Man of Passion

by Lindsay McKenna

  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.”

  Rubbing his hands against the khaki material on his thighs, he added, “I’m going to have to leave you here alone while I go investigate.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Ari said. “I know my way around now.” She felt her heart squeeze in terror for his safety. She would miss him terribly. Ari had come to cherish their time together.

  He eyed her. “I know you do, but I’ll worry.”

  She smiled a little. “Chief Aroka and his warriors will protect me.”

  Rafe reached out and tamed several golden flyaway strands that lifted in the humid breeze sweeping ashore from the river, tucking them gently behind her delicate ear. Watching her eyes grow warm and lustrous, he stopped himself from further intimacy with her. “The drug runners and the drug lords’ soldiers usually stay away from my camp. They give it a wide berth. Chief Mulki was saying that he’s heard they are looking for more slaves for their factories, so things could get unsettled in a hurry.”

  “No place is safe?” Ari asked as she absorbed his fleeting touch. How she ached to kiss him! It was a dark, mesmerizing obsession with her. Every night, in bed, Ari wondered what it would be like to kiss Rafe’s very male, yet tender mouth. Forcing herself to stop staring at his lips, she looked up into his stormy, narrowed eyes. Her heart pounded briefly, for she’d seen that look before, usually when they were washing dishes at the sink together. />
  Rafe didn’t want to admit she was right about the danger. He was finding that Ari could be a worrywart upon occasion. Usually she would stop being anxious once she understood or experienced whatever it was that was new and frightening to her. But as flexible as she was, Ari wouldn’t be able to handle the anxieties his absence might cause. Folding his hands between his opened thighs, he leaned his elbows on them. “I’ve got a plan,” he said, giving her a slight smile. “From all our conversations the past week, I can see you really miss having a big sister in your life. While I’m gone, I’m going to ask a close friend of mine, Inca, to come and stay with you.”

  “How long will you be gone?” Ari tried to keep the worry out of her voice, but it was impossible. Rafe was going into a dangerous situation.

  Shrugging, he murmured, “I don’t know, Ari. I wish I could tell you. I’ll need to start tracking the kidnapped nephew. I’ll get help from the Indians, but it could mean days, even a week, before we find something, a clue….”

  “Oh…” She suddenly felt anxiety. “And Inca? She’s your friend? A backwoodsman?”

  He laughed. “Inca is Inca. She’s the mistress of Amazonia.”

  “Wait,” Ari said, holding out her hand. “I heard Chief Aroka talking about her. Is she the one they call the jaguar goddess?”

  Rafe held her wide, awed gaze. “Inca is called many things by many people. To her friends, she is loyal and would die for them. Her enemies would like to hang her head on a pike. The Brazilian government has a large monetary reward for her capture. They say she’s murdered thirteen people, but that’s not true. Inca would never murder. She would fire in defense, however, and I’m sure that’s what happened, regardless of what her enemies say.”

  “Whew,” Ari whispered. “The jaguar goddess here? With me?”

  “You’ll like her. She’s terribly human,” Rafe reassured her. “Inca is a good role model for you, Ari. She’s strong, confident and very sure of herself. And on top of that, she’s a woman.” His voice lowered with reverence. “An incredible, heart-centered woman. She’s saved my neck more than a few times, believe me.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-six, I think. About your age. I’m sure you’ll get along famously. Besides, Inca knows where some of the most exotic orchids in this jungle grow. No one knows Amazonia better than Inca. She’s constantly traversing the basin, protecting her people and giving them aid. I’m sure she’ll be a wonderful guide for you.”

  Heartened, Ari said, “Are you sure she won’t be bored out of her skull with the likes of me?”

  Laughing, Rafe said, “How can you say that about yourself? I find you the most fascinating person I’ve ever met.” He motioned to her table beneath the shade of the banana tree. “You have an artist’s temperament and you see the world around you in colors. Inca has never met an artist before. I think she’ll be intrigued by your talent, by your heart.”

  Flushing, Ari looked forlornly at the sketchpad that she’d shut before leaving it on her work table. “I think when Inca sees my primitive work, she’ll die laughing. A child could do better than me.”

  Her glumness moved him. “Let me look at it. I’ll decide for myself.”

  Her heart thudded with fear. “No! I mean…I usually don’t show my drawings to anyone….”

  “Why not? Your mother taught you to draw. What did she say about your efforts?” Rafe saw her newly found self-esteem leak out of her like air from a punctured balloon. Moments before, confidence had emanated from her. It was a fragile confidence, but at least it was there and growing within her. Now her face carried an expression of shame. Who had made her feel like this about her work? Her self-expression? Intuitively, he knew it was her father, who derided everything she did that wasn’t what he wanted her to do.

  Throwing her hands up nervously, Ari uttered in desperation, “My mom always encouraged me.” She chewed on her lip, silent for a long time. Finally, she confessed, “I feel uneasy about showing you my work.”

  Following his heart, Rafe moved closer and slid his arm around her slumped shoulders. She sat as if beaten, like a cowering dog—the same demeanor he’d seen seven days ago at the airport in Manaus. “Mi rainha,” he began gently, his arm closing around her and drawing her against him, “I will never laugh at your work. Creation comes from the heart. How can anyone judge that? Or laugh? Or make fun of your efforts? By now, you know I take your art seriously.”

