Looking over at her, he realized how close she was, and how innocent she looked in the pale lavender gown with lace across the front. He forced a partial smile. “No, it’s all right. I was having a nightmare…just reliving what happened. I’m the one who is sorry, mi flor.” And he reached out because he needed to touch her, to feel her life connecting with his. As he slid his fingers along the line of her jaw, her lips parted. Ari’s eyes closed, the blond lashes delicate against her smooth, warm skin. How beautiful she looked with her hair mussed and tangled around her face and shoulders.
“Lord help me,” he muttered savagely, “but I need you, Ari. Just let me hold you for a moment? Please?” It was all he could do to stop himself from dragging her into his arms.
Stunned by his low growl, she eased forward, lifting her arms and sliding them around his broad shoulders. As she moved over, her hip and thigh meeting his, she felt him tense momentarily. Giving him a small smile, she said, “I won’t bite, Rafe. Just let me hold you. I know I can do that much for you.”
Exhaustion muddled his mind and silenced his doubts. Right now, coming out of the terror of his nightmare, remembering how close to death he’d nearly come himself this past week, he more than welcomed her boldness. This was the new Ari, he thought as she, with her diminutive body, wrapped her arms around him and held him as best she could with her womanly strength.
So much of him felt relief from her ministrations, the way she gently threaded her fingers through his damp hair and positioned his head against her shoulder. She was surprisingly strong as she held him. But then weren’t women stronger than men in many surprising ways? Rubbing his cheek against her shoulder, which was naked except for the thin strap of her gown, he released a long, shaky breath. The driving urge to tell her what had happened overwhelmed him. With his cheek pressed against her shoulder, her arms around his torso, he slid his hands around her waist and closed his eyes.
“I feel like I’m still trapped in hell,” he muttered hoarsely.
“Tell me about it,” Ari urged softly. She felt him tremble once, violently, as the silence deepened. The fact that Rafe entrusted himself to her arms, to her, made her spirit soar with joy. She rocked him gently back and forth as she might a baby that needed comforting. Rafe needed her now as never before, she knew.
“It was hell,” he managed to relate in a low, hoarse tone. “The little boy who was kidnapped by the Valentino Brothers…we went after him. Me, the chief of the village and the men of the family from which he was stolen. The trail was fresh. We trotted or ran where we could, to try and make up the distance. But all the time, the kidnappers evaded us. They knew we were hot on their trail.” He inhaled the sweet jasmine scent that lingered on her flesh and it eased his tightening stomach. Relaxing his grip from around her waist, Rafe moved his hand up the length of her arm and cupped her shoulder. She was soft and firm and incredibly appealing to his hungry senses.
“Did you ever catch them?”
His hand stilled on her shoulder. “Yes…on the third day. We knew we were getting close to one of the cocaine factories they have hidden down in some of the deepest valleys. We knew we were in a lot of danger—that the Valentinos’ soldiers could intercept us and wipe us out in minutes flat. I had a hunch, and we played it. We left their trail and decided to head in at an angle to intercept them.” He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing out the words. “The child tried to escape. We heard shots. Close. Very close. I knew what had happened when we went crashing into their midst. The boy, just twelve, lay twisting and screaming on the rain forest floor. A firefight broke out. Most of the chief’s men were killed. I managed to drag the boy out of the line of fire and then we retreated and ran.”
Ari shut her eyes and rested her head against his. “I’m so sorry, Rafe. Did he live?”
A tremor shook him. “The father of the boy was killed in the firefight. So was an uncle. I carried the boy. Blood was running down my arms, down my pants. I watched his face go from a healthy brown color to no color, and I knew he was dying…. We finally stopped. I gently put him down and cradled him in my arms. The chief came over. He was crying. So was the other uncle. We all cried as we watched that little, innocent boy die.”
Tears squeezed from beneath his thick, spiky black lashes. Rafe felt the knot of grief surge up his throat. It was as if Ari sensed his need to cry, for her hand came to rest on the back of his head in a stroking gesture. That one touch triggered an avalanche of sorrow from him. He sobbed once, hard, against her shoulder.
