Man of Passion (14 page)

Life was precious to
Rafe
. He lived in the moment, for at any time, he could be killed by a miner or drug runner's bullet. Every day was like a feast before him and he wanted to take full advantage of each new dawn. He normally embraced life completely, without apology or hesitation—except when it came to women. No, they were to be approached slowly and with respect.

Though Ari was someone he wanted to know more intimately, he shoved that desire aside.
Completely.
Still, his body ached with the ripening awareness that he wanted to touch her. What would it be like to run his fingers through the strands of her golden hair? They had felt silky and strong tangled around his fingertips yesterday. She invited his touch. Her skin was like that of a soft, ripe peach and he wanted to explore every inch of her with kisses, the lick of his tongue, indulging and losing himself in her womanly fragrance. More than anything, he felt his heart clamoring loudly to own up to his feelings about her. How could he? Ari was here to live out a dream for herself and her mother. And that was
all
she was here for.

Rafe
heard her skipping down the plank. Lifting his head, he watched as she made her way back to where he sat. He remembered how she had hesitated earlier to come down the rickety and somewhat wobbly plank. This time she practically sailed down without apprehension. Yes, that was good. Ari was already learning to not be so afraid of the world around her. In fact, she was emboldened in her new surroundings and he knew why: he was supporting her as she stepped out of her normal, scared self, so that she could clasp life in both hands, instead.

He watched as she plopped down next to him breathless, and quickly opened her journal. Painstakingly, she took her pen, wrote down the day and the time. Silence lulled them as she began to pen the story of the
onca
goddess. Her handwriting was precise, with a flowery edge to it.

"I wish my handwriting was as easy to read as yours,"
Rafe
said. "My boss back at headquarters gripes all the time, when he gets my sweat-stained reports, that my hen scratching is like a doctor's scrawl."

Ari grinned. "I'm not surprised your reports are sweaty, I can feel the humidity in the air." She lifted one hand and touched the other palm. "My hands are already damp."

"
Mmm
, the humidity is usually at its highest in the morning hours. As the sun rises, it will lower. We're in the dry season, fall, anyway, which is good if you want to sketch the orchids. Come winter, it will rain all day and night, almost nonstop. The Amazon will rise and flood out this area completely."

"Really?"
Ari looked around, impressed.

"Yes, so you'd better plan on getting most of your orchids drawn in the next three months."

"I love the rain," Ari said softly, returning to her journal. "I could hunt for orchids, bring them back to the houseboat and draw down below, couldn't I?"

The thought of having her for longer than three months made him uneasy. How he wished Ari would stay that long, but the reasonable side of his nature, the pragmatic side, told him she would more than likely leave sooner rather than later. "Yes," he said, "you could. I can string some lights above the table for you. I've got a small gasoline generator in the engine room that can be fired up and used on days like that. You'll need good light to draw."

Ari reached out, her fingers sliding along
Rafe's
dark, hairy forearm. His flesh was hard and warm beneath her fingertips. She saw his eyes suddenly darken, like the sky as a storm gathered. His lips parted slightly in reaction to her unexpected touch. She couldn't help herself, nor did she want to where
Rafe
was concerned. "You're such a wonderful knight in shining armor to me." Her voice lowered. "And you're so thoughtful. I—I just never expected this…or you…and I feel like I'm in this wonderful, unfolding dream filled with beauty and love…."

Love.
The word was like a brand burning into his heart. As Ari softly touched his arm, an electric feeling moved wildly up through him, and
Rafe
could no longer think. She was so spontaneous, this wild, natural woman of his, that he was constantly caught off guard by her. He knew his heart was in danger, but he was helpless against the flow of feelings she conjured in him. Powerless in the face of her innocent affection—sweet feelings that would one day surely burn them both.

Ari was just putting the finishing touches on her first orchid portrait when she heard shouts and cries from the
Amazon River
.
Rafe
had set up a small table and chair for her beneath the long, wide leaves of a two-year-old banana tree near the jungle's edge, away from the path to the
Juma
village. She faced the river so that she could see all the colorful birds that were in constant flight across it. The spot provided shade as well as privacy, and she had wanted to be alone to draw. But she was glad she was close enough to where
Rafe
performed his daily activities. Putting her colored pencil aside, Ari raised her chin toward the sounds coming from the camp.

She could see three dugout canoes coming into the
igarape
.
Rafe
emerged from the houseboat and lifted his hand in greeting as he spoke in the Indian language to the men in loincloths, who paddled their canoes to the bank in order to disembark. Like all the Indians Ari had met so far, these men were very short compared to
Rafe
, who towered over them.

With a sigh, she thought about all that she'd encountered in the seven days since coming to
Amazonia
. Her life had slowed down to vivid moments with animals, visits with the Indian people or hours drawing her first orchid for the book. More than anything, Ari admitted to herself,
Rafe's
constant company was what she desired. She derived great pleasure in watching him work, whether he was talking with the Indian leaders constantly coming and going from his campsite, or wrestling with a mountain of paperwork, which, he admitted, he hated doing.

Most of all, Ari enjoyed the moments alone with
Rafe
.
They traded off cooking duties. One day she would cook, the next day he would. Doing dishes at night in the hold of the houseboat, standing elbow to elbow with him at the drain board, was a secret thrill to her. She
liked
touching
Rafe
"accidentally." And despite her lack of experience with men, she knew what it meant when his eyes darkened perceptibly as she brushed his arm with her own. If she was any judge, he enjoyed the pleasurable accidents, too.

