Man of Passion

by Lindsay McKenna

  Ari almost blurted, “I would,” but bit her lower lip instead. “Rafe is committed to his dream. To what he does best.”

  “Rafe and I run on our hearts, our passions. We do only what we love, Ari. Nothing more. Nothing less.” She gestured lazily toward her. “You need to find out what your passion is. And if it matches and mates with Rafe’s, then perhaps you have what it will take to love him and accept him as he is. If you cannot, then you should go home when you are done here. Rafe is not a man who gives his heart easily. I know of only one time since I have known him that he fell in love, and it was with Justine, a very rich and powerful woman. She was a psychologist in Manaus who tried coming out here. But the lure of the city was too much for her. Rafe had hoped she would fall in love with the Amazon as he had.” Shaking her head, Inca muttered, “It was not to be. I could see it coming, but there was nothing I could do or say to stop him from making the choices he made. He is in command of his own life, not I.”

  “How sad,” Ari murmured. “Rafe deserves a woman. A friend. A companion for life out here.” She gazed around the area. “How anyone could not fall in love with this place is beyond me. Every day there is something new to look at, to smell, to touch. The colors here are never the same two days in a row. There is such life here, Inca.”

  Inca regarded her from half-closed eyes. “So, perhaps you need to look at your life differently? Perhaps home is not where you believe it to be? When you get your drawings done, you will leave us. The real question is will you return? Rafe needs a woman who wants to live here.” She jabbed her finger toward the dark brown, rotting leaves that littered the ground. “Find the roots of your real home in your heart, little sister. Then you will have the answer.”

  Ari nodded. “Now I’m more confused than ever.”

  Inca stretched to her full height. “Life is really simple if you allow it to be. Let the mud of your confusion settle on the bottom, then the clarity of the water above will be seen. Come, we must begin our trek back to camp. I feel Rafe is going to beat us home if we do not hurry.”

  Excited by the possibility of seeing Rafe once again, Ari clambered to her feet and rapidly shrugged on her day pack. Grinning, she said, “Let’s go!”

  Chapter Eight

  “Rafe!” Ari called when she saw him guiding the aluminum skiff near the bank of the Amazon, her voice echoing excitedly through the campsite.

  She ran to where he eased the bow of the boat into the channel. He smiled at her tiredly, his unshaved face bristly with about a week’s worth of growth.

  “Here,” he called, “tie the line up to that tree?” He tossed her the cotton rope that would hold the bow firmly to the bank.

  “Sure,” Ari called, happiness in her voice as she caught the line and tied it around a stump on the bank. As she straightened she noted that he looked exceedingly tired. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and she sensed great sadness around him as he eased out of the skiff. As he leaped to the bank and moved toward her, Ari saw grief in his dark brown eyes.

  “I missed you so much!” she cried, spontaneously throwing her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him.

  Rafe halted, surprised at her gesture. Within seconds, he was embracing her tightly against him. How good her soft, firm body felt next to his. He was a thief, stealing comfort from her warm, lithe form for just a moment. Her arms barely reached around his neck, such was the difference in their heights. When she turned her face toward him and kissed his cheek, he groaned.

  “I stink, Ari. I haven’t had a shower or shaved in seven days.” Justine had always recoiled from him when he wasn’t clean. Despite the fact that living in the rain forest made sweat and dirt part of his everyday life, Justine had hated it.

  Laughing giddily, the feel of his arms wonderful to her, Ari whispered breathlessly, “I don’t care, Rafe. You’re here. You’re safe. That’s all I care about….”

  How badly he wanted to kiss her, but he knew that Ari was not his to take or to keep. She was transient in his life, a sunbeam that would leave him someday. Wrapping his hands around her waist, he eased her away. “You look beautiful to me,” he said huskily. Her eyes were alive with joy, with sunlight dancing in the light blue depths. Her cheeks were flushed like ripe berries. Most of all, he ached to meet and touch that soft, smiling mouth of hers. He hadn’t forgotten their kiss. Throughout the miserable week, he’d replayed that kiss a hundred times, especially when his journey had come to a sad end. Ari represented life and joy to him, there was no doubt.

