The excitement in her voice was unmistakable, particularly when paired with the wave of enthusiasm that rolled off her skin with the force of a rock slide. He’d given her a great gift in agreeing to her plan—but at what cost to him? He’d already paid so much. He’d lost Sarina. He’d lost Irika. He’d lost his son, Stefan, long before he’d had a chance to know whether his child shared his mother’s gentle nature or his father’s spiritual gifts. Rafe suddenly hated what he could do. A person’s emotions should be private. The intimacy of sex with Mariah had made him foolish, made him believe, if only for a blissful moment, that she cared as deeply for him as he did for her. But he’d sensed her laissez-faire feelings. He couldn’t deny that her inability to match his emotions cut with more precision than the machete she’d used on the jungle vines. In her unguarded moments, he’d experienced her intense passion, her kindness and her irrepressible sense of fun. She lived to take chances.
