On the Bare

by Fiona Locke

  ‘Not far now,’ he assured her, panting.

  She liked his Old West drawl and she felt secure as a child in the cradle of his arms as he carried her down the trail and back to the car park. The perfect ending to her twenty-first birthday.

  ‘It’s the red Mercedes,’ she said, nodding towards the gleaming convertible sitting in the shade of a tour bus.

  He set her gently on her feet and she hobbled to the door to unlock the car. Slowly she manoeuvred herself into the driver’s seat, favouring her right leg.

  ‘Are you sure you want to drive?’ he asked doubtfully. ‘Maybe you should have someone look at that ankle.’

  ‘No, it’s OK, I’m all right.’

  ‘They probably have first aid stuff at the Visitor Centre. It’d be no trouble to take you over there.’

  ‘That’s very sweet, but I’ll be fine now. My hotel isn’t far.’ She fixed him with an intense gaze, her green eyes sparkling. ‘You saved my life.’

  The big man turned bashful, looking at the ground and grinning faintly. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Easy enough for me with a little thing like you.’

  Charlie returned his grin, pressing her legs together against a flash of warmth as she gave him a last appraising look. His well muscled arms gleamed with sweat from the effort of pulling her back up onto the path and carrying her for half a mile. Even her slight weight had winded him and she felt a little guilty for the trouble she’d put him to.

  As she pulled out onto the highway she abandoned her pretence of injury, flooring the accelerator to get back to the hotel room so she could relive the moment in private.

  Charlie liked to be rescued. She had been carried down from mountains after countless hiking, skiing and climbing accidents – some of them genuine. She’d been pulled from a few rivers too. Once she had even gone into a burning building purely so she could be slung over a fireman’s shoulder and carried to safety.

  She thrived on the feeling of helplessness, enhanced by the competence of her rescuers. Whether she was actually hurt or not, she would play her role, wincing and groaning as appropriate, while her saviour gathered her in his arms and delivered her from danger. Occasionally he would scold her, admonishing her careless behaviour. Blushing and squirming, Charlie would bat her eyes and promise to be good, though more often than not she was already plotting her next adventure.

  It wasn’t an exact science and sometimes she got more than she bargained for. She’d spent a tedious month in hospital with a broken ankle after falling harder than she’d intended on a ski slope in Verbier. Nineteen at the time, she’d sworn to herself then that she was done with her antics, that it wasn’t worth six weeks of boredom and pain, even if Daddy had found her the best private hospital in Switzerland.

  But less than a year later, she was feeling the urge again. She tested the waters with a few minor stumbles before regaining her courage with an unexpected – and totally genuine – boating accident in Australia. Three rugged Aussies rescued her from the undertow and then, in an ostentatious display of machismo, they took turns carrying her from the boat, to the dock, all the way to her hotel on the waterfront. Of course their gallantry wasn’t entirely selfless. They were showing off to each other as much as to her. Honestly, how many men would grumble too much about saving a petite blonde teenager from drowning and carrying her tanned bikini-clad body a few hundred yards?

  Charlie was buzzing for weeks afterwards. Her three rescuers could have done anything to her and she would have been powerless to stop them. There was nothing in the world to compete with that feeling and she knew there was no curing her of the need for it. Nor could she see any reason to deprive herself. Serious injuries were no fun at all, but she could still indulge her rescue addiction in moderation. She couldn’t enjoy being carried to safety when she was delirious with pain. But sprains, strains, scrapes, cuts and bruises – these she could handle.

  Now as she lay curled in bed, she replayed the latest episode in her mind. She’d encountered the big American on the way up the path to the canyon overlook. And she knew his type – old-fashioned and chivalrous. Inherently a little sexist, but in just the right way. Men like that could never refuse a lady in need.

