Man of Passion (8 page)

"I'll get us a taxi outside the doors, here. And then we'll go to the wharf where my houseboat is tied up. Once we get on board, I'll take us downstream on the
Amazon River
, about three hours, and we'll pull into a side channel and that's where we'll stay. The channel leads to a
Juma
Indian village about a mile inland. That's where you'll be staying, Ari, and looking for your orchids to draw." His cool facade thawed a little. "I've never had an artist or a writer visit. I talked to Chief
Aroka
, the leader of the
Juma
village, and he's promised that he'll have some of his people who know the area help you search for orchids. They're looking forward to meeting you."

Grimacing, Ari held up her hands. It was almost too much for her to look into
Rafe's
eyes, but she had to. "Oh, dear…I don't know who told you I was an artist and writer, but I'm not! I've never gone to art school or taken journalism. I'm just trying to help my mother, who died, fulfill her dream of coming to the Amazon, to draw orchids and put them into book form. I'm sure I won't draw well enough for that to happen, but I want to try…."

In that instant,
Rafe
wanted to reach out, slide his fingers across the soft, smooth slope of her fiery cheeks and kiss her. The urge was powerful.
Unbidden.
Surprising.
He had one hell of a time not staring at her mouth. Again it reminded him of a rose with fresh morning dew across it. He was sure she would taste sweet, soft and beguilingly beautiful. And then he remembered Justine had pulled a similar trick on him, playing innocent to get him to protect her, when in actuality she needed no protection whatsoever.

Shrugging, he said, "Who says you must have a degree in art or journalism to draw or write? Most of the people I know who have these talents have never experienced academia."

Heartened, Ari felt the warmth of his interest. The thawing look in his eyes was like sunlight shining on the frozen depths within her. His glinting gaze had such perception and she felt beautiful under it. For the first time in her life, Ari
wanted
to hold someone's gaze—his. He didn't make her feel as if he were stealing her soul, or some part of herself. No, his gaze was healing. It made her feel good about herself in a way she'd never felt before. So much was happening so quickly. It was too much for her to analyze right now.

"I just want to
try,
" she told him in a husky voice riddled with tears.
"For my mom.
I don't know how much you know about me…."

"Very little,"
Rafe
said, sorry that he didn't know more.
A lot more.
Was this an act? He wasn't sure if he were judging her because of his jaded past.
Rafe
found himself wanting to believe her, but he ruthlessly pushed that thought away.

Her hands fluttered about like bird wings as she continued. "Well…you'll get used to me. I'm just here to try and give Mom's dream reality. She was a wonderful artist. Her paintings were bought around the world by orchid fanciers and hobbyists." Looking down at her long fingers, Ari said, "I don't have one-tenth the talent she did…."

Rafe
reached over and laid his hand lightly on her shoulder for a brief moment. He hadn't meant to touch her, but giving her solace felt like the right thing to do. "Where I come from, we say that when you paint or write with passion, from your heart, that's all that is necessary." He met and held her wide, tear-filled gaze.

He was irresistible! Choking back her tears, she whispered, "I like where you come from."

"Good." Still he held her unsure eyes. A part of him didn't want her to be coming back to camp with him. Yet her seemingly artless innocence was powerful medicine to his wounded heart. He was a loner,
Rafe
reminded himself bluntly.
Someone who had forsaken family dreams and expectations to blaze his own trail.
No woman wanted him and the jungle he loved. There never would be such a woman as far as he was concerned. Justine had hated the jungle, the insects and the reptiles. She'd screeched over each little gnat that flew near her head. Shrugging away thoughts of Justine, he asked, "Are you ready to go,
señorita
?
"

Ari nodded and gripped her purse. "Yes.
Scared but ready,
Rafe
."
His name rolled effortlessly off her tongue. She saw his mouth draw into a one-cornered smile. Again that sense of sunlight pierced through her and she felt unaccountably euphoric, as if lifted out of the morass of her own lingering anxiety and humiliation at stumbling to her hands and knees earlier.
Rafe
made her feel good. He was the first man to make her feel that. It was a wonderful, unexpected feeling, one that she absorbed like a thirsty sponge.

"Courage is taking a step at a time through your fear," he told her. Opening the door for her, he said, "Come, we must get a cab."

Ari was taken with his manners. He opened the cab door for her, too, and insisted she get in while he took care of the luggage. She felt overwhelmed by
Rafe
—his power, his charisma and good looks. When he slid into the seat next to her, he looked at her curiously, as if he were still trying to figure out what species of insect she was. His black brows had been drawn downward since he'd met her.
With displeasure?
Ari thought so and felt badly. She didn't want
Rafe
to feel like he was babysitting her. Perhaps she could show her mettle and tenacity at the camp and not be so much of a hindrance to him.

"Welcome to
Manaus
, Ari. It is a city that grew up from the rubber tree plantations earlier in this century. When the
norteamericano
companies created synthetic rubber, the boomtown here died. It has since resurrected itself mining gems, gold and other precious metals, plus a little tourism."

He barely fit into the dark green cab, but his large, masculine presence felt wonderful to her. Their arms and elbows touched in the cramped space, but Ari didn't mind. When he spoke in Portuguese to the driver, she smiled a little.

"How many languages do you know? You speak fluent English, Spanish and Portuguese, from what I can tell so far."

Rafe
folded his large hands between his opened thighs as the cabby took off at high speed from the terminal. "I was raised in a family where knowing many languages was expected," he told her, meeting and holding her gaze. Now, instead of darkness in the depths of her eyes, he saw something else.
Happiness?
Perhaps a sense of safety now that she was away from the madding crowds of foreigners? He knew that being in a strange country made most people feel a little more vulnerable.

