Man of Passion (7 page)

This was all he needed—an immature girl on his hands. Even a rich socialite woman would be better than this.
Rafe
, on the other hand, was mature beyond his years. His lifestyle, his responsibilities and the inherent dangers surrounding him, guaranteed that. His expectations fell further as he drew closer to her. She wasn't even self-confident, more like a frightened rabbit in unknown surroundings.
Great.
The word
babysitter
rang in his head and he felt anger.

In his world, he was a loner; he had accepted what he was a long time ago. His family was disdainful of his life as a backwoodsman. His father had disowned him because
Rafe
had refused to fill his parents' expectation that he would become a rich, powerful aristocrat in
Brazil
's government, as every son in the Antonio family had for the last two hundred years.
Rafe
was proud of what he did, but he did it alone. And not with something like this bedraggled-looking blond
norteamericana
hanging around his neck.

Rafe
fought the protective feelings that rose in him as he looked at her. He noticed everyone looking at her, too.
And why not?
She was the only blonde in the airport. More than that, she was beautiful in an awkward though arresting way. The black, ankle-length cotton skirt decorated with splashes of pink,
fuschia
and plum flowers that she wore swung with each small step she took. In one hand, she clutched a piece of paper—probably his photo. In the other, a
Panama
straw hat, the type that could be rolled up and crushed into a suitcase.

Looking like a pack animal with her huge purse and two attending black nylon bags, she labored under the weight. Seeing an opening in the crowd,
Rafe
slid smoothly through it in order to reach her. As he moved around several people, murmuring his apologies, he saw her catch sight of him.

Ari sucked in a huge gasp of air. It
was
him! The
Hollywood
star! Gulping, she froze.
Rafe
Antonio was like a tall, gorgeous god passing through the throngs of lesser beings. As he moved, he didn't disturb anyone. Instead, he had a boneless kind of grace that stopped her in her tracks. She stared in abject awe of him, as if he were a supernatural being.

Ari tried to stop her flights of fancy about this man, but it was impossible. As she stood there, weighted down like a mule, feeling disheveled and shamed because she felt so wretched compared to him, Ari could only watch him come closer, her heart pulsing powerfully.

As he glided effortlessly through the crowd, she watched as he lifted his hand and removed his sunglasses, placing them in the sweat-stained left pocket of his khaki shirt. When he looked up, she gasped again. His eyes were a cinnamon color—large, wide with intelligence and…something else.
Aggravation?
The sense of kindness about this man that had bowled Ari over at first seemed as if it was being replaced by the different emotions she saw in his narrowing eyes. She wasn't used to being so in tune with a man, and it shook her deeply to be able to tell so much of his emotions. To Ari, it was as if she were somehow invisibly connected to him, as if she were a seismograph registering every vibration she felt around him. It was a shocking sensation. And he was so incredibly handsome! She noticed a slight sheen of perspiration across his golden-colored skin and a smear of grease beneath the left side of his hard
jawline
. As his gaze met hers, Ari tried to pull away from his mesmerizing look. It was impossible. She felt drawn to him, to his soul, and the wildly exciting and powerful connection was overwhelming.

Dizzied and feeling terribly inept in his towering presence, Ari felt her purse sliding off her shoulder. Oh, no! It was a huge, oversize purse, one that she had packed with overnight accessories in case there was an emergency. As the heavy bag clunked to the floor, she tripped over it. With a cry, she went down on her hands and knees.

Rafe
saw her fall, but he was too far away to catch her or break her tumble to the floor. The crowds parted quickly when people realized what had happened, so it was easy to sweep into the widening circle, slide his fingers around her arms and lift her back to her feet. She felt firm, yet soft beneath his hands. As he leaned over, he could smell the lingering scent of an exotic perfume.
Perhaps a hint of jasmine.
She was so close, so helpless in that moment.

"Oh…" Ari moaned as she looked up to see
Rafe
leaning over her, felt his strong hands grip her arms. She felt so embarrassed!

"Allow me,
Señorita
Worthington…." All of his anger and trepidation ebbed away. She was helpless and sweet,
Rafe
realized. Not a teenager, either.
A young woman.
That was good.

His voice was deep, dark honey melting right through to her wildly pounding heart. Ari felt his hands slip around her upper arms to first steady her, and then lift her as if she weighed nothing at all. Humiliated by her fall, she tried not to look at the people moving slowly around them. A number murmured to her in Portuguese and reached out and gently patted her shoulder or arm, as if to help her. Their kindness rattled Ari. She expected people to ignore her and move around her, irritated and giving her disdainful glances.

When Ari lifted her chin and looked up, up into the warm brown eyes of the man who had rescued her, she felt her knees going weak again. Instinctively, she grabbed at his forearms and felt the muscles there tighten. As she gripped him for support, heat rolled up her neck and into her face. Now she was blushing.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured apologetically. "I—I'm such a klutz! I'm always stumbling and falling. What a mess I've made—again…."

Rafe
gave her a tight smile. "
Señorita
,
I'm
Rafe
Antonio. Please, don't be apologizing. As you can see, no one takes offense at what has happened. You mustn't, either…." The look in her eyes was like that of a wounded animal, or a child who had done something terribly wrong. Why?
Rafe
wondered. Her lovely oval face was flushed a deep pink color. Her mouth…He quickly tore his attention from that mouth, which reminded him of a beautiful rose opening in the morning sunlight. She was incredibly beautiful in her own way, even if she was a spoiled, rich
norteamericana
brat. He liked her broad forehead, her slightly angled blond eyebrows and those flawless blue topaz eyes. Her nose was small, her nostrils flared with chagrin. Though her chin was weak, it completed the oval perfection of her face. As she tried to get her balance, her thick, blond hair moved like ripples on the surface of the
Amazon River
he loved so much.