  Timing her ‘accidents’ could sometimes be tricky, but this one had been easy. She’d followed him down the dusty trail on the way back from the lip of the canyon. She chose her moment, waiting until he was only a few feet ahead of her before slipping on the gravel and tumbling over the edge of the slope. She cried out in alarm, clutching at a shrub and scrabbling for purchase with her boots. In her mind she hung suspended over a deep ravine, where a dislodged stone bounced hundreds of yards down the side of the crevasse, disappearing into the gaping abyss. The reality was less exciting: if she lost her grip she would only slide a few feet down the scree into the bushes. Still, she could sustain some nasty scratches.

  The American reassured her with his voice as he knelt beside the path and reached down for her. He hauled her back up with an easy one-armed yank and Charlie clutched him fearfully, gratefully. Then she took a step and crumpled to the ground. ‘My ankle!’ she cried. His duty was clear.

  She smiled at the memory of her deceit, embellishing the little drama in her mind. In her fantasy he fought his way through a nest of rattlesnakes to save her, carrying her through the cacti and scrub to the cool safety of a cave. There he tore strips from his shirt to bind her wounds, displaying his bronzed torso as he staunched her bleeding. His physical superiority was both arousing and intimidating and she submitted to his ministrations like a trusting child. So he caught her off guard when he suddenly withdrew a length of rope from his rucksack and deftly tied her wrists together over her head.

  ‘What are you –?’ she couldn’t finish the question. She knew the answer. The bulge in his trousers left her in no doubt.

  His eyes had turned hard and flinty. ‘There’s no one around for miles,’ he told her evenly as he slowly began unbuttoning her shirt.

  She struggled feebly, but she was no match for his strength. And her injuries inhibited her further.

  Like a predator lingering over a fresh catch, he took his time unwrapping her. He unfastened her jeans and slowly pulled them down over her legs as she pleaded with him to let her go. With a cruel smile he traced the outline of her cotton panties, finally slipping a finger into the waistband and peeling them down to her knees.

  He stood over her as he unbuckled his belt, snaking it through the loops of his trousers and doubling it. He laid the doubled leather strap aside – a threat, a warning. Cowed, Charlie melted into the cold stone of the cave floor as the big man straddled her and held her down, using her in heartless exquisite ways.

  The swell of ecstasy flooded Charlie’s mind and tore her from the fantasy. She arched her back painfully, crying out as she surrendered to the spasms of pleasure.

  Afterwards she lay flushed and panting on the bed, satisfied but embarrassed. As always, she felt guilty for exploiting her rescuer’s compassion and then defiling it further by recasting him as a villain in her fantasy. Of course, none of her chivalrous knights would ever know the roles they played in her private thoughts afterwards, but the guilt lingered nonetheless. The feeling was sometimes mitigated if she’d suffered actual injuries for her efforts, but this time she only had a scraped knee to show for it.

  ‘Sorry, cowboy,’ she murmured later, rinsing off the dust and dried blood in the shower.

  Later that night, as she picked at her room service food, she felt strangely unfulfilled. Usually she indulged her hobby and treated herself to something obscenely chocolatey after dinner, but tonight she had little appetite. The thrill had passed so quickly. It had been fun, certainly, but not exhilarating. Nothing like the three Australians. That was the benchmark. She yearned for an experience that would top it and she wasn’t going to find it stumbling around on hiking trails. It was time to up the ante.

  ‘So, is this your first time?’

  ‘No, I’ve been rafting befor
e,’ Charlie lied.

  ‘Well, the river’s pretty wild after all the rain this summer,’ the guide said. ‘Lots of Class III rapids and a couple of Class IV. Hope you’re up to it.’

  Was he trying to scare her? Put her off? Fat chance. Lots of rapids meant lots of opportunities to fall in. A good swimmer, Charlie was exceptionally skilled at falling out of boats, flailing in panicky desperation and gulping mouthfuls of water in between cries for help. She’d joined a lifesaver course one summer in California, playing pretend drowning victim to lifeguards and rescue divers, but it hadn’t been the same. They all knew it wasn’t for real, which spoiled the ‘hero’ aspect for her. Still, it had helped her to hone her special skills.