"Morgan
Trayhern
, your boss, sent me your résumé. It's impressive. I'm so thrilled you've got a Ph.D. in biology.
And from Stanford.
That is really something."

He nodded. "My knowledge of biology will help you a great deal in your quest for your orchids, Ari." As he said her name he realized how much he liked it. He liked saying it, and he was glad she wasn't a stickler for protocol, that she hadn't asked him to address her more formally, as they did in
South America
. She had surprised him in that regard. She wasn't some arrogant, rich brat with snobbish manners. Instead, she was simply herself. Or was she?
Rafe
knew time would yield that final answer.

"It must have been difficult to leave your family to come to the
U.S.
for your education," she said.

"Yes, I had to argue with my father to allow me to come to the States. I'm not sorry I did. I got an excellent education at Stanford."

Rafe
was so easy to talk to, yet as Ari watched him, she realized that despite his relaxed state, he was keenly alert. She noticed that he watched everything in a casual, yet attentive sort of way. She felt
an edginess
within him, too. What was that all about? Was he disappointed with her?
With the fact that she was such a klutz and a loser?
That she was a woman he'd have to babysit? Determined to find out over time, Ari tried instead to focus on the joy bubbling in her heart as the cab sped rapidly onto a massive freeway. The tall buildings of
Manaus
were in the distance, the airport behind them. Ahead, she caught glimpses of a dark, tea-brown river. Was that the Amazon? Her pulse quickened. She was really
here.
She was on her mother's journey, the one they'd planned in such detail the last year she'd lived. Clasping her hands, Ari closed her eyes and took a deep breath, a wobbly smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Rafe
felt Ari retreating within herself when she clasped her hands, sighed and closed her eyes. The flush in her cheeks had subsided and he noticed the
porcelainlike
quality to her skin. Blue veins were faintly visible beneath her eyes. She wore absolutely no makeup. It would be hopeless where they were going, anyway, with the rains and humidity. It made him feel good that she was so natural. Women who had to paint their faces into a mask were not their true selves, and
Rafe
admired Ari for her unspoken stand on the issue. Justine had insisted upon wearing makeup when she'd visited his camp. It had run and spotted, yet she was miserable without it. Why?
Rafe
would never understand why a woman couldn't be happy with her natural state, just as nature was with her bounty.

He saw that Ari wore simple gold hoops through her dainty earlobes. Around her neck was a fine gold chain holding an oval amethyst, to complement the skirt and sweater she wore. Everything about Ari spoke of delicacy.

Was she a hothouse flower?
he
mused.
More than likely.
Women with degrees from
Georgetown
University
, who lived in
Washington
,
D.C.
, were not equipped for jungle living. Would she be able to bear a life of hardship, without many amenities?
Rafe
doubted it. Justine had cried every morning because there wasn't electricity for her hair dryer. Would Ari see the jungle as her friend or her enemy? Probably an enemy, as his ex-fiancée had. Justine had been afraid to walk to the village with him, for fear of a snake biting her or some big bug whizzing by her head. Morgan had said Ari would be with him three to six months, depending upon how her sketches for the book came along.
Rafe
hoped it was a much shorter duration. Yet Ari intrigued him. So shy, yet with that childlike look of joy and anticipation written across her features. She was twenty-five, but she reminded him of a gawky fourteen-year-old who was just finding out who she was, just tapping into her femininity. He had no idea where his feelings and instincts about her came from; he'd lived so long on his instincts out in the jungle that he no longer tried to explain his sense of intuition about people. And he was rarely wrong about such perceptions because, over the years, his life had depended upon it. The one time he'd been wrong had been with Justine but she'd been a master of artful disguise and manipulation.

As the cab screeched to a halt some twenty minutes later, Ari looked out the window in anticipation. There was a huge river, at least a mile wide, spread out before her. Wobbly, poorly kept wooden docks jutted out from the raised, red dirt bank like dark dominos in the water. At one a huge white houseboat with black tires hanging off the sides was docked. That must be
Rafe's
. Before he could leave the cab and come around and open her door, she was out and walking quickly toward the riverbank. Hands clasped to her breasts, she looked around, absorbing all she saw.

The sky was clearing of soft white clouds that hung low over the dark green jungle along the river. She gasped when a flock of brightly colored scarlet macaws flew in a V formation right over her head toward the jungle in the distance.

Rafe
came and stood next to her. "I see the goddess of the river has welcomed you to her breast."

Ari turned and looked up at him, a quizzical expression on her face.
"River goddess?"

As the cabby came up with the luggage,
Rafe
told him to take it aboard the houseboat. Returning his attention to Ari, he saw the soft tendrils of her hair curling in the humidity. The maddening urge to tunnel his fingers through that thick, blond hair was almost his undoing. Instead, he cleared his throat and pointed to the quickly disappearing flight of parrots.

"The
Juma
believe that the mighty Amazon is a goddess. They pay her tribute by gifting her with bits of cornmeal or other food. The legend is that when she wants to leave her watery confines, she turns herself into a macaw to fly over her domain, to look after it, care for it and all her beings, including the two-
leggeds
. If Chief
Aroka
was here, he'd be shouting for joy that that squadron of macaws zoomed over your head at such a low altitude. He'd take that as a sign, a blessing, that the
Amazon River
goddess is welcoming you to her breast."