“Let it go,” Ari murmured. “I’ll just hold you…let it go. Give your sadness to me, Rafe….”
A second sob was wrenched from deep within him; it felt as if someone were tearing his guts out by hand. He held her hard, as if to release her would be to drown in a hell he couldn’t keep from overpowering him. Her arms tightened around him, comforting and nurturing. Oh, how long he had wished for a woman whose heart and soul were strong enough to hold him in his worst moments of need. He pressed his face against her neck, her hair silken and fragrant against his cheek.
Ari held him hard against her. He was nearly twice her size, but that didn’t matter. As the choked, weeping sounds tore out of him, she understood finally what Inca had been telling her all week. She understood what power meant. Right now, she was able to connect with Rafe and knew she was much stronger than he at the moment. He needed her. With each sob, his hands gripped her shoulders with almost painful intensity. There was something cleansing and beautiful to Ari about the realization that she could be a safe haven in the storm of his life. He had nearly died. How close he’d come!
Pressing her head against his, whispering words of encouragement to him to help him divest himself of the monstrous event that he held so deep within him, Ari felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks and mingling with his. Life and death were so closely entwined down here in Amazonia. Ari had sensed the danger Rafe was in, and now it was confirmed. As she held him, rocked him, she couldn’t envision her life without him being a part of it.
In the darkness, with the lightning sending pale shadows skittering across the hold of the houseboat, Ari realized that she was falling in love with Rafe. He had entrusted her with his vulnerability, shared his tears, his grief, with her. And she savored the gift as she rocked and soothed him. This she knew how to do. An incredible euphoria cascaded through her even as her heart was breaking over the boy’s needless death. Life was so precious down here, yet so fragile.
Without thinking, Ari released her hold and slid her hands upward to frame his face. As he eased away, his lashes beaded with tears, his eyes dark with agony, she leaned upward and pressed her mouth against his. She felt him quiver savagely. She tasted the salt of his spent tears as her lips slid firmly against his. All she wanted to do was touch him in this most intimate of ways, take some of the horror away by sharing her strength, her love with him. Her small hands were firm upon his face and she accepted the pressure of his strong mouth as he hungrily kissed her in return. Her breathing snagged. Her heart soared as she felt his hands grip her shoulders. Suddenly he leaned back against the bulkhead, taking her with him until she lay across his torso, her mouth locked with his as if destined to do so.
Time ceased to exist. His mouth was conquering, taking and giving back to her. Only vaguely aware of his hands moving from her upper arms and curving around the sides of her aching breasts, she boldly plundered his mouth in return. She wanted him to know how deeply he moved her, how much he meant to her. Words were useless. Showing him, not telling him, was the only way Ari could communicate with him. He smelled of lime-scented soap, the clean perspiration at his hairline, and tasted strongly male to her ripening, exploding senses.
As his hands brushed the curve of her breasts, Ari moaned and broke away from his mouth. His touch was exquisite. Fiery. Her nipples hardened instantly against his chest. Opening her eyes, she was captured and mesmerized by the way he gazed at her through obsidian, glittering, half-opened eyes. In that instant, she felt a
s if she were the prey and he the consummate and powerful predator. As a flash of lightning illuminated the cabin, she saw the primal desire of a man for his woman in the depths of his eyes.
Trembling beneath his caressing touch, Ari pushed away. “No…Rafe…” she protested, giving in to her own fear. Afraid she would disappoint Rafe, who was so worldly and obviously schooled in how to love a woman, Ari pulled back. She saw his brows dip and the burning light in his eye snuff out. His hands jerked away from her breasts as if he’d been scalded.
Ari sat there breathing hard, her hand against her mouth. “I—I’m sorry, Rafe…. I only meant to comfort you….” Tears dribbled from her eyes.
