Don’t sleep on the love island that is Bimini in the Bahamas

Look out! — it’s Valentine’s Day and you have Cupid on your six. And just like that, *BLAM* … he just sniped you with a heart dart. 

Now what?

Any jerk with opposable thumbs can simply text out “xoxo” (and whatever accompanying creepy emoji) to their sig-o this month d’amour.

But when it comes to actual romance IRL, will you heed the call? 

There is an island in the Bahamas so seductive, so sensual, so brimming with Big Cardiac Energy that it was the backdrop for then-Sen. Gary Hart’s “Monkey Business” affair in the ’80s with his model mistress Donna Rice.

Before that, the isle’s enchanting marine life inspired Hemingway to pen a novel or two and even Martin Luther King Jr. to write multiple speeches. 

Facts!

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But you needn’t wallow in scandal, nor alcoholism, nor win a Nobel Peace Prize to make a romantic splash down here — just pack some skimpy bathing suits and hop a 25-minute Tropic Ocean Airways seaplane (from $292/RT) over from Ft. Lauderdale, Fla., to North Bimini for a feel-good romp in the US’s closest foreign tropical island. 

Facts!

Head beach in charge

Welcome to a 7-mile-long, golf cart-rife love island where your host isn’t CBS, but sultry Resorts World Bimini. It’s a 750-acre compound sporting a 10,000-square-foot casino, a 305-room Hilton hotel, a fitness center, three pools, a spa, 10 F&B spots, a strip mall, a marina and a new cruise port which debuted last summer.

Hold a sec, let’s catch our breath.

Most noteworthy is the very PDA-friendly 4½-acre private beach complex which likewise opened last year.

The whole resort is essentially a self-contained nation-state whose lobby’s lounge turns into a libidinous, DJ’d mini night club after dark (from $835/pp for its fly and two-night stay package).    

Love to sea it

When your cruise director moonlights as a DJ, you know you’re in for a thrilling, beer-fueled seafaring afternoon. DJ Swagga (and his polymathic crew) aboard a modest Bimini Blue Adventures vessel wore many hats that day: captain, life preserver-fitter, bartender, piggyback carrier for passengers who were skittish of the passive-yet-famished stingrays beneath the shallow ankle-slapping waters on the beach.

(They will give you ticklish hickeys when hand-fed.)

Achtung, gents: ‘Twas Swagga’s dance moves that most captured the attention of our manifest’s females who boogied right along. You’ll visit a swim-in concrete shipwreck named Sapona that clever taggers somehow managed to graffiti, among other open-water spots to just strip down, snorkel and mask up, then plunge on in to explore.

A pizza the action