When Ari saw a man dressed like a chief, with macaw feathers draped around his neck, leap out of the prow of one dugout canoe as soon as the bow touched the bank, she knew something was wrong. The chief was talking rapidly, his voice stressed, as he hurried toward
Rafe
, who was walking down the plank to greet them.

Ari saw the grimness on the faces of the other warriors, who disembarked and pulled their canoes partly up on the bank. Dressed in loincloths because of the heat and humidity, they carried blowguns, machetes in leather sheaths at their sides, as well what looked like two very old rifles, with them. This was the first time Ari had seen armed Indians. Frowning, she sat up, watching alertly from her table.
Rafe
invited them to sit down at the campfire. There was always a greeting ceremony, and
Rafe
was respectful of each tribe's protocols. He poured them coffee, and Ari watched as they eagerly dumped several heaping spoonfuls of white sugar into their cups, knowing that sugar was a rare treat for the Indians.

Ari knew enough to keep out of
Rafe's
business. Many times she'd seen him act as a peacemaker between two tribal nations. She enjoyed watching him use his hands, his cajoling deep voice and facial expressions to get disagreeing parties to cooperate with one another in order to keep the peace within his district. He was a man of honor.
A knight who cared and protected the people in his domain.

Distracted by the sight of the men in the distance, but not wanting to intrude on them, Ari decided to take a walk. It was an hour until lunch. She felt happy with the completion of her first orchid drawing. Oh, the quality was nothing to write home about, but she was pleased with her effort. Leaving her table where the orchid and her sketchbook lay, she wandered down the trail toward the
Juma
village.

Rafe
stood with his hands propped tensely on his hips as Chief
Mulki
and his men paddled away from the camp. Turning, he caught sight of Ari emerging from the path. For a brief moment, the sun peeked out from behind the cottony cumuli overhead and the beams seemed to set her hair on fire like gold being melted at high heat. Did she know how beautiful she was? Today she wore a pale pink, cotton camisole with delicate lace that outlined her upper body to perfection, and khaki slacks that emphasized her wide hips. Hips, he realized, that could easily carry and birth a baby. Frowning, he wondered where that thought had come from. In
Amazonia
, the Indian women gave birth naturally, in their huts. They had no clinic or medical facilities nearby. And there were no cesarean sections, either.
Rafe
had learned, over the
years, that
a woman with wide hips would birth easily. Those with narrower hips always had long, agonizing births instead.

As Ari saw him and smiled shyly in his direction, he felt his heart expand with joy. It would be easy to imagine Ari loving him, having his babies and raising them with him in the wilds of
Amazonia
, truly free and natural. Rubbing his wrinkled brow, he tried to erase those nagging thoughts, but they were like delicious nectar being sipped out of an orchid. He couldn't imagine such a life with her. He feared too much that she would lure him away from the Amazon and everything that he held as dear. After all, she'd only just come here from her comfortable life in the States. Her wonder with this land could be short-lived.

Besides, Ari deserved someone who wasn't a rogue like himself. She needed someone who was willing to live the same conventional and privileged lifestyle she'd come from. No, he was a lone warrior fighting overwhelming odds out here in
Amazonia
, and he could offer Ari none of those things. Coming from a moneyed and powerful family, she would never be satisfied with his Spartan lifestyle, anyway. He couldn't trust that her love for
Amazonia
would last—especially considering the world she had left behind.

As he watched her approach,
Rafe
silently applauded Ari's new posture. Now she walked with her chin up most of the time and her shoulders drawn back with newly found esteem, instead of rounded as before. The changes in her over the past week were startling and invigorating to him. It was like watching a butterfly emerge from her imprisoning cocoon and grow into a beautiful creature before his eyes.

As Ari approached,
Rafe
reached out. "Come and sit down, I've got some bad news," he told her. As his hand made contact with hers, he saw her eyes grow soft with desire. When her fingers curled around his with equal firmness,
Rafe
had to stop himself from drawing her fully against him and kissing her senseless.

"Bad news?"
Ari asked, alarmed.
Rafe
still held her hand as she sat down next to him on the log facing the campfire. She waited for such moments with him; the natural intimacy that connected them powerfully to one another leaped to life like a lightning bolt flashing between them. Abruptly, he released her hand, as if realizing he was holding it far too long. Ari felt sad; she liked contact with him.

"Yes. Chief
Mulki
was just here with some of his warriors. He lives about ten miles downstream, at the edge of my territory."
Rafe
motioned in that general direction. "One of his nephews just got captured by a drug lord. He's probably being taken to one of the cocaine factories deep in the jungle, to work as a slave laborer there."

Compressing her lips, Ari held
Rafe's
worried gaze. "You said this happened often."

"Yes," he said unhappily.
"Too often."

"And his life's in danger?"

"It might be,"
Rafe
hedged, seeing the darkness of fear stalking her wide blue eyes. "I promised the chief I'd leave in the skiff today and go downriver and investigate. Usually, when this happens, the person—child or adult—is never seen again. They're put in chains to do the work in the factories during the day, and at night they're herded with other captured Indians into a fenced prison—barbed wire with concertina strung across the top of it—so they can't escape. And if they do try to escape, they're shot dead." With a shake of his head,
Rafe
muttered, "Very few have come back to tell us about these things. I wish my country would mount a military effort, work with the Indians and attack these factories. I know where several of them are." Frustration lined his voice. "If I went in there alone to try and free any Indians, I'd be killed long before I ever reached a facility. The drug lords have guards posted miles away from the factories. No one has been able to make a dent in these illegal operations."