SOUVENIR

Claire was running with a graceful, fluid action, the sand an oddly sensuous warmth to the soles of her slender feet. She wished fervently that she was wearing more clothes, but at least the skimpy white bikini allowed total freedom of movement. Trickles of sweat stung her eyes; she wiped at them as she ran.
Glancing back, she saw he was gaining on her, though his smart shoes weren't made for running. He was fit as well as strong; he'd taken off his shirt for the chase, and his torso with its heavy definition of muscle was evidence of hard manual work in his past, however much of a businessman he was now.
Ironic that she and her two friends had always thought of this beach as so safe. No tourist knew about it; neither for that matter did many locals. The three nurses considered it their private domain where they could unwind from the stress of work, sunbathing, enjoying girl talk, free from prying eyes and the unwanted attention of would-be Romeos.
Until a few minutes ago.
The chartered motor cruiser had found the beach by accident. He had been at the wheel, and when he saw the three bikini-clad girls, he simply steered the boat onto the sand. Maybe the girls should have made a break for it there and then, but at first glance, the five men from the boat looked so respectable; all of them in their thirties or forties, wearing suit trousers and collared shirts, unbuttoned against the heat of the July sun.
Claire had noticed him at once. He wasn't big ' certainly under six feet ' but the roughly handsome, gypsy-looking face made him seem dangerous, unpredictable. His curly hair was iron-grey; far from looking decrepit, it just increased the impression of hardness. For a few moments, her eyes met his, green-almond against flinty grey, a darker grey than his hair.
His gaze burned her like the rays of the sun. She looked away, affronted yet fascinated, as if she had attracted the attention of a predatory animal.
For a while there had been a kind of verbal fencing. The other men tried to make small talk: the nurses were polite without giving encouragement. He was silent, restless-looking, as if exasperated by the thought that between men and nearly-naked girls there might be nothing more than polite conversation.
And then one of her friends had said, a little awkwardly: "Well, nice meeting you, but we've got to be going now, and stood up, reaching for her clothes. For a moment, the whole situation hung in the balance, and then he had moved, taking a gentle but firm hold of the girl round the waist, hard hands against pliant bare skin. Outraged, she struggled uselessly, protesting, everyone knowing a line had been crossed, conventions broken. Claire's other friend tried to intervene, and that was the signal for all the men to act, willing hands reaching, overpowering with ridiculous ease.
Fighting was useless: Claire turned and ran. But she knew now that she would never make it to the end of the beach. Fleet-footed as she was, he was faster. But wait! When she glanced back again, he was slowing down, holding his side. Too many expense account lunches, you bastard! she thought fleetingly. She could make it, the path from the beach was only thirty yards away, twenty. She forced her unwilling body to step up its pace, hearing only her own gasps for breath and the blood pounding in her ears. The sun was relentless, kneading her flesh like some uninvited masseur, teasing rivulets of perspiration down her belly and back and the cleft between her full breasts. She looked back again - she couldn't see him, and for a wonderful moment she thought he had fallen, then a hand smacked her bottom and she screamed with shock and rage, realising she'd been tricked, blindsided, as a muscled arm tightened round her waist. Yelling, she fought like a tigress, angrier than ever for knowing he was being careful not to hurt her, but he wrestled her to the ground, trapping both her arms ' she was writhing against him but he was holding her, holding her, and suddenly the contact of their bodies had an utterly different significance, chemistry and the adrenalin of the chase and the fight transmuting, exploding as they kissed. She twined his thick hair in her fingers as he held her more tightly than when they'd struggled, the urgent exploring of lips and tongues making her head swim as she gripped at his back and shoulders, maddened as she felt his hands, more gentle but just as firm, over her impossibly sensitive flesh. She thought the two of them might suffocate as they tore off their remaining clothes: sex was oxygen and they had to breathe, quickly, but then they were naked, moving together on a beach that was empty like the whole world, for they were the only people who could exist '

* * *

Afterwards, as she lay drowsy in his arms, she must have slept. Now she was being carried across his shoulder, one of his arms across the back of her thighs, his other hand on her backside. The bikini was gone; she was nude.
"What are you going to do with me? she said.
"Take you with me.
"You can't! But she knew the rules had changed - she was a parcel, a prize. "What about my friends?
He shrugged. "Those four will have to fight over them. All I know is, you belong to me. I knew it as soon as I saw you.
She started to say something, then changed her mind. His purpose and power, the hand on her naked bottom, were statements no words could answer. For a few moments she lifted her head and watched the path from the beach, her freedom, receding into the distance. Then she could only close her eyes in a kind of despairing bliss.