Halfway down, Steve took a detour down a rocky ledge edged with thick brush and stunted mesquite. The air grew cooler, and she could hear a loud, muffled roar, like the approach of a train. Vegetation became thicker and almost tropical, reminding her of the trees near Oaxaca.

When they rode around a bend, the low roar suddenly turned into a deafening crash, and Ginny sucked in a sharp breath as she saw the source.

From high above, cascading over gray rock formations like graceful wings, water poured in a thundering rush to a wooded pool. Spume rose into the damp air, and sunlight glinted from the curve of a rainbow that disappeared into the mist.

Steve grinned at her, and beckoned for her to follow him, words useless in the noise of the falling water.

They were to spend the night here, a short distance down from where the water bombarded rocks and the shallow basin. Ginny immediately took off all her clothes and splashed in the water that was crystal clear and breathtakingly cold. She scrubbed her body, then her hair, standing waist-deep in the natural pool, toes curled into the pebbles on the bottom for balance against the swirling current. She felt like a mermaid, bare breasted, hair heavy wet ropes draped down her back and over her shoulders.

Steve was downstream a bit farther, investigating the most likely spot for them to spend the night, and she took advantage of his absence to lay down on a warm, mossy rock in the sun. There was something so sensual and free about being totally naked, and she closed her eyes against the glaring light beating down.

It had been far too long since she had enjoyed such freedom; Nassau, perhaps, when she had discovered the bathing pool surrounded by palm, pomegranate and orange trees, a veritable paradise. She stretched languorously. Perhaps her skin would tan to a peachy gold color again if she lay here long enough. What would Steve say when he came back and found her like this?

She almost laughed at the thought of his face, then thought that he would probably strip off his own clothes and join her. He’d looked hot, dusty and tired, but determined to find a place he deemed safe to spend the night. Why could they not stay here, by the pool?

Oh, she really was entirely too much of a sensualist, for she was certain she could go about without clothes all the time if it wouldn’t shock everyone who knew her. Wasn’t it true that Benjamin Franklin had been what they called a freethinker, preferring to sit in his own parlor as naked as the day he’d been born? Of course, men could get away with doing such things and not be regarded by society as loose. Eccentric, perhaps, but not immoral.