Man of Passion by Lindsay McKenna Page B

that can be fired up and used on days like that. You'll need good light to draw."
    Ari reached out, her fingers sliding along Rafe's dark, hairy forearm. His flesh was hard and warm beneath her fingertips. She saw his eyes suddenly darken, like the sky as a storm gathered. His lips parted slightly in reaction to her unexpected touch. She couldn't help herself, nor did she want to where Rafe was concerned. "You're such a wonderful knight in shining armor to me." Her voice lowered. "And you're so thoughtful. I—I just never expected this…or you…and I feel like I'm in this wonderful, unfolding dream filled with beauty and love…."
    Love. The word was like a brand burning into his heart. As Ari softly touched his arm, an electric feeling moved wildly up through him, and Rafe could no longer think. She was so spontaneous, this wild, natural woman of his, that he was constantly caught off guard by her. He knew his heart was in danger, but he was helpless against the flow of feelings she conjured in him. Powerless in the face of her innocent affection—sweet feelings that would one day surely burn them both.

Chapter Six

    Ari was just putting the finishing touches on her first orchid portrait when she heard shouts and cries from the Amazon River . Rafe had set up a small table and chair for her beneath the long, wide leaves of a two-year-old banana tree near the jungle's edge, away from the path to the Juma village. She faced the river so that she could see all the colorful birds that were in constant flight across it. The spot provided shade as well as privacy, and she had wanted to be alone to draw. But she was glad she was close enough to where Rafe performed his daily activities. Putting her colored pencil aside, Ari raised her chin toward the sounds coming from the camp.
    She could see three dugout canoes coming into the igarape . Rafe emerged from the houseboat and lifted his hand in greeting as he spoke in the Indian language to the men in loincloths, who paddled their canoes to the bank in order to disembark. Like all the Indians Ari had met so far, these men were very short compared to Rafe , who towered over them.
    With a sigh, she thought about all that she'd encountered in the seven days since coming to Amazonia . Her life had slowed down to vivid moments with animals, visits with the Indian people or hours drawing her first orchid for the book. More than anything, Ari admitted to herself, Rafe's constant company was what she desired. She derived great pleasure in watching him work, whether he was talking with the Indian leaders constantly coming and going from his campsite, or wrestling with a mountain of paperwork, which, he admitted, he hated doing.
    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.