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Man of Passion
Lindsay McKenna
Brazilian mercenary Rafe Antonio never thought he could be bought off. But that's exactly what happened when he consented to his superior's command: Play protector to an American socialite in exchange for aid money for his foundation.He'd walked away from privilege, so he knew all about rich women. And he wanted no part of them. But Arianna Worthington was as delicate, vulnerable and gentle as the rare jungle orchids she planned to draw to fulfill her mother's dying wish. And Rafe would have to reexamine his assumptions–and prejudices–if he ever hoped to be the new chapter in her life.



“Rafe Antonio at your service, Señorita Worthington.”
As his strong mouth grazed Ari’s hand, a wild series of shocks leaped up her arm. No one had ever kissed her hand before! But the minute Rafe raised his head, she saw that his brown eyes were hard and merciless looking.
“Ohh…well…thank you, Señor Antonio.” She quickly pulled her hand away.
“Call me Rafe,” he told her. He didn’t want to like her. He couldn’t bear to think of spending the coming months keeping guard over a woman—especially a woman like this.
But Morgan Trayhern was counting on him. And Rafe wasn’t the kind of man who would shirk his duty.

Man of Passion
Lindsay McKenna


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A homeopathic educator, Lindsay McKenna teaches at the Desert Institute of Classical Homeopathy in Phoenix, Arizona. When she isn’t teaching alternative medicine, she is writing books about love. She feels love is the single greatest healer in the world and hopes that her books touch her readers on those levels. Coming from an Eastern Cherokee medicine family, Lindsay has taught ceremony and healing ways from the time she was nine years old. She creates flower and gem essences in accordance with nature and remains closely in touch with her Native American roots and upbringing.
To Karen David, a delightful maverick
in her own right, and a dear friend.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve

Chapter One
“Morgan, I’m glad you could make it,” Ben Worthington said, standing up from behind his large cherry desk and thrusting his square hand out toward him.
“Ben, it’s been awhile since we saw one another,” Morgan replied. Grasping the secretary of the Navy’s hand firmly, he saw Ben’s blue eyes narrow with concern, and wondered once again what had prompted his old friend’s sudden invitation.
“Have a seat,” Ben invited. “Becky,” he called to his assistant, who sat in the outer office, “is the coffee on the way?”
Morgan took a seat in the leather wing chair at the corner of Worthington’s desk and looked around the spacious Pentagon office. All kinds of Navy memorabilia—paintings, photos, diplomas—were affixed to the walls. Ben had been a Navy pilot on the carrier Enterprise during the Vietnam War. Ben’s desk looked just as cluttered and busy as his own, Morgan thought. Through the venetian blinds Morgan could see a patch of blue sky and fluffy white clouds. It was spring in Washington, D.C., and hundreds of cherry trees with white perfumed blossoms surrounded the Capitol and nearby monuments.
As Worthington’s prim and brisk secretary entered the office, silver tray in hand, Morgan gave her a nod. She smiled and handed him a white china cup decorated in gold trim.
“If I remember right, Mr. Trayhern, you like your coffee straight?”
Grinning, Morgan took the proffered cup and saucer. “Indeed I do, Becky. You’ve got a long memory.”
She smiled broadly and gave her boss his coffee. “Details are important around here, as you know, sir.” She set the tray on a cherry coffee table that sat off to one side, near the cream-colored, buttery-soft leather sofa. “And in case either of you wants a midmorning snack, there’s a delicious coffee cake drizzled with caramel just begging to be eaten.”
Groaning, Morgan thanked the tall, graceful secretary, whose red hair had become peppered with silver since he’d last seen her. In her mid-fifties, Becky had been working for Ben Worthington for a long time, and she was more than just an assistant, she was his right hand.
“I need that coffee cake like I need a hole in my head,” Morgan confided to Ben as Becky quietly closed the door to the office to leave them in complete privacy.
Ben raised his thick, sandy-colored brows as he sipped his coffee. “Makes two of us. I don’t get out and exercise like I used to.” He looked around the office. “Maybe it’s this place.”
“Or the pressures and crises that keep popping up to throw you off your scheduled maintenance,” Morgan said, his mouth twisted wryly.
“I see you know that one, too.”
“My middle name is crisis,” Morgan agreed with a chuckle. He eyed the coffee cake. “I shouldn’t, but I’m going to….” Rising to his full height, he unbuttoned his dark blue pinstripe jacket and moved over to the coffee table. Twisting to look over his shoulder at Ben, he asked, “Want to join me in collusion?”
Laughing, Ben patted his girth. “I’m twenty pounds over right now, Morgan. I don’t dare.”
“I just thought I’d have some company so I wouldn’t feel so guilty about cutting such a huge piece for myself,” he murmured as he sliced off a healthy portion and placed it on a china plate. Picking up the plate along with one of the forks and white linen napkins Becky had thoughtfully left behind, Morgan moved back to the wing chair and sat down.
“What’s on your mind, Ben?”
Scowling, Ben put his coffee aside and picked up one of several gold-framed photographs on one side of his massive desk. “How long have we known one another?”
Morgan sat back and chewed on the sweet, mouth-melting coffee cake. “Almost as long as Perseus has been in existence,” he replied, referring to the covert government organization he headed.
Moving his hands over one small photo, Ben studied it. “That was ten years ago. Arianna was only fourteen years old when you formed Perseus.” He looked up. “She’s my youngest of three children.” Turning the photo around, he placed it so that Morgan could get a good look at her.
“Pretty young lady,” Morgan commented. The photograph showed a woman of perhaps twenty-four or -five sitting among a number of potted plants in a greenhouse. She was delicate looking, with short, blond hair and her father’s sky blue eyes in an oval face. She was dressed in a pair of jeans, a pink tank top and tennis shoes. The expression on her face was one of pure joy.
Ben leaned back in his chair, his hands folded across his belly. “Arianna was only eight when her mother died of leukemia. She was the youngest and it was very hard on her. She was too young to understand…and her mother’s death changed her forever…. I tried to help, but I was hurting so much myself that I’m afraid I didn’t do a very good job of being a parent at that time….”
Morgan lost some of his joviality as Ben turned another framed photograph around for him to look at. It showed Ben and his wife, Ellen. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he murmured sincerely. In some respects, Ellen reminded him of his own wife, Laura, who also had blond hair. “Arianna really takes after your wife, doesn’t she?”
“In every respect,” Ben muttered. “Which is why I asked you to drop by and see me.” Ben waved his hand. “I know you have other appointments today, equally important, and I’m grateful you could squeeze this impromptu visit into your schedule.”
Morgan finished the tasty coffee cake. He blotted his lips with the napkin and picked up the cup of coffee. “I’m glad I could do it. I gather this involves something personal instead of professional?”
Ben sat for a moment, his square face stern, his jowls set, his gaze pinned on his daughter’s photograph. Rousing himself, he nodded. “Yes…it concerns Arianna. And what she thinks she’s about to do.”
Morgan heard the pain in the man’s somber voice and sympathized, though he had a feeling he knew what was bothering him. Ben was a hard-hitting Type A personality—a born leader, who liked to control every nuance of his life. As secretary of the Navy, his commanding leadership was a good thing. But Morgan wondered how Ben’s controlling personality might have impacted his family. He’d seen too many military men who were far too rigid with their wife and children.
“Fill me in on how I can help you,” Morgan said.
Ben sighed and picked up the picture of his daughter, holding it as he spoke. “Arianna is so much like her mother that since she’s grown up, I sometimes forget and think Ellen’s in the town house whenever Arianna comes over. Arianna’s twenty-five now, and has just graduated from Georgetown University with a degree in business and a minor in Spanish.”
“Impressive,” Morgan murmured. He thought of his own children, who were growing up quickly. Jason was ten now, and little Katy wasn’t far behind. And the fraternal twins, Peter and Kelly, were a year old. “I’ve got a college fund already established for my four kids. I’m hoping they’ll see the benefits of a college education like your daughter, Arianna, has.”
Worthington’s mouth tightened slightly. “I forced her into getting a degree in business. Maybe it was wrong of me, but I wanted Ari to have a solid foundation, so she could earn money and control her own life instead of having it controlled by others. She’s a very intelligent girl, if she’d just settle down.”
Touching the frame, Ben continued unhappily, “She’s a dreamer, not a hard-core business type, Morgan. My wife was a dreamer, too. Lord, she had so many dreams. Ellen loved to travel. She wanted to go around the world. She loved orchids, and I had a small greenhouse built for her. Ellen and Arianna spent hours out in that little steamy box where she grew all those orchids. In fact, the year before Ellen died, she made a concerted effort to be with Arianna. They spent a couple hours every day, up until the last two weeks before her death, out in that greenhouse.”
