Free Man of Passion by Lindsay McKenna Page B

wonderful sense of protectiveness that I felt…still feel…around you, Rafe ." Nervously, Ari opened her hands, unsure of how far to go with her creative musing. At this point, her father would have been giving her a thundercloud look for such ramblings. Risking everything because Ari remembered that Rafe liked her spontaneity, she blurted, "I imagined you as Sir Galahad who sought the Holy Grail. Your face has deep, cutting lines in it—slashes around your mouth, wrinkles on your brow. That tells me you've been through a lot, but that even if you have been wounded by life's trials, you still keep your dream of finding the Grail. No matter what."
    Rafe gave her a look of praise. "Do you read minds?"
    "What? Me?" Ari laughed uncomfortably. "No. Why?"
    "Because," he murmured, impressed, "you hit the proverbial nail on the head, to borrow a norteamericano saying." His hands steadied on the boat as the shore grew closer. They were now drifting about fifty feet from the dry, sandy bank.
    "How?"
    "Well," Rafe continued with a sigh, "it's my turn to share a little of my family history with you. My father owns, roughly, twenty-five banks in Brazil . I come from a very rich, powerful and influential family. I was the firstborn son, and naturally, my father expected me to get an MBA and learn the banking business from him and eventually, when he retired, take over his empire."
    Ari stared up at him. Right now, she felt Rafe's sadness. It was expressed in the line of his mouth, now compressed, and in the way his deep voice was serrated with old, unresolved grief. "You didn't do that, though? You went to Stanford and got a Ph.D. in biology instead."
    "I defied my father from the time I was old enough to know what the word no meant," he said.
    Laughing politely, Ari said, "Kirk, my brother, was a lot like that, too, growing up."
    "Maybe it's a boy thing?" Rafe mused, enjoying talking with her. There was a surprisingly deep maturity and understanding he hadn't thought possible in Ari. Realizing she was old beyond her years made him hungry to converse with her.
    "I don't know about that. I wanted to say no, but when I watched Kirk and Janis get it from my father, I knew better."
    "Ah, yes, the knock-down, drag-out fights…I know them well."
    "You didn't turn out to be like your father at all?"
    "No, I am like my mother. She is a medical doctor and a fine scientist. Her love is virology and microbiology. It was she who taught me the love of the jungle surrounding Manaus . My father disapproved of her taking me with her on her field trips to find new viruses in the rain forest. I fell in love with the trees, with the land, the animals…the people. From the time I was eight years old, I knew what I wanted to be—a backwoodsman."
    "A forest ranger?"
    "One and the same, yes."
    "Did your father finally understand? Did he bless your decision to do what you're doing now?"
    Brows knitting, Rafe looked down at his long, large-knuckled hands. There were so many scars on them, white and pink ones, older and newer ones. "No…" he admitted slowly, pleased at Ari's understanding of him . " When I told him I was going to Stanford—that I wouldn't be following in his footsteps—he disowned me."
    "No!" Ari gasped. She nearly came out of the chair, then stopped herself, staring at his rock-hard profile and seeing the anguish clearly evident in his face. "Surely he eventually forgave and forgot?"
    Shaking his head, Rafe gave her a rueful glance. "No, not to this day. My mother sent me money to go to Stanford. I held a lot of odd jobs to make the rest of my tuition. She couldn't always send me money because if my father had ever found out, all hell would have broken loose, for sure. He never understood my love of the people who live in the basin." He made a wide, sweeping gesture toward the bank, where thousands of trees, palms and ferns lined the river like an unbroken corridor in different hues of green, ranging from evergreen and olive to