Man of Passion by Lindsay McKenna Page A

himself. He was deeply drawn to Ari, to her innocence, to her idealistic view of life and the world around her. She was an artist to her soul. He could see that in the way color affected her. The hues that changed minute by minute here in Amazonia brought so many sweet expressions to her mobile features. He found himself absorbing her wonder like a thirsty sponge. Shaking his head, he realized that the Indians would say that the onca had brought him his mate. And of course, onca mated only once, for life. Then he caught himself. That Ari could be his mate was a ridiculous thought. After the debacle with Justine, Rafe had sworn off finding a woman. He had accepted that he would always be a loner.
    Life was precious to Rafe . He lived in the moment, for at any time, he could be killed by a miner or drug runner's bullet. Every day was like a feast before him and he wanted to take full advantage of each new dawn. He normally embraced life completely, without apology or hesitation—except when it came to women. No, they were to be approached slowly and with respect.
    Though Ari was someone he wanted to know more intimately, he shoved that desire aside. Completely. Still, his body ached with the ripening awareness that he wanted to touch her. What would it be like to run his fingers through the strands of her golden hair? They had felt silky and strong tangled around his fingertips yesterday. She invited his touch. Her skin was like that of a soft, ripe peach and he wanted to explore every inch of her with kisses, the lick of his tongue, indulging and losing himself in her womanly fragrance. More than anything, he felt his heart clamoring loudly to own up to his feelings about her. How could he? Ari was here to live out a dream for herself and her mother. And that was all she was here for.
    Rafe heard her skipping down the plank. Lifting his head, he watched as she made her way back to where he sat. He remembered how she had hesitated earlier to come down the rickety and somewhat wobbly plank. This time she practically sailed down without apprehension. Yes, that was good. Ari was already learning to not be so afraid of the world around her. In fact, she was emboldened in her new surroundings and he knew why: he was supporting her as she stepped out of her normal, scared self, so that she could clasp life in both hands, instead.
    He watched as she plopped down next to him breathless, and quickly opened her journal. Painstakingly, she took her pen, wrote down the day and the time. Silence lulled them as she began to pen the story of the onca goddess. Her handwriting was precise, with a flowery edge to it.
    "I wish my handwriting was as easy to read as yours," Rafe said. "My boss back at headquarters gripes all the time, when he gets my sweat-stained reports, that my hen scratching is like a doctor's scrawl."
    Ari grinned. "I'm not surprised your reports are sweaty, I can feel the humidity in the air." She lifted one hand and touched the other palm. "My hands are already damp."
    " Mmm , the humidity is usually at its highest in the morning hours. As the sun rises, it will lower. We're in the dry season, fall, anyway, which is good if you want to sketch the orchids. Come winter, it will rain all day and night, almost nonstop. The Amazon will rise and flood out this area completely."
    "Really?" Ari looked around, impressed.
    "Yes, so you'd better plan on getting most of your orchids drawn in the next three months."
    "I love the rain," Ari said softly, returning to her journal. "I could hunt for orchids, bring them back to the houseboat and draw down below, couldn't I?"
    The thought of having her for longer than three months made him uneasy. How he wished Ari would stay that long, but the reasonable side of his nature, the pragmatic side, told him she would more than likely leave sooner rather than later. "Yes," he said, "you could. I can string some lights above the table for you. I've got a small gasoline generator in the engine room