Touched, Morgan murmured, “It was a parting gift of love that Ellen gave to her then.”
Ben’s normally hard face softened somewhat. “Yes…Ari was all she had left. Our son, Kirk, was at the Naval Academy at the time.” He gave Morgan a pained look. “I think you already know our middle daughter, Janis, died at age thirteen. She took a stupid dare from a boy at a riding stable. He bet that the horse she was riding couldn’t jump a four-foot fence. It didn’t, and she fell off and broke her neck, dying instantly. It was a blow to all of us, but especially Ellen.” Rubbing his neck, Ben muttered, “I sometimes think that the shock of her death—the trauma of our loss—triggered Ellen’s leukemia. She contracted the disease six months after Janis died. It’s too coincidental, in my book.”
“And Ari got shunted aside during that time?”
“Yes, but she was the kind of little girl who would go off to her room and play for hours in a make-believe world.” Ben roused himself and gave Morgan a half smile. “She still does. And that’s the problem.”
“How?”
“One of the things my wife wanted to do more than anything else was take a trip down to the Amazon in Brazil to find orchids and draw them. My wife had a master’s degree in art. She was an incredible artist. She talked to Ari endlessly about all her dreams, and urged her to fill her life with exploration, with adventure, with going places.”
“All the places Ellen hadn’t gotten to go, right?”
“Yes.” Grimly, Ben sat up and said, “Ari has it in her head to go down to Brazil, to that damned jungle, and do exactly as her mother said—find orchids, draw them and have a book published on them. The only problem is that Ari is a delicate child. She hasn’t got any backbone. She’s painfully shy and has low self-esteem. Yet,” Ben growled in frustration, “she wants to traipse off to Brazil and do this crazy, stupid thing.”
“She’s twenty-five,” Morgan said. “Old enough to make up her mind on what she wants to do.”
“That’s the point!” Ben shot out of the chair and began to pace, his hands resting on his hips. “Ari has been a good girl. She’s been responsible. She’s done everything I’ve ever asked of her. Then, all of a sudden, she comes for a visit and tells me—tells me—that she wants to fulfill this crazy dream for her mother.”
“Why not let her?” Morgan asked. He could easily understand what was fueling the daughter’s rebellion. In making her mother’s dying wish come true, she would help to heal herself from the loss of her beloved parent.
“Because,” Ben said, turning and glaring at Morgan, “she’s not an artist! She has no degree in art. Oh, she dabbles with her colored pencils, and her mother did teach her some art techniques…but to think that she’s got the kind of artistic professionalism that a book demands? No. No way. I just don’t want to see her set herself up for disappointment. And risk her neck by running around a foreign country alone.”
Ben sighed. “Ellen used to read Arianna books on Brazil. They would sit for hours with five or six orchid books spread all across her bed, and they’d make plans about which species should be drawn for the book. Ari has it in her head that she can go gallivanting off to the jungle and draw those orchids.”
Shrugging, Morgan finished the coffee and said, “I haven’t met a twenty-something yet who didn’t rebel, didn’t want to go out and knock heads with life, Ben. If this is her rebellion, I’d say it’s a pretty healthy one, from my perspective.”
“Don’t side with her on this,” Ben warned. “There’re drug runners down in Manaus. There’s as much cocaine being funneled up through that country as there is rainwater pouring down on the Amazon jungle. I’m worried about her. She’s been a homebody. She’s not an explorer. She’s not worldly or even practical, Morgan.”
“In other words, Ari needs a babysitter and a guard dog? Is that why you asked to see me? You want me to assign a merc to her while she’s down there, to keep her out of trouble?”
“Out of harm’s way,” Ben added fiercely. He raked his fingers through his short, neatly cut hair. Sitting down, he sighed. “Ari is a mouse, Morgan. She’s a shadow. She clung to Ellen. She was afraid to do anything unless Ellen cajoled her into it. Ari was happy to stay at home, work with my wife on the orchids, be in the greenhouse with her. She doesn’t have the drive my son or I have. She doesn’t have a game plan for her life. Ari goes around in this idealistic, spacy kind of state, believing good of everyone and everything. She’s too damned trusting. Too forgiving.”
Sighing, Morgan said, “Life has a way of giving us more backbone, more reality-based perspectives, Ben. But to get that, you have to go out of the home and through life’s revolving doors into the fray we call the real world. You know that. It sounds like Ari is ready to do it. I don’t see that as bad, do you?”
“Why the hell couldn’t she just take the job I got her on Wall Street? I have a major stock brokerage firm that wants her right this minute. But she said no. She wants to take a year off, go to the Amazon and draw orchids and create this book. Hell, it’ll fail. She’ll fail.”
“Failing is a part of living,” Morgan said. “Failing gives us strength, endurance and backbone.” When Ben’s face flushed with anger, he held up his hand. “I think I’ve got just the man for this personal mission to protect Arianna from herself.”
“Who is he?” Ben demanded, getting up again. He poured himself more coffee and filled Morgan’s cup while he was at it.
“Name’s Rafe Antonio. He’s what they call a mateiro or a backwoodsman, in Brazil. In our country, he’d be known as a forest ranger. He has a territory about three hours east of Manaus, down the Amazon River, that he protects from poachers, miners and drug runners. His main care is for the Indians in that region. He’s a good man, Ben. Someone you can trust.”
“And you’ve worked with him before?”
“Many times. Antonio is a mole in the Brazilian government for Perseus. He’s aided us on a number of missions over the years. He’s also our eyes and ears down there regarding the drug trade.”
“And how do you think he’ll react to having to babysit my daughter?”
“I don’t know,” Morgan said. “I’ll contact him and find out. Rafe is someone you want around if trouble stirs. He comes from a very rich, old, aristocratic family in Manaus. His father’s family comes from direct Castilian Spain aristocracy. His mother was a socialite from São Paulo. Señor Antonio is a very rich and powerful man in Brazil.”
“Sounds like Rafe went his own way,” Ben muttered. “If he comes from rich and successful parents, not to mention aristocratic bloodlines, to be nothing more than a damned forest ranger—”
“Hold on,” Morgan warned. “Rafe has a Ph.D. in biology from Stanford Medical University in California. He’s written several books on herbs used by the medicine men and women down in the Amazon Basin. He’s widely regarded as an expert on them by scientific and pharmaceutical industries around the world.”
“Oh,” Ben muttered, “I thought he was just a junkyard dog.”
“With no breeding and papers?” Morgan controlled his mounting anger. Sometimes Ben Worthington was a snob. He was born of money, power and position, and had not come up through the ranks of the little people, as Morgan had.
“All right, all right. I was out of line. I apologize. So you think he can handle my daughter?”
“Rafe won’t ‘handle’ your daughter,” Morgan said softly. “I’ll give him orders to protect her, though, to help her fulfill her mother’s dream. He lives on a houseboat three hours from Manaus. I’m sure he can provide shelter for Ari.”
“Frankly, I’d like him to talk my bullheaded daughter into coming straight home.”
“You aren’t going to be able to tell a twenty-five-year-old much,” Morgan said with a chuckle.
Ben scowled heavily and drummed his fingers on the desk. “Tell this Antonio that if he talks my daughter into doing an about-face at Manaus International Airport, there’s a hundred thousand dollar bonus in it for him.”
Morgan hesitated. “I’m afraid that kind of carrot dangling in front of Rafe won’t work. He’s got pretty strong moral and ethical boundaries. He can’t be bought off, Ben.”
“You mean he wouldn’t try and talk my daughter into turning around and getting back on a plane headed for the States?”
Morgan shook his head. “He’s a man of honor. The type of honor the old Castilian aristocracy still has. Actually, he should be living in Victorian, or maybe Napoleonic, times. He’s fighting for the underdogs, the weak, and those who need the kind of help he can supply. The miners, drug runners and drug lords hate him and have a heavy price out on his head. Rafe is a modern-day knight in many respects. I don’t think he would take money to do something he saw as underhanded to someone like Arianna.”
Snorting, Ben rolled his eyes skyward. “Just my luck.”
“I choose people with strong morals and values, Ben. You know that. If they aren’t in that category, Perseus won’t hire them.”
“I know, I know….” he said in exasperation. “On one hand, I feel good he’ll protect Ari. On the other…well, dammit, everyone can be bought for a price. It just depends upon what’s important to them. Does he have a foundation or something set up for his Indians?”
