Heaven Scent

by SpursFanatic

  Rafe frowned. “What do you mean, ‘the crowd?’ The room is filled with ‘the crowd.’”

  Sighing, Patrick glanced up to look around the room. Stretching to see beyond the women in front of him, he dropped back on his heels. “That crowd on the dance floor. That’s Tarin.”

  A knot tightened his chest as Rafe looked out at the group again, then back to his brother. “What the hell do you mean?”

  His brother looked at him as though he were one card short of a winning hand. “Those are suitors, Rafe. All vying for her attention. Her dance card is surely full by now.”

  What the hell?

  At that moment, the crowd parted as though someone had torn it in two. Spotting Tarin at the far end, Rafe felt a punch to his stomach that nearly doubled him over.

  Good God above, she was exquisite. Diamonds glittered in her upswept hair, competing with the light in her exotic, emerald green eyes. The gown of gold she wore made her skin look translucent, almost ethereal in its softness. Her sudden smile transcended her beauty to certain divinity, stealing Rafe’s breath.

  On the other hand, her nearly exposed breasts caused a sudden rage of jealously to rip through his body like a violent storm. He wanted to beat the crap out of every one of the men that had surely taken their fill of her perfect, mouthwatering curves.

  Dammit to hell, she drove him mad.

  “Patrick,” Rafe announced, as he watched one of Tarin’s suitors bend over her bosom in a low bow, “if any of those men are your friends, you’d best say goodbye to them now because they will be dead in a few minutes.”

  Whipping their heads around, Beau and Patrick stepped over to Rafe, leaving the ladies whispering amongst themselves. Frowning, Patrick stared at Rafe as though he wasn’t sure if he jested or not.

  Beau, on the other hand, laughed as he held a hand against Rafe‘s chest. “Easy there, Sutherland.”

  “What do you find so damned funny?”

  “You - jealous over a woman.” Beau looked over his shoulder in Tarin’s direction. He whistled low. “Damn, Sutherland. I see what you mean.”

  Jealous, his ass. Rafe knocked Beau’s hand away. “To hell with you, St. John.”

  The bastard had the nerve to laugh.

  Patrick jumped in. “Rafe, remember what Mother said. Don’t ruin this for her. She‘s been looking forward to showing you off tonight.”

  Rafe stilled, his conscience warring with the primitive need to claim Tarin. Dammit, Patrick was right. He didn’t want to cause a scene.

  “If it’s any consolation,“ Patrick added, “she’s always the center of attention at these galas. Don‘t take it personal.”

  Rafe gave his brother a deadly stare. “It’s no consolation.”

  Sighing, Patrick stepped aside. Beau shook his head, doing the same.

  “Rafe,” Rosa said, as she came up to loop her arm through his, “your madre said that Henry Wor…thington is in the card room and would like to see you.”

  There were a lot of things Rafe would’ve liked too, but Henry wasn’t one of them. He had another Worthington on his mind. And it was time he claimed her, once and for all.

  The pain that gouged Tarin’s chest stole her breath. She could do nothing but stare. The woman was lovely, her dark beauty organic, sensuous in its appeal.

  Like Rafe. She was perfect for him. Her presence alone proved Tarin and Rafe were unsuited for each other. She turned away. Tarin had known it would hurt. That had been the entire point of avoiding him. Yet, avoiding him for the past week did not deteriorate the anguish that washed over her at the sight of another woman on his arm. The pain of rejection, of easy replacement, pierced her heart like a knife.

  When they last met, she had turned down Rafe again. Could she blame him for finding someone else? Could she blame this woman for wanting him? Her love for Rafe was evident in her eyes, the way she drank in his every feature and held herself intimately against his side.

  Of course, Rafe would find a woman of such rare magnificence. He was Rafe Sutherland, after all. The man all of the women were in love with before he left.

  A surge of anger started in Tarin’s stomach and shot to her brain. For a man that had wanted to court her so desperately a week ago, he certainly wasted no time in finding someone else. What did that say about his intentions towards her?

  Well, if he could move on, so could she. She wasn’t going to waste anymore time drowning in self-pity and unrequited dreams. She was at one of the biggest balls of the year, in a beautiful gown, with the attention of several nice young men.

  Accepting a glass of champagne from John Kilgore, her next dance partner, Tarin downed half of the contents in one gulp. She was going to flirt outrageously with every one of her attendees and show Rafe Sutherland he wasn’t the only man in Boston.

  “Lady Worthington, a dance.”

  She saw Rafe’s extended hand out of the corner of her eye. His deep, husky baritone shimmied through her like a winter chill. The spicy, clean scent he carried called to an elemental part of her that begged to ignore her pride and accept his hand.

  Instead, she straightened, refusing to turn his way. The gall of the arrogant brute. How could he approach her when he had another woman waiting across the room?

  “Pardon me, sir, but I believe I had the next dance with Lady Worthington.” Kilgore, the eldest son of a prominent Brahmin financier, took the champagne flute from her hand and set it on a nearby table.

  Thank goodness. The man had been stubborn in her constant denials for courtship. If anyone would stand up to Rafe Sutherland, it was Kilgore.

  The next thing she knew, she was effectively dragged onto the dance floor by the insufferable, arrogant Sutherland beast. Kilgore stood on the sidelines, staring at them, his mouth agape.

  “You may have my slot, Kilgore,” Rafe said good-naturedly, as he twirled her into his arms for a waltz.

  “You do not have a slot!” Tarin cried, cursing the sense of excitement that shot through her veins at his touch.

  Smiling down at her, Rafe flicked up his eyebrows. “No, he doesn’t have a slot.”