Ari couldn't stand
Rafe's
intense inspection and she tore her gaze from his. Once she was upright, she took a step away from him. He released one arm, but carefully monitored his firm hold on the other.

"I'm okay…really, I am…." Then she realized her lapse in manners. "I'm so sorry. I'm Arianna Worthington, Mr. Antonio…." She thrust out her hand. "Oh, and I speak some Spanish, if that's easier for you."

Rafe
took her proffered hand in his, leaned down and placed a kiss upon the back of it.
"
Rafe
Antonio at your service,
Señorita
Worthington.
And thank you, but I prefer to use my English, as I don't often get to speak it."

Ari was thrilled. His hand was huge compared to hers and yet he held her fingers carefully, as if she were delicate porcelain that might shatter with too much pressure applied to it. As his strong mouth grazed her flesh, a series of wild shocks leaped up her arm. Her heart pounded violently in response. No one had ever kissed her hand before! She had to remember she was in a foreign country and that customs were different here. As
Rafe
raised his head, his brown eyes were hard and merciless looking. Was he unhappy with her?
Most likely, Ari thought, her heart failing with pain.
So was her father. She could do nothing to please him, either. Was
Rafe
like her father? The thought made her stomach knot.

"Oh…well, thank you,
Señor
Antonio…." She quickly pulled her hand away, her flesh tingling deliciously where his mouth had brushed it. Completely off balance due to his impeccable manners, his confidence and power as a man in charge, she felt like a blithering dolt in comparison.

"Call me
Rafe
," he murmured in response, picking up her luggage and handing her the purse. He didn't want to like her. She was artless. Or was it a ploy, like the one Justine, his ex-fiancée, had used on him? She'd been a careful manipulator of his heart and head, and had pretended a helplessness and innocence similar to what Arianna Worthington was now displaying. Was it an act? Was it real? Justine had played him like a harp, so much so that he had agreed to leave his jungle home, move to
Manaus
and continue his career as a paper pusher instead. One night Justine's mask had fallen off and he'd seen the real woman beneath—nothing like the one he'd fallen in love with.
Rafe
was wary of women since that experience. He knew they could play games, could be coy, manipulative and yes, pretend to be a bird with a broken wing. He gave Arianna a hard look. Was she a Justine in disguise? The thought was distasteful to him. He couldn't think of spending up to six months with such a woman.

Ari moved forward with
Rafe
leading the way. The crowd seemed to part miraculously for this man who stood head and shoulders above everyone else. Despite how he was dressed, Ari saw other people looking up at
Rafe
, admiring him, respecting his space. It was an unspoken thing and yet it was palpable and thrilling to her. What was it about him? His chin lifted at a proud angle, and his shoulders were so broad they took her breath away. The way he walked was wonderful to Ari. She wished she could have that same proud, aristocratic carriage.

"You can call me Ari," she said a little breathlessly as she hurried to catch up to him.

Rafe
instantly reduced his stride. He realized that Ari was shorter and therefore had to take more steps to keep up with him. He looked down at her and found her face ablaze with a pink hue. She looked ill at ease. Twice she stumbled over her own feet and twice he reached out and gently took her arm to steady her.

"Thanks," Ari whispered, feeling shame. "I'm such a klutz…."

"There are a lot of people packed into a very small area," he told her as they eased away from the main part of the crowd and into the terminal itself. Outside the tall, vertical windows, he could see the humid white clouds above the city.

"I think I need a new pair of feet," she replied with an
embarrassed
laugh.

"Perhaps a new pair of shoes?"
Rafe
saw her avoid his eyes. Worse, he saw how she walked now that she was free of the confines of the crowd: her shoulders were slumped forward and her gaze flitted everywhere but to him. Her lack of eye contact worried him. She was acting like a beaten animal. Why? He had many questions. It bothered him how she was reacting to him, a man. Had her father beaten her?
Rafe
hoped not. As he watched her out of the corner of his eye he realized she was like a frightened child in a new place, her gaze darting here and there, her hands pressed to her heart as she hurried along, her body language telling him how terribly vulnerable she felt.

Halting near the doors of the terminal,
Rafe
put down the luggage and turned to her. Ari had been so busy looking around that she nearly ran into him. He put his hand out to steady her. What he wanted to do was simply pull her into the safety of his arms and hold her for just a moment. She looked like a scared little rabbit in a den of wolves.
Rafe
instantly rejected the protective feelings she conjured up. He was shocked by his reaction. This young woman was dissolving his normally iron-clad control over himself when it came to beautiful women.

"Sorry," Ari gushed as she jerked to a halt. Why hadn't she been watching where she was going? She felt so scattered, so out of control. Maybe her father had been right: going to a foreign country wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Overwhelmed, Ari absorbed the feeling of
Rafe's
hand on her upper arm. She felt bereft when he removed it.

"Let me tell you what we'll be doing, and perhaps that will make you feel a little more at ease," he murmured in a low tone. Her eyes widened considerably and
Rafe
saw the darkness in them—fear of the unknown, or a fear of him, perhaps. Unsure of her reactions, he purposely kept his voice low and his body language safe so that she wouldn't mistake any gesture as something threatening to her. He had hoped his attire would turn her off and she'd refuse to go anywhere with him, but such was not the case, he realized. She was sticking close to
him,
the world so overwhelming to her right now there was no way she was going to climb back on board a plane and leave.