“Yes, he does.” Morgan eyed him warily. “If you think a hefty donation to his foundation will make him talk Ari out of staying in the Amazon to complete her dream, you’re barking up the wrong tree, Ben. In this case, Ari is the underdog and Rafe won’t take your side against her at any price.”
“Just a thought…” Ben leaned back in his chair, pondering the situation. “Well, I’ve got one last chance to talk Ari out of this fiasco adventure of hers. I swear, she’s like Joan of Arc on a mission. I’ve never seen her like this. Before…well, she did what I wanted or asked of her. Now she’s digging in her heels like some kind of fanatical zealot and refusing to budge from her position. This is a girl who always knew the meaning of the word compromise and would bend over backwards for me.” Drumming his fingers again, he added in a frustrated tone, “But not this time.”
Sitting up, Morgan said gently, “Ben, maybe your daughter needs to spread her wings. She’s at that age. I watch our kids growing up, and every day I see them becoming more and more independent from us.”
Arching one brow, Ben said, “And you encourage it?”
“Of course. The last thing Laura and I want are kids who can’t struggle and survive in life. They have to learn how to do that. It hurts us to see Jason and Katy exploring, knowing that they’re going to make a mistake, or learn a hard lesson. No denying it’s painful to watch. But they’ve got to make mistakes, Ben. You can’t keep protecting Ari because you lost your other daughter. And reading between the lines, it looks like you did just that and she’s become very dependent upon you as a result.” Opening his hands, his voice becoming softer, Morgan added, “Loving our kids is hell on our hearts, Ben. And with you losing Ellen, as well as Janis…well, I can’t blame you for wanting to protect Ari like you have. Someday I’m sure she’ll appreciate what you’ve done and are trying to do for her.”
“But not now?”
“She’s only twenty-five,” Morgan said, smiling faintly. “Remember when you were in your twenties, Ben?”
“Yeah, I had a jet strapped to my butt and I was shooting Migs out of the skies over North Vietnam.”
“Not exactly a safe job, was it? Did you ever think what your parents must have felt or thought?”
“Not at the time, no. I felt it was my right to do what I wanted to do.”
“Okay…then transfer that feeling, that driving need to be yourself, to Ari. That’s where she’s at.”
“Humph.”
Morgan drank his coffee and allowed his words to sink in. He saw Ben’s large, fleshy features set into a bulldog look of denial. Placing his cup on its saucer, Morgan said, “At least she hasn’t got a jet strapped to her, out in combat. Look at the bright side of this. Hunting down orchids and sketching them isn’t exactly dangerous. Let her off that protective leash you’ve got her on. Rafe Antonio is a man of honor. A modern-day knight. I know he’ll care for Ari like you or I would, if we were in his shoes.”
“But…she’s just a girl!”
“Maybe you need to shift how you see Ari,” Morgan warned. “At twenty-five, Ari is no ‘girl.’ She’s a young woman.”
Rubbing his brow fiercely, Ben glowered across the desk. “Dammit, Morgan, did Ari pay you to come in here and be on her side of this thing?”
Grinning sourly, Morgan sipped his coffee. “Not a chance, Ben. This is a parent talking to a parent. Jason’s ten. In three years he’ll hit his teens, and from what I’m seeing, he’s going to be a rebel without a cause. A handful. At least Ari is rebelling for the right reasons. She wants closure with her mother’s death and maybe she hopes to find herself—her real self—without any of her family being around. All kids need that adventure in life to give them a sense of who they really are. Ari needs to find out who she is. Not the daughter. Not the sister. But herself.”
“I should pay you a hundred bucks an hour to be my shrink,” Ben griped good-naturedly.
Chuckling, Morgan stood up. “I’m going to be late for my appointment with the Joint Chiefs of Staff if I don’t hightail it out of here, Ben.” He thrust his hand out to his old friend. “I’ll have my office fax a dossier on Rafe Antonio, and his photo, to you. You’ll have them by this afternoon. That way, you can talk intelligently with your daughter about him being her guide.”
“Bodyguard.”
Morgan released Ben’s hand. “That, too. My office will get in touch with Rafe by Iridium phone satellite transmission. Down there in the jungle, only direct satellite transmissions can get info in and out. Standard cell phones are useless. I’ll make sure my people give you the confirmation that he knows Ari is coming to Manaus. Just call and give them the airline and flight information.”
Ben sighed and looked dejectedly down at his desk. “I don’t know, Morgan. Being a parent is hell. I worry for Ari. I’ll probably have insomnia while she’s down there….”
“When you read up on Antonio, I don’t think you’ll lose sleep,” Morgan reassured him as he opened the door. “Just tell Ari she’s in good hands.”

Chapter Two
“Will you settle down?” Ari hissed the words to herself as she sat tensely in the living room of her condo. It was located near Georgetown University, where she’d spent five years of her life pursuing a degree she didn’t want. Her father was to meet her at 8:00 p.m. She knew he’d be punctual; he always was. In fact, he ran his life by that darned appointment book of his. After all, Ben Worthington was a power broker who moved in the highest circles of politics and government in the country.
Chewing on her full lower lip—a nervous habit she took up whenever she was about to have a confrontation with him or anyone—she uncrossed her legs and sat straight on the flowery print couch. Her mind raced. She had to have all the reasons why she had to go to the Amazon down pat or her father would shred them with his cold, analytical skills. Her heart almost burst with anticipation and she collapsed against the back of the couch. She had to go! Her father had to let her.
When the doorbell rang, Ari jumped what felt like three feet off the couch. Instantly, her stomach knotted as she leaped to her feet and walked breathlessly to the door, smoothing a hand over the long-sleeved lavender blouse she wore with dark navy trousers and comfortable brown loafers. Opening the door, she saw her father standing there, towering over her with his massive height. She could see dark shadows beneath his pale blue eyes, and the set of his mouth sent a frisson of fear through her. Beneath his left arm was a manila envelope, and he carried a black leather briefcase.
“Hi, Father, come on in….” She stepped aside. “You look really tired. Hard day?”
Ben ambled into the small, neatly kept condo. “It was a tough day, Ari. Yes, I’m beat.” He glanced around the room, realizing once again how much her condo reflected Ellen’s taste in furniture, colors and greenery. Ari had created space for about six orchids on the windowsills. Some of them were in bloom. When he halted, turned and looked down at his youngest daughter, he thought about how much she looked like Ellen had when they’d first gotten married. They’d been in their mid-twenties, and Ben recalled vividly how he’d plunged over the edge when he’d seen Ellen. She was so alive, almost ethereal. More like a diaphanous cloud than something created from terra firma. Though Ari had his light blue eyes, she had Ellen’s thick, gold hair and oval face. In fact, Ari was the same height and build as Ellen. His daughter had let her hair grow since graduating from college and it hung in a loose pageboy around her slumped shoulders.
Ben wished Ari would square her shoulders and stand up tall and proud. But she never did. He watched as she fluttered around the living room, removing several magazines from the couch to the coffee table, next to the lacy fern that sat there.
“Have you eaten?” Ari asked, her heart pounding hard with anxiety.
“Yes, I have.” Ben sat down. Ari took the overstuffed chair opposite him. Chewing on her lip, she watched as her father put down the briefcase and then slowly opened the thick manila envelope.
“What’s that?” She hoped it was her airline ticket for Manaus.
“Your adventure,” he muttered. Lifting his head, his hand resting on the papers he placed on his lap, he said, “Are you sure you want to do this, Ari? I’ve got a job on Wall Street waiting for you. Why can’t you drop this idea of yours and do something solid for your career?”
Hurt wove through her. She avoided his piercing blue gaze. Ari had a tough time looking people squarely in the eyes. She always felt so worthless, so inept and small in comparison to those who could boldly meet someone’s gaze and hold it. She admired people who could. She felt like a coward most of the time. Rubbing her face with her hands, she whispered, “Father, I’ve got to do this!” Her soft voice grew fervent. “Please? This is for Mom.” She put her hand against her heart. “She dreamed so much of going to the Amazon to hunt orchids and draw them. I really want to do this for her.”
Wearily, Ben studied his daughter’s features in the lamplight. She looked more girl than woman to him. Maybe Morgan was right and he needed to see Ari differently. But dammit, it was hard. Almost impossible to do. “But you can’t even draw, Ari!” Instantly, he saw how his words wounded her. Every little emotion registered across her face, just as it had on Ellen’s. They were so much alike that it broke his heart. “I’m sorry, Ari…you just don’t have your mother’s education and training. You never took a course in art.”