  Rafe forced himself to reluctantly release her and climb the bank. By the fire, he saw Inca standing, her arms across her breasts, watching him through half-closed glittering green eyes. He felt the touch of her mind upon his; by now he was used to her ability to communicate telepathically. He wondered if Inca had fully revealed herself to Ari this week. One corner of Inca’s mouth pulled upward and she gave him a wry look, shaking her head in response to his unspoken question.

  Ari wrapped her arm around Rafe’s waist and guided him toward the campfire. “Inca and I have a pot of beans, some freshly made white rice and some beef for you. You must be starved.” She poked at his rib cage. “Have you lost weight? You look like you have.” His cheeks were more hollow than Ari recalled and she couldn’t help but notice that Rafe was right, he stank. His clothes were dirty, smudged and ground in with dirt and days of unrelenting sweat. His boots were caked with dried red mud, as were the bottoms of his khaki trousers. She saw his mouth lift tiredly at her gentle teasing.

  “Food. I’m ready for some. Eating on the run isn’t exactly hotel fare.”

  “Sit down,” Ari said excitedly, “and I’ll dish it up for you. Inca, will you pour him some of the coffee, please?”

  Rafe looked obliquely over at Inca, who took a seat on a stump opposite them. She was grinning like a jaguar who had sited her quarry. Giving her a quizzical look, he nodded his thanks as Ari handed him a plate of steaming beans, rice and beef, a customary dish in Brazil, and one he’d been raised on. Right now, he was famished for it. Placing the plate on his lap, he dug into the fare with his fork.

  Inca handed him a tin cup filled with hot, fresh coffee.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled between bites.

  Ari sat down next to him and took a good look at him. Rafe desperately needed to shower and shave. He looked darkly dangerous with that growth of beard on his face. What bothered her was the look in his eyes. They were a flat brown color, and she sensed grief around him. She bit her tongue, because she wanted to wait until he’d eaten before she asked him about his adventures downriver.

  Rafe glanced up at Ari, who sat a good three feet away from him, her hands curled around one of her upraised knees. “How did your week go, mi flor?”

  Inca shared a smile with Rafe. “Mi flor?” she teased.

  Taking a slab of bread from Ari, who had thoughtfully buttered it for him, he grinned rakishly. “She reminds me of a flower.”

  “Well,” Inca drawled, “your flower bloomed this past week. You will be proud of her. She has unfolded many of her petals in your absence.”

  Ari felt heat stinging her cheeks. “Oh, Inca…”

  Inca’s thick, arched brows rose. “Have I not spoken the truth? Why do you not tell Rafe of all that you have accomplished?” She jabbed a finger at the sketchbook that sat near Ari. “And that you have seven more orchid drawings than before he left?”

  Rafe looked at Ari. “Seven? That’s great. A real improvement.” Right now, he wanted to hear good news. He saw her smile in response.

  “Inca is trying to get me to embrace my own power.”

  “It’s working.”

  Ari shrugged, painfully self-conscious beneath his warming inspection. “Well…I’m trying, and you said that’s all that counts, right?”

  Inca grinned and shifted her attention to Rafe. “I must get going, my brother. You are in the capable hands of a young jaguar woman in training, here. I hope she will share all her adventures, of w
hich there are many, with you as you eat.”

  Inca rose and went over to slide the bandoleers over her head and pick up her web belt, which she methodically buckled around her waist. “I will be around if you need me again,” she called to them, and lifted her hand.

  Ari raised her hand. “Do you have to leave, Inca?” She saw the woman lean over and pick up her rifle, which was never far from her hand.

  Straightening, Inca laughed. “Are you not tired of confronting all your fears daily with me around?”

  Ari stood and went over to her. The dusk was deepening around them, the sky an apricot hue. The shadows emphasized Inca’s strong, caring features. “How can I ever repay you?”