  ‘Sounds exciting,’ she said, looking him over, assessing his potential.

  The whitewater guides tended to be fit university students – guys her own age who spent the summers earning tourist dollars to pay for school. Paddling was hard work and they had the bodies to show for it. Josh was no exception. A proper river rat, he had the baked skin and surfer hair of someone who lived for and on the river. He smiled as he took her money and told her where to go for the safety talk.

  There were seven of them in all, including Charlie and the guide. They put in and paddled downstream and within minutes they reached the first set of rapids. Josh shouted commands and his crew responded, steering the raft so as to time the drops for maximum effect. Water splashed up over the sides of the boat, soaking them.

  As they approached the first set of serious rapids, Charlie slipped her feet out of the foot-pockets and prepared for the big moment.

  ‘Forward! Forward!’ Josh called over the roar of water. Charlie leaned out as far as she could, digging her paddle into the churning water as they went over the drop. The force knocked her out of the raft and the swirling waves pulled her under. She popped up instantly like a cork and looked around for the raft. The current swept her along before she could find it and she struggled to maintain the position she’d been taught: on her back, feet pointed up, facing downstream.

  She went over another small rapid before she heard the others calling her name. The river was calmer here, but the current was still strong and she played her part, shouting for help and waving her arms as though lost at sea.

  The raft was only fifty yards away and she could easily wait until it drew near to climb back in. But there was no fun in that. She splashed and kicked, looking around frantically.

  ‘Something’s got my foot!’ she cried, thrashing in the water like a shark attack victim.

  Seeing her distress, Josh executed a graceful dive into the river and swam for her. He reached her in seconds and grabbed her life vest, hauling her back to the raft while she clung to him, thanking him effusively and trying not to grin. She ate two slices of German chocolate cake that night.

  But in the days that followed she found the experience wanting, as she so often did lately. It had been exciting, but she’d felt silly acting so scared when she wasn’t actually in any danger. The life vest had returned her to the surface at once and calmer water waited beyond almost every set of rapids. Still, she was on to something. It had been a successful first attempt, but she needed to go further.

  Charlie went to a different rafting company for her next outing. But after flirting with the well-built Latino guy in the shop, she wound up with a female guide instead in a raft full of schoolkids. Charlie sulked throughout the ride, grumbling as the kids shrieked at every minor swell and surge and their harried teacher tried to keep them in line.

  Fortunately, the group was too incompetent to follow the guide’s instructions and they managed to wrap the raft, stranding it on a cluster of rocks. Charlie pretended to be disappointed as the guide explained that there was no way to free the raft. It was pinned there by the force of the current, like a wet newspaper plastered against a signpost.

  The kids made faces and looked bored while the guide radioed for help and Charlie made a mental note to avoid this particular outfit in future. At least she would be spared the rest of the trip with them.

  She perked up a little at the arrival of the rescue services, but it was more a conditioned response. She was no longer in the mood and she couldn’t contrive a last-minute disaster anyway. The two men in khaki shorts quickly strung a rope from the stranded raft to the riverbank and helped the kids clamber across one by one. It was a precarious operation. One girl lost her Hogwarts baseball cap and screamed as it flashed out of sight beneath the water. It surfaced some way downstream, but there was no way to reach it. Charlie smiled as an idea came to her.

  ‘High side! High side!’

  The guide and the other four crew jumped to the forward side of the raft and Charlie jumped to the back. It was just enough to upset the balance. Instead of bouncing off the obstacle, the boat reared up in the water. For a dizzying moment it hovered, threatening to capsize, before the oncoming water broke over the trailing edge and sucked it down against the rock. Wrapped.

  The guide muttered a curse and Charlie apologised, looking fearful and wide-eyed at the churning water surrounding them.

  ‘I’m really sorry. I just got scared when I thought we were going to hit the rocks.’