Pressing both hands to her heart, Ari fought back the tears. She felt like such a loser. She wanted desperately to please her father, but this thing, this urge deep in her heart and gut, was driving her like a fanatical force that would no longer be ignored. She had to respond to it, to how she really felt. Heart aching, Ari whispered, “I know I’m a lousy artist, Father. I don’t even pretend to call myself one. But I love to sketch. I used to sketch with Mom all the time. Remember how she’d loan me some of her paper and colored pencils and we’d both draw the orchid she chose?”
“Only too well,” Ben admitted tiredly. On the walls of Ari’s condo were at least ten of Ellen’s original paintings of her beloved orchids. Ellen had been a small sensation in the art world with her talent for portraying the luscious, feminine-looking orchids. It had started as a hobby, but she had eventually made a lot of money at it, as well as achieving no small amount of fame.
Ben studied Ari. She looked helpless to him, her hands pressed against her small breasts, her eyes pleading. What tore at him most were the unshed tears he saw in them. Dammit, he didn’t mean to hurt her or make her cry. Ellen would cry at anything and everything. Ari was no different.
“Look,” he said gruffly, “I’ve got your airline ticket here, your passport and everything you need. You’re going, okay?”
Instantly, Ben saw a shining, joyous light come to her large, widening eyes.
“Oh, thank you, Father!” Ari leaped off the chair, came around the coffee table and threw her arms around his neck, giving him a fierce hug.
“Ari…don’t get carried away,” he ordered brusquely, untangling his daughter’s arms from around his neck. “You’re not a little kid anymore,” he muttered. “You’re a young woman….”
Laughing delightedly, Ari sat there, one leg beneath her on the couch as she felt a thrill of freedom flow through her. He was going to let her go to Manaus! Suddenly she was scared. She’d lived with fear all her life, so this was just a new kind to her. It felt delicious in comparison to her other fears, however. Soaring giddily on the news, she said, “Father, are you saying I’m too old to give you a hug every now and then?” He had always been uncomfortable with touching and holding, and Ari never understood why. Her mother had been such a toucher and hugger in comparison, but Ari had never seen her parents kiss or even hold hands out in public. Yet she knew to this day that her dad still loved her mother fiercely. Her photos were everywhere in his condominium and on his desk at the Pentagon. Ari knew he kept a color photo of her mother in his wallet, too.
“You’re growing into a young woman,” he said bluntly. “You and I have to adjust to that.” He hoped by using Morgan’s words that he could help Ari feel a little more confident about herself. A little more sure. Ben had never seen such a flighty, uncertain person as Ari. He blamed it on the unexpected death of Janis and then her mother. Despite their age difference, Ari and Janis had been very close. And Ari had almost given up on living after Janis died. She was just a shadow, no, a mouse who ducked and dodged her way through life, running to the safety of her dream world.
Trying to quiet her spontaneous outburst, because she knew her father disapproved of effusive emotional displays—touching him with her hand or, heaven forbid, hugging him around the neck— Ari asked, “Is all of that for me?”
“Yes.” Ben held up the packet. “I talked to an old friend of mine today. He knows someone—a guide down in Manaus—who is going to help you.” Ben did not mention that Rafe Antonio would also act as her bodyguard, because he knew Ari would instantly rebel. Let his daughter think she was on her own. He placed a color fax in her hands. “This is a photo of Rafe Antonio. He’s a forest ranger near Manaus. He’s got a camp three hours east of there on the Amazon River. I’ve hired him to help you hunt for your orchids. You can stay at his camp, which is near one of the Indian villages he takes care of.”
Awed and stunned by her father’s help, Ari held the paper in her hands. The man in the photo wore a short-sleeved khaki shirt with some kind of emblem on the sleeve. He was standing languidly on what appeared to be a very old, beat-up houseboat. She could see a wide, muddy river behind him. The Amazon? She hoped so. He was so tall and athletic looking as he rested his elbow on top of the wooden pilot house. His face was square, his skin a golden color, his hair short and jet-black. His eyes were filled with laughter, and the wide smile showing his even white teeth made her smile in turn. He looked like an adventurer. Ari’s heart began skipping wildly. Rafe was terribly good-looking, in her opinion. Was he married? Did he have a lot of kids? Ari thought so. He looked married.
“He has a kind face, Father.”
Ben snorted. “You’re just like your mother, Ari, thinking you can look at someone’s face and know him.”
“Sure you can.” She saw her father frown in disapproval. Lately, she’d been getting awfully mouthy around him. Normally she kept such thoughts to herself. Ever since the desire to go to the Amazon had taken hold of her soul and heart, she couldn’t keep the words, her true feelings, from spilling from her lips. Cringing inwardly, she saw the censure in his eyes.
“This man is to be trusted,” Ben said with an effort. He didn’t want Ari to know he was a mercenary in the employ of Perseus. Otherwise she would become suspicious. He had carefully extracted the info from the paperwork he was about to give her. “I’m leaving his résumé and curriculum vitae with you. You can read it on the flight down to Manaus. He’s got a degree in biology. Where he works, there’s plenty of orchids to keep you happy.”
“Wonderful!” she gushed. “Oh, I’m so happy, Father. Thank you!”
“I don’t approve of you going down there, Ari. Don’t mistake what I’m doing. I’m very disappointed you aren’t taking that job on Wall Street which I worked hard to get for you. You think life is easy. You think you can just traipse off on this airy-fairy dream of yours. You never took journalism in university. You need to do that if you want to write a book. And you don’t have a degree in art. I don’t know why you think you can create a book of orchid sketches with text and actually sell it.” Raking his fingers through his hair, he pinned his daughter with a dark gaze. She hung her head and avoided his eyes, as always.
“I’m doing this for you because I know you’ll do it anyway and I’d prefer you had my help. And dammit, I don’t want to see you floundering around in a foreign country, in a strange city, trying to find someone who can help you hunt for orchids. Chances are you’d be robbed, killed or worse, kidnapped, and I’d get a call for a million-dollar ransom to get you back. No, Rafe Antonio is in place because I want you as safe as you can be on this jaunt of yours.”
Pain filled Ari. “I—I understand, Father.”
“How long do you think you’ll be gone?” he demanded, barely keeping the anger out of his voice.
Looking from side to side, still afraid to meet his eyes, which Ari knew snapped with frustration, she said, “I don’t really know. Mom said it would take at least three to six months to find enough orchids to fill a book. And then I’d need to go to New York to talk to publishers, get them to buy it.”
Ben sat there helplessly. “Six months? You’re going to be in Brazil for six months?”
“I don’t really know, Father. It could be more or less. Mom figured it would take about thirty orchids per book. If I can find them sooner, I’ll be back sooner.”
“The sooner the better,” Ben growled. He flung his hand toward the packet of information he’d tossed on the coffee table in front of them. “Read through the stuff. Antonio has a recent photo of you. He’ll know you on sight. He’s going to meet you after you get out of Customs at the Manaus airport.”
Nodding contritely, Ari felt like crying. She was going on the adventure she and her mother had plotted and planned for months. During the last year of her mother’s life, when she had been sick with leukemia, Ari had spent hours sitting on her bed, writing notes on the dream trip her mother yearned to take—but never would. That didn’t stop her mother from imagining every day of it, however. And now Ari wanted to live that diary she’d filled with her mother’s dreams. She wanted to fulfill them even if she couldn’t draw or write very well. Ari was sure she’d never get the book sold, but she was going to try because it had meant so much to her mother, who had never had her dreams fulfilled. Ari was only sorry her father didn’t understand why she had to go to the Amazon.
“I’ve got to leave,” Ben said abruptly, and stood up. He rebuttoned his suit coat, smoothed his tie into place and gazed down at her. Ari seemed so fragile. Her skin looked so delicate that he could see the fine veins beneath her large, expressive blue eyes. In a robotlike motion, he reached out and briefly touched her sagging shoulder. “Have a good flight tomorrow, Ari. Call me when you get to Manaus?”
“Sure,” she murmured. His touch was so brief, like a butterfly landing and leaving. Ari ached to have him pull her into his arms and embrace her in farewell. She quelled her own desire to fling her arms around him again. He seemed so embarrassed and uncomfortable when she did it. Crossing her arms against her chest instead, she kept her distance.
Ben pulled out a package from the inner pocket of his coat. “Here, a going away gift, Ari. Use it frequently.”
Surprised, she took the gold-foil-wrapped gift, which sported a red ribbon. “Oh!” she gasped, and quickly sat down, tearing at the wrapping. When she opened up the long, rectangular box, she saw it held a phone. Looking up, a question on her face, she saw her father smile benignly.