  Sliding the leather sling of the rifle across her left shoulder, the butt of the rifle up so that rain would not leak down into the barrel and rust it, she eyed Rafe, who was watching them as he ate. “Take care of him, little sister,” she told her in a whisper. Inca touched her arm. “He is grieving. Things did not go well for him down in the other village. He needs you. Be there for him?”

  Shaken by the growl in Inca’s lowered tone, Ari said, “Of course I will.”

  “Good.” Inca stepped away from her. She raised her hand in Rafe’s direction. “I will be near if you call.”

  “Thanks, Inca…” he said wearily, and lifted his hand in farewell. “Thanks for taking care of Ari while I was gone.”

  Inca laughed. It was more a roughened purr. “She is not the same shadow you left behind, my brother. This is a woman who is learning to be a jaguar.”

  Rafe grinned tiredly. “I was hoping you’d show her the ropes.”

  Ari said goodbye to Inca, who turned, trotted down the path toward the Juma village, and was quickly swallowed up by the jungle. Turning, Ari sighed and walked back to the campfire. Rafe followed her progress, and she saw that smoldering look that always lingered in his eyes when he stared at her. It made her feel good and strong about herself as a woman. As a person. Sitting down near him, she picked up her sketchbook and automatically placed it in her lap.

  “You look tired, Rafe. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Nothing that a hot shower and about twelve hours of sleep won’t fix,” he told her. Using the last of the bread, he wiped the bottom of his plate.

  Nodding, Ari remembered Inca’s warning that things hadn’t gone well for Rafe at the village. Her stomach knotted in anticipation of possible bad news.

  “I wonder how Inca can know something without hearing it,” she said, mystified. “She told me you’d be coming home at dusk today, so we left the waterfall a little early to get back here to make a pot of fresh beans for your arrival.”

  Rafe set the tin plate aside and picked up his coffee, holding it in both his hands. If he didn’t, he was going to slide his one hand around Ari’s shoulders and draw her to him. He ached to hold her. He needed to hold her. She couldn’t know. Not ever. “Inca is a member of the Jaguar Clan, Ari. The members of the clan are clairvoyant.”

  “Humph,” Ari said, “I think she can read my mind, too.”

  Grinning slightly as he lifted the cup, Rafe said, “Oh, she’s well known for that.”

  “Sometimes she’d say something about what I was thinking about or mulling over in my mind. She’d pop up with a response when I hadn’t even asked my question out loud yet.”

  “Did you get used to her ways as the week wore on?” he asked with a grin.

  Laughing, Ari said, “Yes. She’s a wonderful person, Rafe. She taught me so much!”

  “I can see that,” he murmured, pleased. “You appear much more sure of yourself. And I see when you walk, your shoulders are thrown back with pride.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she murmured, “Oh, that. Inca was on me mercilessly to hold my chin up, walk with my shoulders back. She was like a drill sergeant all week about my posture.”

  Chuckling pleasantly, Rafe drained the rest of his coffee and set the cup down by his boots. “If Inca cares about you, you get on the receiving end of her ‘tough love.’ If she didn’t care about you, she wouldn’t say a thing.”

  “She taught me so much, Rafe.” Ari opened her hands, excitement in her voice. “I know you’re tired, so I don’t want to avalanche you with all that happened. I think you need to take a hot shower now and go to sleep. Why don’t you use my bed? I’ll just curl up out here in your hammock.”

  Grateful for her care and sensitivity, he said, “You know what I would like?” He reached out and briefly touched her hand.

  “No. What?”

  “Let me make up that second bed across the aisle from you. It’s supposed to rain tonight.” He looked up at the sky, which was becoming inky as the blue and purple shadows of night rapidly skimmed across it. He saw flashes of lightning in the distance. “And I need to get some sleep to bounce back from the hell of the last seven days.”

  Ari watched the lightning dance across the sky to the west of them. Although it was the dry season, sometimes a thunderstorm would crop up unexpectedly, producing a half-hour downpour. It had happened once while Inca was with her, and she had slept across the aisle from her in the houseboat.

  “Of course, it’s your boat. I’m just a guest.”

