Man of Passion by Lindsay McKenna

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