Groaning, Rafe whispered, “Come here, mi flor. It is I who owe you an apology. A gentleman does not presume. I am in the wrong, not you….” And he was. What had he been thinking? To love her was to commit completely to her. In his country, an honorable man did not take a woman to bed—until after marriage. No, he would not defile Ari in this way. He must release her. But he could not just yet, and Ari reluctantly allowed herself to be embraced by him. He felt the rigidity in her and closed his eyes as he held her for just one greedy moment more. He was such a damn thief. He’d never treated any woman as he was treating Ari. Rafe had been schooled to always ask a woman for her permission for a kiss, and to treat her with the utmost respect. Tonight, he’d presumed. Too much, he told himself harshly. Far too much.
The thunder caromed overhead, shaking the houseboat. More lightning arced and danced around them. Then the rain started—huge drops, then smaller staccato ones striking the deck above. Rafe released Ari. There was no place to go. Ordinarily, he’d have excused himself and left, but it was raining hard now. Easing her away from him, his hands lingering on her shoulders, he tried to smile at her, but didn’t succeed.
“Thank you for being here for me,” he told her quietly, his voice hoarse from the hard weeping. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. I should have realized what you were doing—comforting me.”
“Rafe, no…”
“Hush, mi flor.” He gave her a sad smile. “In a month or two, you will be gone. I will be here again, alone. We should not start something that we cannot finish, no?” Sliding his fingers through the softness of her golden hair, he murmured gruffly, “I have no right to touch you as a man does his woman. I know better. Somehow…being with you makes me forget myself, my being a gentleman. I hope you can forgive me?”
Giving him a tender look, Ari felt bereft as he pulled his hands away from her. Her scalp tingled pleasantly where he’d sifted her hair through his long, strong fingers. His words haunted her. He was right: she’d be gone soon. And it wouldn’t be fair to Rafe to start something intimate and then just walk away from him. The sadness on his face made her want to cry. As never before, Ari understood how alone he was. How many times had he seen children murdered? How many times had he brushed death himself? How many times had he lain here, alone, without someone to soothe him? Hold him? Love him when he felt so grief stricken and in need of another’s touch to convince him that life was worth living, no matter what he’d seen or experienced?
Chewing on her lower lip, Ari moved off his bed and stood in the narrow aisle, her cotton gown wrinkled and plastered against her body. “You’re right, Rafe. I see that now….”
“Try and sleep,” he urged. “We’re both tired and strung out.”
Settling into her bed, Ari mutely agreed, though her body throbbed and ached without remission. She wanted to love him. To feel the power of him deeply within herself. But she was going to be gone in a month or two. Lying down, she glumly pulled the sheet across her body and faced the bulkhead, her back toward Rafe. As she lay there wide awake, his words haunted her. What did she really want? Just the thought of leaving Rafe made her queasy. She loved this place. She loved the Amazon. Yet she had her mother’s dream to fulfill. She couldn’t do both. Real life, the responsibilities, the promises she’d made, became muddled within her. Closing her eyes, her hand pressed beneath her cheek, she sighed painfully.
Chapter Nine
Rafe tried to keep his face carefully arranged so that his unhappiness would not show. Today Ari was leaving for Manaus, to catch a flight back to New York City, to try and sell her book. Where had three months gone? He sat up on the deck, paperwork on his lap, the sun’s rays muted by the wispy white clouds that hung low over the jungle at this time of morning. Only a few feet away were several scarlet ibis, their scimitar beaks busily searching the muddy shoals of the Amazon for food, their red plumage breathtaking against the brown backdrop of slow-moving water.
His heart ached. Ever since he’d held Ari in his arms that night, and sobbed out his grief over the loss of the boy and his father, Rafe and Ari had kept a comfortable distance from one another. He’d been out of line to recklessly and selfishly kiss her. Chastising himself for his one moment of weakness, Rafe had made damned sure that he wouldn’t force himself upon Ari in that way again. Every time he wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder, or embrace her in a moment of discovery and joy, he stopped himself. But it was a sweet hell he lived in.
Looking down at the report he’d been reading, the paper wrinkled beneath his damp hand, he scowled. Rafe sternly told himself that he’d known from the beginning that Ari’s stay would be short-lived. Why had he harbored the idea that she’d fall in love with him? With Amazonia? She was on a mission and he recognized that. Ari had to fulfill the dream of her dead mother before she could be free to pursue other things in life that beckoned to her. Still, his heart hurt with the knowledge that in a few hours, a tugboat from Manaus would be coming to pick Ari up and take her away—forever—from his encampment. From him.
