Man of Passion by Lindsay McKenna Page B

fluent Spanish. His fingers were strong and firm, yet it was obvious he monitored the amount of strength he exerted as he held her hand and guided her down the rickety plank. As she stepped foot on the reddish-colored earth, she gazed around at Rafe's camp.
    There was a hammock strung between two mango trees and a circular pit for a fire nearby, with four smoothly cut logs around it that acted as chairs. A black iron tripod was set up over the pit, with an iron kettle suspended from it. A few feet away was a gray canvas tent. The tent was large, and she could see boxes and other items stowed within it. A well-worn footpath that led directly into the jungle.
    Reluctant to release his hand, she came to Rafe's side and eased her fingers from him. "I'm here," she whispered in awe, "I'm really here. "
    "And the beings of the jungle welcome you," Rafe said. He enjoyed her wonder, the hope burning eloquently in her face as she slowly took in every leaf, tree and bush that grew around the small encampment. Her face glowed with excitement. The jungle was alive with noises announcing the coming dusk. Crickets sang. Frogs croaked. In the distance, monkeys were chattering and alternately screaming and whooping at one another as they found their nests in the arms of trees for the coming night.
    Heart swelling with joy, Ari turned when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. A small man, wrinkled and thin, his ribs pronounced above the dark green loincloth he wore, appeared silently out of the jungle on the footpath, his feet bare . He was old and his weathered features reminded her of an ancient oak tree. His eyes were dark brown, and his hair was thin and gray. When he met and held her gaze, he smiled. Ari couldn't help but smile back. The old man had most of his front teeth missing. She wondered how he was able to eat. In his hands, he held something about the size of a cantaloupe wrapped in red cloth. She noticed he wore several strands of seed necklaces interspersed with parrot feathers around his thin, wrinkled neck.
    "Ah, Aroka ," Rafe told her conspiratorially. "He's the chief of the Juma village. Come, you must meet him."
    "How did he know we'd arrived?"
    Grinning, Rafe slid his hands into hers and brought her along with him. The gesture was automatic. The look in Ari's eyes was one of acceptance and happiness, if he wasn't mistaken. Around her, Rafe was finding that he was becoming completely instinctive and spontaneous. His head warned him that he shouldn't give in so easily to his desires, but his heart, so lonely and so long without a woman who loved this incredible jungle as he did, said it was perfectly all right. Rafe deferred to his heart—at least this one time. He couldn't help it—he was enchanted by Ari's happiness at being here.
    Ari saw Aroka smile even more broadly as they halted in front of him. He spoke in an Indian language she didn't understand. As he spoke, he looked directly at her.
    Rafe reluctantly released Ari's hand and stood between them, acting as interpreter. "Chief Aroka is officially welcoming you to his village. He has invited us to have dinner with him and his family tonight. Today he caught and killed a wild pig, which has been roasting all day in your honor. He says that you look like the sun goddess and wonders if your hair glows at night."
    Ari laughed gently and reached out and touched the chief's shoulder. "Tell him I'm afraid not. Thank him. Can we go eat with them?"
    Rafe swallowed his complete surprise. He hadn't expected Ari to be so willing to socialize with the natives just yet. "Of course. Half the time I'm eating with the chief and his family, anyway. If it wasn't for his wife, I'd starve at times."
    Aroka nodded as Rafe accepted the invitation. The old man's pleasure was mirrored in his tobacco brown features, but then he lost his smile and began a solemn speech to Ari.
    Rafe smiled a little and translated. "The chief knows that you have come to draw the many orchids that