The beach was deserted, and beautiful. Amarinthe threw off her clothes and ran into the breaking surf. She swam out until the cool water sluiced the troubles of the day from her skin and her mind.
The face that broke the surface beside her was moustached and leathery. He eyed her pale curves with interest before tangling a flipper in her hair and swimming downwards with irresistible strength.
She should have been afraid, she knew, but all she could think about was the beauty of the turquoise water as it rushed into her lungs.
They found her clothes next morning.