  It was a good wrap. Since the aborted run with the school group, Charlie had discovered a real talent for sabotaging rafting trips. She’d done it up and down the river all summer, with each of several different rafting companies. The guys from the rescue service were always so gentle and considerate. With infinite patience they would coax her to the shore with praise for every halting step, as though she were an invalid learning to walk again. Best of all were the times when she could strand the boat in intense rapids. Then her scared little girl act was more believable.

  ‘No, no, I can’t, the current’s too fast!’ she would whimper, cowering on the rocks like a stranded kitten. Eventually one of the rescuers would have to climb across to her and give her a piggyback ride to the shore. She was hooked. The more she did it the more she needed it.

  This time she’d outdone herself. The water was violently hazardous. A maelstrom roared just beneath where the raft was pinned. The gnarled roots of a drowned tree seemed to be clawing their way out of the froth like skeletal hands. Going over that drop in the raft would have been risky, but falling in without the raft’s protection could be fatal. Especially since her only protection was the life vest. Some paddlers wore wetsuits or even jeans to protect against scrapes, but Charlie only ever wore her most revealing swimwear. Or, like today, a tight white T-shirt and hotpants.

  She huddled in the trapped raft, refusing to move as the others were guided safely to the riverbank by two men from the rescue services. First the young Swedish couple, whose pale skin had suffered terribly in the sun despite their numerous applications of sunscreen. Still, they looked distraught to be ending the adventure prematurely.

  Next across was the geology professor, who had bored Charlie silly by pointing out every geological feature along the run. When she’d asked him sweetly if there would be a test, he had looked wounded and gone silent until they reached the next weathered sandstone outcropping he could exclaim over. He wasn’t finding much of geological interest now as he made his way tentatively across the slippery rocks, clinging to the rope for dear life.

  Charlie watched in fascination as a tangle of debris made its way downriver, swept along by the ferocious current. An uprooted tree tumbled through the waves before hitting a cluster of rocks. The wood splintered with a sickening crack and the remnants flowed like matchsticks past the raft.

  The guide, Tyler, gestured for Charlie to go next. But she stayed where she was, shaking her head frantically.

  ‘I can’t, I can’t!’

  He rolled his eyes. Without another attempt to encourage her he climbed out of the raft and headed for the bank, negotiating the rope with skill. Charlie was a little taken aback at the desertion. Shouldn’t the captain go down with the ship? Then again, the rescue services boys were there to save them. An
d besides, his lack of chivalry only gave her more ammunition. Not that she needed to pretend; the hungry turbulence already had her second-guessing this particular adventure.

  That left Charlie and the last passenger, a man around forty with the brooding manner of a Hollywood tough guy. He hadn’t said anything throughout the trip and while the others had chatted after stopping for lunch along the bank an hour before, he’d gone off by himself into the woods.

  Now he locked eyes with Charlie and she couldn’t discern the meaning of his black-eyed stare. Was he simply pissed off at her for messing up the run?

  ‘Please,’ she said, trying to sound conciliatory, ‘you go first. I’m too scared. I’ll wait for the rangers to help me.’

  He stared at her for several seconds, his eyes inscrutable. Then he shouldered his bag and made his way along the rope to join the others. On the bank, the Swedish girl was texting someone on her phone while her husband slathered more sunscreen on his legs. Tyler and the professor stood staring at the ground, looking bored and frustrated, while the black-eyed stranger watched Charlie closely.

  The two rangers beckoned to her, coaxing and encouraging. ‘Come on, we’ll help you. We won’t let you fall in.’

  They were both athletic outdoor types, fit and capable. The younger of the two looked about thirty, with short spiky bleached hair. The older one looked disconcertingly like her father. He moved to the very edge of the bank and, smiling, held his arms out as though inviting Charlie to jump the thirty-foot stretch and be caught. His attempt at encouragement felt like a parody and Charlie wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

  ‘I can’t swim,’ she called across the roar of water, as though confessing a shameful secret.

  The men exchanged a glance and then the younger one began making his way along the rope to her. He moved cautiously, watching closely where he put his feet and keeping a firm grip on the rope. He stopped halfway across and called to her.