  Rafe wanted her to be so much more to him. This last week had hammered home how lonely he was without Ari’s sunlit presence in his life. It had burdened his grief-stricken heart even more. “You’re never a guest, mi flor. You’re a part of this rain forest.” And then he added silently and a part of me. He bit back the rest of what he was going to say.

  Touched beyond words, Ari reached over and squeezed his hand. “Let me go get you a fresh towel and cloth. While you’re showering, I’ll make up your bed for you. You look like you’re ready to keel over.”

  Grateful, his hand tingling where she’d grazed it with her fingertips, he could only nod. A well of grief, of emotion, rose like a huge, pressurized ball in the center of his chest. He swallowed hard. Swallowed against the need to weep. Ari brought out all his emotions, and he was nearly helpless to stop them.

  As she rose and quickly moved toward the houseboat, he reached over and poured himself another cup of coffee. He wanted something stronger. A helluva lot stronger. As exhausted as he was, he wanted nothing more than to pull Ari into his bed, hold her in his arms and sob. He knew she could be strong for him when he was weak. And right now, he was at low ebb. Usually when things such as this happened he was alone at his camp. He could go out on the bow of his boat, deep in the night, and sob out the pain he carried. What was he going to do now? His heart ached to have Ari in his arms, to tell her the terrible story he held inside, to ease the burden of sadness.

  Sternly, Rafe told himself that could never be. To be that intimate with Ari was to take advantage of her good nature. She was a woman who was here for a short amount of time, and then she would return to her world and leave him behind. For him to share so much with her was a form of commitment to her and he didn’t dare trip that lever open. No, somehow—for her sake—he must try and grapple with the pressure within his chest, the wildly clamoring emotions that pleaded to be released differently this time.

  Ari awoke with a jerk. What was that sound? Sitting up, the light sheet falling away and exposing the pale lavender, cotton nightgown she wore, she quickly looked around. A sound had awakened her from her deep sleep. Thunder rumbled nearby. One storm had already passed shortly before they had gone to bed in the hold of the houseboat. Now slivers of moonlight filtered in through the windows. The sluggish, humid air stirred, cooling the interior of the boat.

  Looking across the aisle, Ari pushed several strands of hair away from her face. Rafe lay sprawled on his back, his pale blue pajamas twisted and the sheet tangled about his feet from his tossing and turning. In the moonlight, his smoothly shaved face looked gaunt, the hollows under his high cheekbones pronounced. There was something terribly vulnerable about him lying there, his arms flung outward, his legs tangled in bedding, a lock of hair dipping across his furrowed,
sweaty brow.

  It was the look on Rafe’s face that made Ari bite back a cry. His features were frozen in a grimace, as if he was captured within a terrible nightmare. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his lips parted in a soundless cry. She saw his large hands open and close spasmodically, the tension in his body very real. A moan tore from him.

  That was the noise that had dragged Ari from her sleep. It was a terrible sound, one of desperation and grief. She watched as Rafe turned on his side, and saw a trickle of perspiration course down his temple toward his tightened jaw. Ari felt helpless, unsure of what to do, but something in her heart drove her to her feet. She found herself sitting hesitantly on the edge of his bed, her hands reaching for his shoulder and arm to comfort him.

  “Rafe?” she whispered urgently. “Rafe, wake up. You’re having a nightmare….” She shook him gently.

  Jerking awake, Rafe reared back, sleep torn from him. He blinked several times, orienting himself to the fact that he was here, in the houseboat, and not out on the trail chasing drug runners. He felt Ari’s cool touch on the overheated flesh of his arm.

  “Ari?” He looked around, confused. What was she doing here on his bed? Why was that look of worry etched in her wide, sleepy eyes? “What’s wrong? Did you hear something?” he asked anxiously. Rafe had been attacked by drug runners before. And after what had happened on this last mission, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were paying him a visit.

  “It’s you,” Ari said apologetically. “You were crying out. Like you needed help. It woke me up. I came over to try and help you. Nothing’s wrong, Rafe…everything’s quiet around here except for the storm coming.”

  Raking his fingers through his hair, he sat up, leaning with relief against the bulkhead. “Good…”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have woken you.”