Compressing his mouth against the pain, he dipped his head and scribbled notes on the papers spread across his knees. He could hear Ari moving around down below. This morning she would not be joining him for breakfast at the campfire. Every day up until now he would make eggs and fry bacon and she would make toast and coffee. It was a simple pleasure he’d come to look forward to like a child looked forward to opening gifts on Christmas morning.
When he heard Ari climbing the steps, he raised his head. She emerged, her blond hair drawn back into a thick, gold knot at the nape of her neck. Today she wore a cream tank top, a peach-colored linen blazer and trousers. She looked more formal, more of the North American world of privilege she’d come from than the home she’d made in Amazonia. Usually she wore a pair of khaki shorts that displayed her legs to wonderful advantage, a colorful tank top, her hair drawn up off her neck and shoulders in a playful ponytail. Every few days he’d find a small orchid and give it to her so that she could affix it to her hair.
“How’s the packing coming?” he asked, keeping his tone light and teasing.
Ari wrinkled her nose as she eased herself up onto the splintery, unpainted surface of the deck. “Okay, I guess,” she replied, standing next to Rafe and gazing at the scarlet ibis. “I’ll miss seeing them every morning,” she admitted, pushing several crinkly strands of hair behind her ear. The humidity was high this morning; Rafe had said that the rainy season was about to begin. Pursing her lips, Ari glanced at him. How handsome Rafe looked. She’d known him long enough now to realize the darkness she saw in his eyes was pain. How many times in the last three months had she seen that look? Rafe’s job was fraught with danger, she had discovered. And the drug runners were relentless in kidnapping older children and women to be used as slaves in the cocaine factories hidden far to the north in steep, nearly impassable valleys wedged tightly between the green-clad mountains.
Flexing the fingers of her right hand, Ari stopped herself from reaching out to slide them across Rafe’s shoulder. He wore a short-sleeved khaki shirt and trousers, as he did every day. The patches on each arm proclaimed his authority in the region.
“Three months have flown by,” Rafe said, as he slowly gathered papers scattered on the deck and collected them into his lap.
The scarlet ib
is were suddenly startled by something Ari couldn’t see or hear. They took off in a flapping cloud of crimson and deep pink as the sunlight shone through their arcing wings. The display left her breathless, as it always did. There was such color, such life, here.
“I know,” she murmured. “I’m going to miss it. All of it.” And she turned and looked toward the campfire. The tug was to arrive at 8:00 a.m., in less than an hour. She saw the coffeepot perking on the edge of the coals. “Join me for one last cup of coffee?”
He smiled tenderly. “Of course.” Rising, he took the report and slid it into a cardboard file nearby. Watching as Ari confidently moved down the plank to the riverbank, Rafe felt joy wind through him. She now walked with her shoulders squared, her chin up. That week with Inca had changed her from her mouselike self. Over the past weeks, he’d watched Ari bloom. She took risks. She was fearful sometimes, but she never let fear stop her as it had before. Once he’d taken her to a mountain to the north, and they had spent three days climbing the rugged, jungle-clad slopes in search of orchids. Ari had a fear of heights, but that didn’t stop her as it once had. Rafe had watched her handle the fear, move through it and emerge victorious. The orchids she drew in those three days were some of her best work. As he watched Ari’s confidence and self-esteem grow, he was proud and happy for her. At the same time, Rafe battled his own personal fear of seeing her leave, because she would no longer need him.
Joining her at the campfire, he took the tin cup she proffered. Sitting down on a log, Rafe watched her greedily, wanting to imprint her every graceful movement, every expression, like a brand into his aching heart. He loved her. It was so simple, yet heartbreaking. Ari couldn’t know that, either. Rafe would not presume to tell her. He knew she cared for him deeply. Still, she had to continue her odyssey. To confess something like that to her now would be wrong. And more than anything, Rafe wanted her to have a successful completion of her journey.
Man of Passion Page 13