  Closing her eyes, Ari gave in to him briefly. How strong and sure Rafe felt as he eased her against his tall, stalwart frame. Heart hammering, her mouth dry, she was speechless as a gamut of rainbow sensations raced through her. Being in his embrace was heaven! She felt safe. She felt worthy. She felt like she never had to apologize for herself or her art.

  “Okay…” she blurted, and quickly pulled away from his arm as she rose. “Just this one time, Rafe. Okay?”

  The desperation in her eyes and voice cut into his heart. “Of course,” he agreed.

  Frowning, she turned on her heel and went to fetch her sketchpad from the table. It took everything Ari had to sit back down, her elbow brushing his as she did. Her hands were clammy as she rested the pad across her lap. Fingers trembling badly, she lifted the heavy cardboard covering.

  Rafe held his breath. Words exploded softly from him as he gazed down upon her creation. “This…this—it’s exquisite, Ari!” He looked up at her, respect in his eyes. “That orchid looks real enough to jump off the page at me.” Staring at it, he saw the ephemeral beauty of the pale yellow of the petal flowing into the soft pink, and then growing into a fuschia color at the outer edges. Without thinking, he gently touched the edge of her sketchbook. “This is beautiful. Simply, elegantly beautiful. I’ve never seen anyone capture the spirit of an orchid as you have.” He studied her shocked features. “Your heart, your soul, come through in this drawing, Ari. Did you know that? That’s why it appears so alive.”

  Incredulous at his praise, Ari felt heat rolling up her neck and into her face. She saw the admiration burning like a fire in his darkening eyes. He was more animated than she’d ever seen him. Even more, his velvet baritone voice was laced with emotion. Once again, the difference between her cold, distant father and the warmth and openness of Rafe overwhelmed Ari’s being. She thrilled to his words and saw that he meant every one of them.

  “You—really think it’s a good likeness?”

  Laughing, Rafe reached out and embraced her hard. For an instant, she froze, surprised at his gesture, but then she relaxed against him, the pad clutched in her hands. Kissing her warm, tousled hair, he whispered, “My wild woman of Amazonia, you not only belong here, but you feel every particle of the orchid children you draw with your heart. These drawings are children of your heart, hands and eyes….”

  Shaken and hungry for his continued attention, Ari lifted her chin. She met and held his dark, turbulent eyes as they narrowed upon her. Her breath hitched. He was going to kiss her. Nothing seemed so right. Nothing. Her hands loosened around the sketchpad and she found them moving of their own accord across his hard torso, lightly exploring his well-sprung rib cage beneath the soft dampness of his cotton shirt.

  The odor of the campfire encircled her as he leaned down, his eyes pinned to hers. Her lips parted, and she raised her chin fractionally to meet his descending mouth. Automatically, her lashes swept downward. Anticipation flowed through her as milliseconds melted away. The first time his mouth brushed hers, she shuddered. But it wasn’t out of fear; it was out of longing and need for him. Ari shyly returned his grazing touch as he tasted her lips as lightly as a butterfly tastes a flower. The scent of him, as a man, filled her flaring nostrils as he drew her more deeply into his arms, his hand guiding her face and angling it so he could take her more deeply this time.

  The moment his mouth settled firmly on her lips, she yielded to his controlled strength. Lights exploded behind her closed eyes. Fire ignited within her lower body as his lips slid teasingly along her wet ones. Their
breathing grew ragged. She felt a keen hunger as she strained upward to meet and match his cajoling kisses. Losing herself in the bright sunlight of his magnificent male body, the power of his mouth caressing and taking hers, Ari felt her spirit soar. Her heart was hammering in her breasts, her nipples sensitized as she grazed his chest with hers. The perfume of the orchids swirled around her. Rafe tasted of coffee, of the honey-covered bread he’d eaten earlier, all these combined with the scent of him as a man to entice her spiraling senses to new heights of awareness.

  All too soon, she felt his mouth leave hers, and Ari moaned a little as he drew away from her. Looking up, she was mesmerized by the dark storm clouds in his eyes. She felt at once captured and preyed upon by him. But it wasn’t fear that she felt. No, this sensation felt right. This was what it was like to be claimed by a powerful man, Ari thought, her mind still spinning, her thoughts a collage of bright, scintillating feelings.

  “I’m sorry,” Rafe told her huskily, “I had no right…to kiss you…” And he didn’t. A gentleman did not take without asking first of a lady. What was happening to him? Was the danger ahead of him making him crazy? Was he afraid he would die and never taste the orchid sweetness of her soft, full lips? Die and never know? Was he scared of being torn from Ari without having shared how he really felt about her, despite their very different worlds?

  Stunned, Ari couldn’t find her voice. She gripped his lower arms with her hands and shook her head. The regret in his eyes, the apology, tore through her. “No…” she whispered unsteadily. “No, it was good. It was right. Don’t say you’re sorry. Please don’t…”

  Sliding his fingers across her fiery cheek, he whispered, “No apologies, mi flor, my flower. Consider this a goodbye kiss until I can get back?”

  Laying her cheek in his opened hand, Ari closed her eyes. She never wanted this moment to end. It was too exquisite. Rafe liked her drawing of the orchid. He liked her or he wouldn’t have kissed her. “I’ve never been kissed like that before,” she told him breathlessly. “It was so beautiful….”