musings about how the other half lived. Her forearms were turning a light pink and her underwear felt damp and clammy. She frowned and looked around for shade, but all the vegetation lay on the other side of the gate. Craning her neck in the direction Randy had gone, she wondered what could be taking him so long. She really needed to visit the bathroom.
    Ten minutes later, she lifted the latch on the gate and stepped into the immaculate yard area. After a glance over her shoulder at the motorcycle, Frankie took a few tentative steps down the stone path, exhaling in relief when she stepped beneath the lush canopy of trees that met above the narrow walk-way. She stood still for a moment, allowing the coolness to bathe her scalding skin. The voices and music were much louder now, and she could see snatches of sand and water through the trees and undergrowth. In fact, she could hear Randy’s voice relatively close by and decided to walk farther down the path. She saw him standing by a shoulder-high wooden privacy fence, talking to a balding man on the other side of the partition and making notes on a small pad.
    The other gentleman noticed her and raised a hand in greeting. Randy turned around, then grimaced in apology. “I’m almost finished,” he called to her.
    “Join us.” The man gestured, smiling in welcome. “I’m Tom Hartelman.”
    Frankie approached them, feeling a bit sheepish. “Frankie Jensen. I walked down to find some shade,” she said, rubbing her fiery arms.
    “Randy,” the man chided. “Bring your friend in for a cool drink.”
    “Well, I—”
    “Look at her, man. She’s frying.”
    “Actually,” Frankie said with a wry smile, “I was hoping I could visit a bathroom.”
    Randy frowned slightly. “Frankie—”
    “Why, of course, my dear,” the gentleman said. “Come right in and meet some of Randy’s friends.”
    “Frankie,” Randy said as he held the handle of the wooden gate. “Can you wait? My friends are a little different—”
    “Relax,” she murmured, indignant. “I can hold my own amongst your rich friends.”
    His mouth twisted in amusement, and when the older man opened the gate, Randy swept his bronze arm wide in acquiescence.
    Frankie gave him a tight smile, then stepped across the threshold onto the pale, glittery sand. She felt him fall in close behind her. In fact, his body slammed into hers when she stopped short at the contented scene. Some people were sunning in chaises, some were playing volleyball, some were relaxing in the shade with tropical drinks. There were both genders, all shapes and sizes and skin tones, with one universal theme.
    Clothing appeared to be optional.

4
    R ANDY STEPPED around Frankie and watched her carefully. Her lips parted ever so slightly and her blue eyes rounded. He counted to nine before she swung her gaze to him, her eyebrows high, her expression one of puritan disapproval.
    Suddenly contrite, he shrugged, palms up. “I tried to warn you.”
    She glanced to his friend Tom who, very much at ease with his big nude body, extended his hand. Frankie shook his hand woodenly, and once again Randy felt protective of her, suddenly embarrassed that he had exposed her to the more liberal side of the Keys. When Tom walked off in search of a drink, Randy touched her arm lightly. “Relax, Red, we don’t have to stay and you don’t have to take off your clothes if it makes you uncomfortable.”
    She turned back to him, her pale face flushed. Straightening her shoulders in an unconvincing show of bravado, she said in a low tone, “Listen, Buster—my name is Frankie. And taking off my clothes doesn’t make me uncomfortable unless I happen to be standing around in