“That’s an Iridium phone—the latest technology available. It cost three thousand dollars. Use that to call me anytime. It hooks up to satellites directly. Cell phones don’t work down in the jungle where you’re going.”
Touched, Ari gently put the gift on the couch. Against her better judgment, she threw her arms around her father. He was so tall! So strong and stalwart, when she felt none of those things about herself. Pressing her cheek against his chest, she sobbed, “Thank you, Father. Thank you…for everything….”
“Here, here,” Ben growled as he gripped her upper arms and eased away. “Now don’t go getting mushy on me, Ari. Buck up. And don’t cry. I can’t stand women crying.”
Sniffing, Ari swallowed her tears of joy. “Okay, Father.” She gave him a quick smile. “I’ll call you when I land at Manaus.”
“Yes,” Ben said sternly, “you’d better.” He jabbed a finger toward the fax photo of the mercenary. “And I want to know that you’ve hooked up with Antonio. Do not leave the airport unless he’s there. Do you understand?”
Ari tried to look appropriately contrite as her father went through a three-minute list of what he did and did not want her to do when she reached Manaus. Hands folded in front of her, unable to meet his eyes, she simply bowed her head and listened, as she always had. But her brain and heart were elsewhere while her father harangued her. Every time she stole a look toward the coffee table and saw Rafe’s picture, her heart leaped like a wild gazelle. Why? Ari was stymied. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. She was sure he was married. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy how handsome he was. She’d look, but not touch. Ari would never think of liking a man who was married. She held marriage sacred. Besides, she had been a wallflower, with few dates coming her way in university. Most men saw her as a weak-willed little thing incapable of holding their interest.
Still, when her father finished his list and headed toward the door, Ari brightened considerably.
As she quietly closed the door behind him, she sighed with relief. She’d won. She’d taken her first stand with her father and won. Her heart wouldn’t settle down, she was so excited. Walking back to the couch, she eagerly sat down and looked through the rest of the information on her guide. Ari was stunned by his impeccable academic credentials. He’d gone to Stanford Medical University and gotten a Ph.D. in biology! He was more than just a “forest ranger” as her father had said. Much more. Stanford’s medical school was one of the top in the world for medical doctors and scientists. Obviously, Rafe was a scientist.
That thrilled her. He’d have a wonderful knowledge of her beloved orchids. Because he lived in the Amazon, he would know the species and varieties. As she quickly perused his résumé, she noticed he was single and twenty-nine years old. Single? She picked up the photo of him, stunned by this revelation. How could someone as drop-dead handsome as this man be single? That didn’t make sense. Ari told herself he was probably divorced. Surely a man of his caliber, his looks and courage would have found his soul mate by now.
Rafe Antonio looked like a Spanish explorer from the sixteenth century, a world-conquering hero. The fax didn’t give details of his facial features or the all-important eyes. Eyes, to Ari, were indeed the window to a person’s soul which was probably why she was unable to meet most people’s eyes—she felt excruciatingly vulnerable when she did. As if the person staring at her could look directly into her heart and soul. That kind of vulnerability was something Ari experienced twenty-four hours a day. She had no way to turn it off or protect herself.
But Ari didn’t feel vulnerable now; she felt strong and alive. Unable to still the happiness that was palpably flowing through her like a river flowing over its banks in a springtime flood, she leaned back, closed her eyes and pressed Rafe’s picture to her heart. Oh! How wonderful she felt! At last she was going to get to fulfill her mother’s dream. How many books had they read on the Amazon? Ari remembered how her mother had read aloud to her as a seven-year-old. How she’d loved to hear her voice, for her mother knew how to make even the dullest book interesting, make the words come to life. Opening her eyes, Ari sobered a little. Yes, she was fulfilling a dream, but she feared she would never be able to draw the orchids well enough, or provide good text for the book.
“I have to try,” she told herself fiercely, her words echoing around the room. Looking up, she gazed at a huge oil painting her mother had done of the Phalaenopsis, or moth, orchids. The petals really did look like moths’ wings, she mused. The colors were rich and deep, from an elegant white orchid with pink luscious lips, to a pale yellow one and a vivid purple one. Their green, glossy oval leaves provided a fitting backdrop for the hanging spikes in the painting. Yes, there was no question that her mother was an exquisite artist. But Ari wasn’t going to try and pretend that she was too. All she’d take with her to the Amazon was her sketchpad and her trusty set of colored pencils.
“Tomorrow, Ari, you’ll be on your own for the first time….” And she was. She’d done everything her father wanted up until now. She’d gone to university. She’d lived in Georgetown and remained near his townhouse in the nearby suburb of Alexandria. Ari had been a faithful daughter to him by coming over to visit and making him dinner two or three nights a week. She’d been there for him as her mother might have been, if she’d lived. No, tomorrow was a brand-new chapter in her life and she knew it. Fear wound around her heart, yet Ari couldn’t stop the excitement she felt. At last she was going to make her mother’s dream come true…with the help of Rafe Antonio, a man who looked more like a Hollywood star than a forest ranger.

Chapter Three
Ari tried to balance her soft gold leather purse on her left shoulder, along with two pieces of luggage, as she hurried out of Customs at Manaus International Airport. She was late! When wasn’t she? It was a terrible habit that seemed to dog her all her life. Voices of people anxious to meet their loved ones sounded around her as she stumbled along, most speaking Portuguese or Spanish. She heard very little English. People of all skin colors milled about or moved slowly through the narrow hallway that led into the receiving area.
Had she worn the right clothes? Though it was spring in North America, it was autumn here. Trundling along, Ari wished she were taller. At five foot six inches, she melted into the crowd of men, women and children who moved good-naturedly but sluggishly forward, elbow to elbow. How would Señor Antonio be able to find her? Anxiety rose in Ari. What if he missed her? In her damp hand, she clutched the fax with his photo. He was supposed to be tall. That was good, at least.
Heart pounding with excitement and trepidation, Ari tried to stand on tiptoe. In her sensible, dark brown oxfords it was fairly easy to do. Colors were everywhere. The people of South America looked like colorful birds to her, their clothing bright and patterned with elements from nature, such as flowers and trees. The odors in the air ranged from spicy perfumes to the tantalizing scents of food cooking somewhere in the terminal ahead of her. The level of excited expectation she felt keenly within the crowd matched her own.
Where was Rafe Antonio? Anxiously, Ari peered around. People were jammed ten deep along the cordoned-off area for passengers coming out of Customs. The faces of the awaiting families buoyed her spirits. Happy cries drifted over the tumult and she felt as if she were standing in a waterfall of languages, the air rent with the joyful calls of friends and family to the arriving passengers. The glut of people ground to a halt every time one of the awaiting families rushed forward to greet a loved one.
Ari found herself glued front and back to people who had patiently stopped to allow others ahead of them to greet one another. Everyone seemed highly tolerant of the practice. Around her, people were smiling. She relaxed somewhat. If this had been a North American airport, people would have pushed forward, elbowing their way out of the crowd. Not here. Ari marveled at the generosity of the people here and found her anxiety abating.
Standing on tiptoe again, she searched the masses of people. The crowd crept forward and she eagerly stepped along. It stopped and she pushed herself up on tiptoe once more. There! No… Well, maybe… At the very back of the crowd a man was standing. He was spectacularly handsome, his head and shoulders rising above nearly everyone around him. Rafe Antonio was supposed to be six foot five inches tall—a basketball player’s height, in Ari’s mind. Yes, this man was tall. Gorgeously handsome. Could that possibly be her guide for the coming months?
The man she was gazing at had tousled, wind-blown black hair, one dark lock dipping across his broad, golden forehead. He was wearing sunglasses which gave him the aura of a movie star. But the sweat-stained, short-sleeved khaki shirt he wore told her this was no movie star, but a man not afraid of hard work. The shirt was open, and dark hairs curled across his chest. Ari liked his square face and the strength of his jaw. His mouth was relaxed, the upper and lower lip the same thickness, with the hint of dimples surrounding them. He had a nice, kind mouth, Ari decided.
This man couldn’t possibly be her guide. He was far too handsome, far too above the crowd; someone so confident in himself that Ari didn’t dare think that he was, indeed, her mentor. Yet she liked the way he stood—relaxed, yet alert, his broad shoulders thrown back, his chin lifted regally. Oh, if only he was her guide! Ari giggled to herself. Her father would just die if he could get inside her head! Looking down at the picture in her hand and then standing on tiptoe once again, Ari wasn’t sure. She hoped it was Rafe Antonio. He looked like he’d just come off the Amazon, sweaty and dirty, but that didn’t deter her, nor did his unshaved face. It only made him look that much more of an adventurer, dangerous to her vulnerable emotional state.
