Man of Passion

by Lindsay McKenna

  From this angle, Rafe could catch better glimpses of the golden-haired woman who stood in a mass of dark-haired people. Yes, he was sure it was her. His mouth drew into a hard line of impatience. Every time she thrust up on her toes, he caught sight of her for a few seconds. She was far more beautiful than the photo that had been faxed to him by Perseus yesterday. His heart pounded briefly every time he was able to catch a glimpse of her. Why did she have to be so beautiful? The only reason he’d grudgingly agreed to meet this rich woman who wanted a jungle adventure was because Morgan would write him a check for one hundred thousand dollars, a donation to his foundation to help the Juma, who were reeling from losing half the people of their village in a bioterrorist attack. Rafe wanted the money to pay for long-term medical needs for those who had survived, and without such American dollars being pumped into the village, many would suffer in great pain and misery for many, many months to come. So Rafe had capitulated; a socialite brat for three to six months in exchange for money for one of the Indian villages he was charged with helping and protecting. Reluctantly, he studied her as she approached, trying not to seem as interested as he really was. Arianna Worthington wore a raspberry-colored cardigan drawn around her shoulders, the sleeves tied in a knot and hanging down the front. Her hair was gold like the sun itself, thick and lying in a gentle frame around her oval face, curling softly about her small shoulders. But it was her eyes that intrigued him: large, slightly tilted and the color of the sky he sometimes saw over the Amazon when the clouds decided to part long enough to grant him a view. She looked younger than twenty-five—somewhere between a gawky teenage girl and a woman, he grimly decided as he watched her try to balance the luggage she carried. As the crowd thinned out, he started toward her.

  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 uprig
ht, 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.

  “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?”