Chapter 83

That didn’t stop Russian grandpas with potbellies from wearing Speedos, however. Even the ladies—who could be counted on, Quinn assumed, as the more discerning, fashionable sex—favored itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny bikinis, forget the yellow polka dots, regardless of figure types.

“Maybe it’s the place itself,” Tam said as they strolled up a stone path to their villa. “There’s a sensuality here I’ve never experienced before, a languor. You don’t want anything to stand between the sun, sand, and sea and your bare skin.”

They paused before a Hindu temple at the edge of the hotel property that was a study in filigree with soaring, dark brown wood spires and niches filled with gods and goddesses, limbs entwined in various gymnastic, Kama Sutra-style poses, the female figures’ globular breasts and buttocks sculpted to bursting.

“And yet, here’s a sign that says, ‘No menstruating women may enter,’” Tam said. “Wonder how they’d feel about two gay men?”