Man of Passion. Lindsay McKenna
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