Something niggled at Rafe as his gaze raked over the crowded airport terminal. He was a man used to picking up subtle sensations around him. Sometimes his life had depended upon such perturbations of warning. Yet this wasn’t a danger sensation, but something else he couldn’t put words to. The fact that he couldn’t quite pinpoint it made him uncomfortable. A sizzle of anticipation wound through him. Every once in a while he’d catch sight of someone with blond hair bobbing up and down in the dense crowd. He couldn’t quite catch sight of her, except for that cap of sunlight she wore. Was that Arianna Worthington? The rich socialite daughter of the secretary of the Navy? His instincts told him yes.
The thought made Rafe move closer, although he tried to tell himself he couldn’t care less about this woman he had to babysit for Morgan. Oh, he’d tried to talk Morgan out of the assignment. Rafe didn’t have time for rich young women who were out on a lark. His business was deadly serious and dangerous. He needed someone like Arianna right now like he needed a choke collar around his neck. Life in his region was unsettled and dangerous. Rafe didn’t want to take time tending to the needs of a norteamericana who had never been in a jungle in her life.
He didn’t try to elbow his way into the pack of awaiting people. Instead, he made his way behind the crowd, toward the exit. Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his stained and dirty khaki trousers, he smiled to himself. By meeting her at the airport filthy and unshaved, he hoped that she’d turn tail and run back to the States. He had been working on the houseboat engine, at the wharf, for six hours before having to come here. In the steamy, humid heat, he’d sweated plenty, adding to the dirt, grime and grease. He knew a lot about rich women, and Rafe figured that this one would find him absolutely repugnant. Hopefully, she would refuse to go anywhere with him because he looked like a filthy pig with no manners.
From this angle, Rafe could catch better glimpses of the golden-haired woman who stood in a mass of dark-haired people. Yes, he was sure it was her. His mouth drew into a hard line of impatience. Every time she thrust up on her toes, he caught sight of her for a few seconds. She was far more beautiful than the photo that had been faxed to him by Perseus yesterday. His heart pounded briefly every time he was able to catch a glimpse of her. Why did she have to be so beautiful? The only reason he’d grudgingly agreed to meet this rich woman who wanted a jungle adventure was because Morgan would write him a check for one hundred thousand dollars, a donation to his foundation to help the Juma, who were reeling from losing half the people of their village in a bioterrorist attack. Rafe wanted the money to pay for long-term medical needs for those who had survived, and without such American dollars being pumped into the village, many would suffer in great pain and misery for many, many months to come. So Rafe had capitulated; a socialite brat for three to six months in exchange for money for one of the Indian villages he was charged with helping and protecting. Reluctantly, he studied her as she approached, trying not to seem as interested as he really was. Arianna Worthington wore a raspberry-colored cardigan drawn around her shoulders, the sleeves tied in a knot and hanging down the front. Her hair was gold like the sun itself, thick and lying in a gentle frame around her oval face, curling softly about her small shoulders. But it was her eyes that intrigued him: large, slightly tilted and the color of the sky he sometimes saw over the Amazon when the clouds decided to part long enough to grant him a view. She looked younger than twenty-five—somewhere between a gawky teenage girl and a woman, he grimly decided as he watched her try to balance the luggage she carried. As the crowd thinned out, he started toward her.
This was all he needed—an immature girl on his hands. Even a rich socialite woman would be better than this. Rafe, on the other hand, was mature beyond his years. His lifestyle, his responsibilities and the inherent dangers surrounding him, guaranteed that. His expectations fell further as he drew closer to her. She wasn’t even self-confident, more like a frightened rabbit in unknown surroundings. Great. The word babysitter rang in his head and he felt anger.
In his world, he was a loner; he had accepted what he was a long time ago. His family was disdainful of his life as a backwoodsman. His father had disowned him because Rafe had refused to fill his parents’ expectation that he would become a rich, powerful aristocrat in Brazil’s government, as every son in the Antonio family had for the last two hundred years. Rafe was proud of what he did, but he did it alone. And not with something like this bedraggled-looking blond norteamericana hanging around his neck.
Rafe fought the protective feelings that rose in him as he looked at her. He noticed everyone looking at her, too. And why not? She was the only blonde in the airport. More than that, she was beautiful in an awkward though arresting way. The black, ankle-length cotton skirt decorated with splashes of pink, fuschia and plum flowers that she wore swung with each small step she took. In one hand, she clutched a piece of paper—probably his photo. In the other, a Panama straw hat, the type that could be rolled up and crushed into a suitcase.
Looking like a pack animal with her huge purse and two attending black nylon bags, she labored under the weight. Seeing an opening in the crowd, Rafe slid smoothly through it in order to reach her. As he moved around several people, murmuring his apologies, he saw her catch sight of him.
Ari sucked in a huge gasp of air. It was him! The Hollywood star! Gulping, she froze. Rafe Antonio was like a tall, gorgeous god passing through the throngs of lesser beings. As he moved, he didn’t disturb anyone. Instead, he had a boneless kind of grace that stopped her in her tracks. She stared in abject awe of him, as if he were a supernatural being.
Ari tried to stop her flights of fancy about this man, but it was impossible. As she stood there, weighted down like a mule, feeling disheveled and shamed because she felt so wretched compared to him, Ari could only watch him come closer, her heart pulsing powerfully.
As he glided effortlessly through the crowd, she watched as he lifted his hand and removed his sunglasses, placing them in the sweat-stained left pocket of his khaki shirt. When he looked up, she gasped again. His eyes were a cinnamon color—large, wide with intelligence and…something else. Aggravation? The sense of kindness about this man that had bowled Ari over at first seemed as if it was being replaced by the different emotions she saw in his narrowing eyes. She wasn’t used to being so in tune with a man, and it shook her deeply to be able to tell so much of his emotions. To Ari, it was as if she were somehow invisibly connected to him, as if she were a seismograph registering every vibration she felt around him. It was a shocking sensation. And he was so incredibly handsome! She noticed a slight sheen of perspiration across his golden-colored skin and a smear of grease beneath the left side of his hard jawline. As his gaze met hers, Ari tried to pull away from his mesmerizing look. It was impossible. She felt drawn to him, to his soul, and the wildly exciting and powerful connection was overwhelming.
Dizzied and feeling terribly inept in his towering presence, Ari felt her purse sliding off her shoulder. Oh, no! It was a huge, oversize purse, one that she had packed with overnight accessories in case there was an emergency. As the heavy bag clunked to the floor, she tripped over it. With a cry, she went down on her hands and knees.
Rafe saw her fall, but he was too far away to catch her or break her tumble to the floor. The crowds parted quickly when people realized what had happened, so it was easy to sweep into the widening circle, slide his fingers around her arms and lift her back to her feet. She felt firm, yet soft beneath his hands. As he leaned over, he could smell the lingering scent of an exotic perfume. Perhaps a hint of jasmine. She was so close, so helpless in that moment.
“Oh…” Ari moaned as she looked up to see Rafe leaning over her, felt his strong hands grip her arms. She felt so embarrassed!
“Allow me, Señorita Worthington….” All of his anger and trepidation ebbed away. She was helpless and sweet, Rafe realized. Not a teenager, either. A young woman. That was good.
His voice was deep, dark honey melting right through to her wildly pounding heart. Ari felt his hands slip around her upper arms to first steady her, and then lift her as if she weighed nothing at all. Humiliated by her fall, she tried not to look at the people moving slowly around them. A number murmured to her in Portuguese and reached out and gently patted her shoulder or arm, as if to help her. Their kindness rattled Ari. She expected people to ignore her and move around her, irritated and giving her disdainful glances.
When Ari lifted her chin and looked up, up into the warm brown eyes of the man who had rescued her, she felt her knees going weak again. Instinctively, she grabbed at his forearms and felt the muscles there tighten. As she gripped him for support, heat rolled up her neck and into her face. Now she was blushing.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured apologetically. “I—I’m such a klutz! I’m always stumbling and falling. What a mess I’ve made—again….”
Rafe gave her a tight smile. “Señorita, I’m Rafe Antonio. Please, don’t be apologizing. As you can see, no one takes offense at what has happened. You mustn’t, either….” The look in her eyes was like that of a wounded animal, or a child who had done something terribly wrong. Why? Rafe wondered. Her lovely oval face was flushed a deep pink color. Her mouth… He quickly tore his attention from that mouth, which reminded him of a beautiful rose opening in the morning sunlight. She was incredibly beautiful in her own way, even if she was a spoiled, rich norteamericana brat. He liked her broad forehead, her slightly angled blond eyebrows and those flawless blue topaz eyes. Her nose was small, her nostrils flared with chagrin. Though her chin was weak, it completed the oval perfection of her face. As she tried to get her balance, her thick, blond hair moved like ripples on the surface of the Amazon River he loved so much.
