Free Man of Passion by Lindsay McKenna

cockpit on the upper deck. The humid air swirled around her, embraced her, and it felt wonderful to her. In her imagination, it felt like a loving embrace. The river smelled clean, despite the odor of mud that lifted to her nostrils. There were other faint fragrances and she wondered if they were from orchids hiding in the trees on shore. Lifting her chin, she looked in the direction Rafe had pointed.
    Eight yellow-and-blue parrots were flying swiftly, barely twenty feet above the water's dark chocolate surface, directly toward them. They flew with short, stubby wings, in a caliper formation. To her delight, they came within ten feet of the bow of the houseboat. "Oh! I wish I had my camera!" Their bright turquoise feathers and stunning sun-gold plumage coupled with the white flesh around their eyes and powerful beaks made her gasp with delight. "They are so beautiful!" She threw her hands skyward in joy.
    Rafe wished he'd had a camera, too—to take a photo of her innocence and spontaneity. As she turned, a whimsical look on her features, he laughed deeply in surprise and wonder. When he did, he saw redness stain Ari's cheeks. She instantly changed. Instead of holding her head up and her shoulders back, she shrank into her old self—head down, shoulders rounded, eyes downcast on the deck of the boat. Cursing himself, Rafe realized she'd interpreted his laughter as poking fun at her spontaneity. As she walked slowly back to the cockpit and quietly resumed her chair, he spoke.
    "I wasn't laughing at you, Ari. You thought I was making fun of you, didn't you?"
    Stunned, she jerked her head up and met his dark, stormy-looking eyes. "Well, uh, yes…yes, I did. My father says I'm too spontaneous—that I'm supposed to be twenty-five years old, not eight years old."
    Suddenly, Rafe didn't give a damn about his own distrust of women. He reached out and gently rested his hand upon her slumped shoulder. "Listen to me, my wild nature child, you should do what you just did out there on the deck when those parrots flew by. Do it often." He saw her eyes widen with shock. Moving his fingers in a grazing motion across her shoulder, he added, "Wait until you meet the Juma Indians. You'll feel right at home. They are adults and yet they hold the awe of children in their hearts and heads, too. You are exactly like them, so let that side of you strut its stuff." He grinned a little and forced himself to stop touching her. Her skin beneath the cotton tank top felt deliciously smooth and firm. "Is that a deal? Will you promise me to jump up and down? Throw your hands to the sky? Yelp? Yell? Be a wild woman?"
    Her flesh tingled hotly where he'd touched her. There was such controlled strength in Rafe's touch. Ari couldn't have torn her gaze from his dark, incisive one if she'd wanted to. Something warm and strong in his deep voice moved through her like the low growl of a jaguar to its mate. Her heart swelled. Her pulse skittered. "Well, sure…I thought I'd embarrassed you or something. Father always gets nervous and uncomfortable if I do things like that."
    "Thank goodness," Rafe said dryly, "I'm not your father. So you just go on and be the child of Mother Earth. Okay?"
    Smiling tentatively, Ari felt herself arch inwardly as she heard his deep, rolling laugh. "Okay."
    "The Juma have a saying," Rafe continued as he angled the boat about a hundred feet off the reddish bank of the river where the current was less feisty. "They say that to really live, to touch the fire and passion of your soul, you must have the heart and head of a child."
    Ari opened the journal and quickly scribbled down his words verbatim. "That's wonderful. Thank you."
    "You can live your life as an adult. You can behave in a mature manner when it's demanded," Rafe said conversationally, "but believe me, every time I get a chance to revert back to being a big kid, I do it. I play grown-up when I have to. Otherwise—" he gave her a wicked, teasing look "—I'm really a