Ari couldn’t stand Rafe’s intense inspection and she tore her gaze from his. Once she was upright, she took a step away from him. He released one arm, but carefully monitored his firm hold on the other.
“I’m okay…really, I am….” Then she realized her lapse in manners. “I’m so sorry. I’m Arianna Worthington, Mr. Antonio….” She thrust out her hand. “Oh, and I speak some Spanish, if that’s easier for you.”
Rafe took her proffered hand in his, leaned down and placed a kiss upon the back of it. “Rafe Antonio at your service, Señorita Worthington. And thank you, but I prefer to use my English, as I don’t often get to speak it.”
Ari was thrilled. His hand was huge compared to hers and yet he held her fingers carefully, as if she were delicate porcelain that might shatter with too much pressure applied to it. As his strong mouth grazed her flesh, a series of wild shocks leaped up her arm. Her heart pounded violently in response. No one had ever kissed her hand before! She had to remember she was in a foreign country and that customs were different here. As Rafe raised his head, his brown eyes were hard and merciless looking. Was he unhappy with her? Most likely, Ari thought, her heart failing with pain. So was her father. She could do nothing to please him, either. Was Rafe like her father? The thought made her stomach knot.
“Oh…well, thank you, Señor Antonio….” She quickly pulled her hand away, her flesh tingling deliciously where his mouth had brushed it. Completely off balance due to his impeccable manners, his confidence and power as a man in charge, she felt like a blithering dolt in comparison.
“Call me Rafe,” he murmured in response, picking up her luggage and handing her the purse. He didn’t want to like her. She was artless. Or was it a ploy, like the one Justine, his ex-fiancée, had used on him? She’d been a careful manipulator of his heart and head, and had pretended a helplessness and innocence similar to what Arianna Worthington was now displaying. Was it an act? Was it real? Justine had played him like a harp, so much so that he had agreed to leave his jungle home, move to Manaus and continue his career as a paper pusher instead. One night Justine’s mask had fallen off and he’d seen the real woman beneath—nothing like the one he’d fallen in love with. Rafe was wary of women since that experience. He knew they could play games, could be coy, manipulative and yes, pretend to be a bird with a broken wing. He gave Arianna a hard look. Was she a Justine in disguise? The thought was distasteful to him. He couldn’t think of spending up to six months with such a woman.
Ari moved forward with Rafe leading the way. The crowd seemed to part miraculously for this man who stood head and shoulders above everyone else. Despite how he was dressed, Ari saw other people looking up at Rafe, admiring him, respecting his space. It was an unspoken thing and yet it was palpable and thrilling to her. What was it about him? His chin lifted at a proud angle, and his shoulders were so broad they took her breath away. The way he walked was wonderful to Ari. She wished she could have that same proud, aristocratic carriage.
“You can call me Ari,” she said a little breathlessly as she hurried to catch up to him.
Rafe instantly reduced his stride. He realized that Ari was shorter and therefore had to take more steps to keep up with him. He looked down at her and found her face ablaze with a pink hue. She looked ill at ease. Twice she stumbled over her own feet and twice he reached out and gently took her arm to steady her.
“Thanks,” Ari whispered, feeling shame. “I’m such a klutz….”
“There are a lot of people packed into a very small area,” he told her as they eased away from the main part of the crowd and into the terminal itself. Outside the tall, vertical windows, he could see the humid white clouds above the city.
“I think I need a new pair of feet,” she replied with an embarrassed laugh.
“Perhaps a new pair of shoes?” Rafe saw her avoid his eyes. Worse, he saw how she walked now that she was free of the confines of the crowd: her shoulders were slumped forward and her gaze flitted everywhere but to him. Her lack of eye contact worried him. She was acting like a beaten animal. Why? He had many questions. It bothered him how she was reacting to him, a man. Had her father beaten her? Rafe hoped not. As he watched her out of the corner of his eye he realized she was like a frightened child in a new place, her gaze darting here and there, her hands pressed to her heart as she hurried along, her body language telling him how terribly vulnerable she felt.
Halting near the doors of the terminal, Rafe put down the luggage and turned to her. Ari had been so busy looking around that she nearly ran into him. He put his hand out to steady her. What he wanted to do was simply pull her into the safety of his arms and hold her for just a moment. She looked like a scared little rabbit in a den of wolves. Rafe instantly rejected the protective feelings she conjured up. He was shocked by his reaction. This young woman was dissolving his normally iron-clad control over himself when it came to beautiful women.
“Sorry,” Ari gushed as she jerked to a halt. Why hadn’t she been watching where she was going? She felt so scattered, so out of control. Maybe her father had been right: going to a foreign country wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Overwhelmed, Ari absorbed the feeling of Rafe’s hand on her upper arm. She felt bereft when he removed it.
“Let me tell you what we’ll be doing, and perhaps that will make you feel a little more at ease,” he murmured in a low tone. Her eyes widened considerably and Rafe saw the darkness in them—fear of the unknown, or a fear of him, perhaps. Unsure of her reactions, he purposely kept his voice low and his body language safe so that she wouldn’t mistake any gesture as something threatening to her. He had hoped his attire would turn her off and she’d refuse to go anywhere with him, but such was not the case, he realized. She was sticking close to him, the world so overwhelming to her right now there was no way she was going to climb back on board a plane and leave.
“I’ll get us a taxi outside the doors, here. And then we’ll go to the wharf where my houseboat is tied up. Once we get on board, I’ll take us downstream on the Amazon River, about three hours, and we’ll pull into a side channel and that’s where we’ll stay. The channel leads to a Juma Indian village about a mile inland. That’s where you’ll be staying, Ari, and looking for your orchids to draw.” His cool facade thawed a little. “I’ve never had an artist or a writer visit. I talked to Chief Aroka, the leader of the Juma village, and he’s promised that he’ll have some of his people who know the area help you search for orchids. They’re looking forward to meeting you.”
Grimacing, Ari held up her hands. It was almost too much for her to look into Rafe’s eyes, but she had to. “Oh, dear…I don’t know who told you I was an artist and writer, but I’m not! I’ve never gone to art school or taken journalism. I’m just trying to help my mother, who died, fulfill her dream of coming to the Amazon, to draw orchids and put them into book form. I’m sure I won’t draw well enough for that to happen, but I want to try….”
In that instant, Rafe wanted to reach out, slide his fingers across the soft, smooth slope of her fiery cheeks and kiss her. The urge was powerful. Unbidden. Surprising. He had one hell of a time not staring at her mouth. Again it reminded him of a rose with fresh morning dew across it. He was sure she would taste sweet, soft and beguilingly beautiful. And then he remembered Justine had pulled a similar trick on him, playing innocent to get him to protect her, when in actuality she needed no protection whatsoever.
Shrugging, he said, “Who says you must have a degree in art or journalism to draw or write? Most of the people I know who have these talents have never experienced academia.”
Heartened, Ari felt the warmth of his interest. The thawing look in his eyes was like sunlight shining on the frozen depths within her. His glinting gaze had such perception and she felt beautiful under it. For the first time in her life, Ari wanted to hold someone’s gaze—his. He didn’t make her feel as if he were stealing her soul, or some part of herself. No, his gaze was healing. It made her feel good about herself in a way she’d never felt before. So much was happening so quickly. It was too much for her to analyze right now.
“I just want to try,” she told him in a husky voice riddled with tears. “For my mom. I don’t know how much you know about me….”
“Very little,” Rafe said, sorry that he didn’t know more. A lot more. Was this an act? He wasn’t sure if he were judging her because of his jaded past. Rafe found himself wanting to believe her, but he ruthlessly pushed that thought away.
Her hands fluttered about like bird wings as she continued. “Well…you’ll get used to me. I’m just here to try and give Mom’s dream reality. She was a wonderful artist. Her paintings were bought around the world by orchid fanciers and hobbyists.” Looking down at her long fingers, Ari said, “I don’t have one-tenth the talent she did….”
Rafe reached over and laid his hand lightly on her shoulder for a brief moment. He hadn’t meant to touch her, but giving her solace felt like the right thing to do. “Where I come from, we say that when you paint or write with passion, from your heart, that’s all that is necessary.” He met and held her wide, tear-filled gaze.
He was irresistible! Choking back her tears, she whispered, “I like where you come from.”
“Good.” Still he held her unsure eyes. A part of him didn’t want her to be coming back to camp with him. Yet her seemingly artless innocence was powerful medicine to his wounded heart. He was a loner, Rafe reminded himself bluntly. Someone who had forsaken family dreams and expectations to blaze his own trail. No woman wanted him and the jungle he loved. There never would be such a woman as far as he was concerned. Justine had hated the jungle, the insects and the reptiles. She’d screeched over each little gnat that flew near her head. Shrugging away thoughts of Justine, he asked, “Are you ready to go, señorita?”
Ari nodded and gripped her purse. “Yes. Scared but ready, Rafe.” His name rolled effortlessly off her tongue. She saw his mouth draw into a one-cornered smile. Again that sense of sunlight pierced through her and she felt unaccountably euphoric, as if lifted out of the morass of her own lingering anxiety and humiliation at stumbling to her hands and knees earlier. Rafe made her feel good. He was the first man to make her feel that. It was a wonderful, unexpected feeling, one that she absorbed like a thirsty sponge.
“Courage is taking a step at a time through your fear,” he told her. Opening the door for her, he said, “Come, we must get a cab.”
Ari was taken with his manners. He opened the cab door for her, too, and insisted she get in while he took care of the luggage. She felt overwhelmed by Rafe—his power, his charisma and good looks. When he slid into the seat next to her, he looked at her curiously, as if he were still trying to figure out what species of insect she was. His black brows had been drawn downward since he’d met her. With displeasure? Ari thought so and felt badly. She didn’t want Rafe to feel like he was babysitting her. Perhaps she could show her mettle and tenacity at the camp and not be so much of a hindrance to him.
“Welcome to Manaus, Ari. It is a city that grew up from the rubber tree plantations earlier in this century. When the norteamericano companies created synthetic rubber, the boomtown here died. It has since resurrected itself mining gems, gold and other precious metals, plus a little tourism.”
He barely fit into the dark green cab, but his large, masculine presence felt wonderful to her. Their arms and elbows touched in the cramped space, but Ari didn’t mind. When he spoke in Portuguese to the driver, she smiled a little.
“How many languages do you know? You speak fluent English, Spanish and Portuguese, from what I can tell so far.”
Rafe folded his large hands between his opened thighs as the cabby took off at high speed from the terminal. “I was raised in a family where knowing many languages was expected,” he told her, meeting and holding her gaze. Now, instead of darkness in the depths of her eyes, he saw something else. Happiness? Perhaps a sense of safety now that she was away from the madding crowds of foreigners? He knew that being in a strange country made most people feel a little more vulnerable.
“Morgan Trayhern, your boss, sent me your résumé. It’s impressive. I’m so thrilled you’ve got a Ph.D. in biology. And from Stanford. That is really something.”
He nodded. “My knowledge of biology will help you a great deal in your quest for your orchids, Ari.” As he said her name he realized how much he liked it. He liked saying it, and he was glad she wasn’t a stickler for protocol, that she hadn’t asked him to address her more formally, as they did in South America. She had surprised him in that regard. She wasn’t some arrogant, rich brat with snobbish manners. Instead, she was simply herself. Or was she? Rafe knew time would yield that final answer.
“It must have been difficult to leave your family to come to the U.S. for your education,” she said.
“Yes, I had to argue with my father to allow me to come to the States. I’m not sorry I did. I got an excellent education at Stanford.”
Rafe was so easy to talk to, yet as Ari watched him, she realized that despite his relaxed state, he was keenly alert. She noticed that he watched everything in a casual, yet attentive sort of way. She felt an edginess within him, too. What was that all about? Was he disappointed with her? With the fact that she was such a klutz and a loser? That she was a woman he’d have to babysit? Determined to find out over time, Ari tried instead to focus on the joy bubbling in her heart as the cab sped rapidly onto a massive freeway. The tall buildings of Manaus were in the distance, the airport behind them. Ahead, she caught glimpses of a dark, tea-brown river. Was that the Amazon? Her pulse quickened. She was really here. She was on her mother’s journey, the one they’d planned in such detail the last year she’d lived. Clasping her hands, Ari closed her eyes and took a deep breath, a wobbly smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Rafe felt Ari retreating within herself when she clasped her hands, sighed and closed her eyes. The flush in her cheeks had subsided and he noticed the porcelainlike quality to her skin. Blue veins were faintly visible beneath her eyes. She wore absolutely no makeup. It would be hopeless where they were going, anyway, with the rains and humidity. It made him feel good that she was so natural. Women who had to paint their faces into a mask were not their true selves, and Rafe admired Ari for her unspoken stand on the issue. Justine had insisted upon wearing makeup when she’d visited his camp. It had run and spotted, yet she was miserable without it. Why? Rafe would never understand why a woman couldn’t be happy with her natural state, just as nature was with her bounty.
He saw that Ari wore simple gold hoops through her dainty earlobes. Around her neck was a fine gold chain holding an oval amethyst, to complement the skirt and sweater she wore. Everything about Ari spoke of delicacy.
Was she a hothouse flower? he mused. More than likely. Women with degrees from Georgetown University, who lived in Washington, D.C., were not equipped for jungle living. Would she be able to bear a life of hardship, without many amenities? Rafe doubted it. Justine had cried every morning because there wasn’t electricity for her hair dryer. Would Ari see the jungle as her friend or her enemy? Probably an enemy, as his ex-fiancée had. Justine had been afraid to walk to the village with him, for fear of a snake biting her or some big bug whizzing by her head. Morgan had said Ari would be with him three to six months, depending upon how her sketches for the book came along. Rafe hoped it was a much shorter duration. Yet Ari intrigued him. So shy, yet with that childlike look of joy and anticipation written across her features. She was twenty-five, but she reminded him of a gawky fourteen-year-old who was just finding out who she was, just tapping into her femininity. He had no idea where his feelings and instincts about her came from; he’d lived so long on his instincts out in the jungle that he no longer tried to explain his sense of intuition about people. And he was rarely wrong about such perceptions because, over the years, his life had depended upon it. The one time he’d been wrong had been with Justine but she’d been a master of artful disguise and manipulation.
As the cab screeched to a halt some twenty minutes later, Ari looked out the window in anticipation. There was a huge river, at least a mile wide, spread out before her. Wobbly, poorly kept wooden docks jutted out from the raised, red dirt bank like dark dominos in the water. At one a huge white houseboat with black tires hanging off the sides was docked. That must be Rafe’s. Before he could leave the cab and come around and open her door, she was out and walking quickly toward the riverbank. Hands clasped to her breasts, she looked around, absorbing all she saw.
The sky was clearing of soft white clouds that hung low over the dark green jungle along the river. She gasped when a flock of brightly colored scarlet macaws flew in a V formation right over her head toward the jungle in the distance.
Rafe came and stood next to her. “I see the goddess of the river has welcomed you to her breast.”
Ari turned and looked up at him, a quizzical expression on her face. “River goddess?”
As the cabby came up with the luggage, Rafe told him to take it aboard the houseboat. Returning his attention to Ari, he saw the soft tendrils of her hair curling in the humidity. The maddening urge to tunnel his fingers through that thick, blond hair was almost his undoing. Instead, he cleared his throat and pointed to the quickly disappearing flight of parrots.
“The Juma believe that the mighty Amazon is a goddess. They pay her tribute by gifting her with bits of cornmeal or other food. The legend is that when she wants to leave her watery confines, she turns herself into a macaw to fly over her domain, to look after it, care for it and all her beings, including the two-leggeds. If Chief Aroka was here, he’d be shouting for joy that that squadron of macaws zoomed over your head at such a low altitude. He’d take that as a sign, a blessing, that the Amazon River goddess is welcoming you to her breast.”
Sighing, Ari closed her eyes. “How wonderful…how absolutely beautiful! That must go in the book. Oh, how I wish my mother could be here….” She opened her eyes and held his dark gaze. “I know she’d have sighed with joy over what you just told me. These are the kinds of stories I want for my book, Rafe! Please, just keep sharing these legends and myths with me, will you? This is what I’ve come down here for.” She flung her arms open and stepped forward. “The Amazon is so beautiful! So wide. So grand! And how powerful she feels to me!” Whirling around, the wind catching her skirt and lifting it to reveal her slender ankles, Ari laughed. It was a laugh of joy, of surrender to the eternal beauty of the Amazon jungle that now surrounded her. “I’m in love! Truly in love! This all feels so wonderful to me!”

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