  That blasted Kilgore. Now she had no choice to but to dance with Rafe. Refusing to look at him, she studied the buttons on his olive embossed waistcoat.

  “You certainly do not dress like a woman that is trying to dissuade suitors.”

  Sarcasm laced his words, the hold on her hand tightening painfully as he turned her about the room.

  She caught her breath. The nerve! “You do not act like a man that is upset over a courtship refusal.”

  “Refusal?” he replied incredulously, yanking her closer to avoid another couple. “Make that three refusals. I’ve learned to grow thick skin.”

  Inhaling through her nose, Tarin gritted her teeth. Heaven above, he smelled wonderful. “I believe you mean thick skull, do you not?”

  “No,” he answered, with a bitter laugh, “I mean that I have grown used to your fickle moods.”

  He twirled her excessively hard, causing her head to spin.

  “One moment, you tell me to leave. The next,” his voice dropped as he pulled her scandalously close, his eyes devouring her cleavage, “you allow me to feast on your delectable breasts like a starved man.”

  A deep gasp shot from her lungs and wracked her body with coughs. How could he say such a thing in the middle of a crowded dance floor?

  Stopping, he sounded genuinely concerned. “Are you well?”

  Tarin shook her head, the coughs causing spasms in her chest. Taking her by the elbow, Rafe grabbed a flute of champagne off a nearby table and escorted her past several onlookers, to the balcony.

  Stopping at the rail, he shoved the flute into her hand and ordered her to drink. The bubbles trickled up her nose, causing a series of sneezes that led into more coughs.

  Heaven above, would she never stop?

  Chuckling, Rafe took the empty flute and set it on the railing. Taking her by the hand, he dragged her away from the house.

  “
Where are you taking me?” she asked around her slowly dying coughs.

  “To the gardens - where we can have some privacy.”

  Shaking her head, Tarin fought to clear the unwanted air from her lungs. “I do not want to be with you in private.”

  Of course, he did not abide her wishes. She seemed to travel forever, his stride long-legged and hurried. Between the darkness and the maze of shrubs and greenery, Tarin would never find her way out of the lush setting. “Are we lost?”

  He laughed. “No, I know this garden like the back of my hand.”

  She gritted her teeth. “No doubt from bringing young, unsuspecting women out here on numerous occasions.”

  The humor was evident in his voice. “No doubt.”

  Shame engulfed her. He’d had other women out here. Women that probably allowed him to do the same things to them that he had done to her. Possibly even some of what she had seen in the reproduction book she had found in Dr. Longfellow’s library.

  Tarin tried to yank her hand from his grasp. Rafe reinforced his hold and pulled her back. Guiding her to a stone bench, he helped her take a seat. Turning away from him, she sat on the end and braced her gloved hands on either side of her.

  The garden was completely dark, save for a whale oil lamp posted several feet away. He stood beyond her shoulder in silence.

  “I will not be just another woman you can seduce in the Cabot gardens, Rafe.”

  “Just another woman? After three requests for courtship, I don‘t know what else I can do to show you

  you‘re not just another woman.”

  She squared her shoulders. “Do tell, Rafe. How do you explain the adventuress waiting for you inside the ball?” She pointed to her side, towards the music streaming from the house.

  “My… what?”

  Did he think she was blind? A fool?

  She shook her head. “Do not patronize me, Rafe. Please. You know very well to whom I refer.”

  She felt him straddle the bench behind her, the heat of his body warming her against the chilled evening air. The scent of roses swirled around them like a cloud, creating an isolated, romantic air despite her will to deny him such.

  The rustle of his clothing gave her only a moment’s notice before his hands covered hers where they rested on the bench, firmly holding her in place.

  “Her name… is Rosa Mendoza.”

  No. His sweet breath fanned across her cheek, reminding her of a past kiss in the dark. She didn’t want to know the woman’s name or anything about her; didn’t want to remember Rafe’s kiss outside the Templar Hall. It made the shame all that more potent.

  “She saved my life.”

  Tarin’s eyes sprang open, but she did not dare stir. Saved his life, how? Would he tell her what happened, or would it remain a secret like the injuries he sustained prior to returning home?

  His hands moved exceedingly slow up her forearms, creating gooseflesh beneath the fabric of her gloves.

  “My friend, Beau, brought her to Boston because her family was killed shortly after I… left Texas.” His hands stopped at the edge of her gloves, just above her elbows. With a swirling, feather-light touch, his fingers danced over the skin below her sleeves.

  Tarin caught her breath. She could certainly relate to the loss of a parent. She wondered how, as a child, she had endured such dreadful pain. However, to even contemplate losing her entire family in one instance was unimaginable.

  To lose Rafe, utterly devastating.

  “I won’t deny she is beautiful.”

  Tarin winced. His fingers played along her shoulders, still light, like butterflies on her skin. A shiver shot through her as she dropped her head forward.

  “And we did share a few kisses back in Texas.”

  His hands stilled on her shoulders, as though anticipating her escape. A picture rose in her mind of Rosa wrapped in Rafe’s embrace, his lips on hers in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. The pain in Tarin’s chest kept her rooted to the bench. Immediate tears burned behind her eyes.

  “She did come here hoping for…” he cleared his throat, “more but, I have already told her it could never be. To be honest, I do not think it’s really me she wants, but to belong… somewhere.” His forehead rested at the nape of her neck. “She is not you, Tarin. And God above, you are all I want.”

  The tears turned to joy as they traveled to her throat and lodged there. Her heart soared, though a side of her felt for the woman that was in love with the man she loved. For Rosa to lose her family then lose Rafe as well – Tarin would not be a decent person if she could not sympathize.

  And Rafe. It must have been difficult for him to tell Rosa, knowing her fragile state.

  Tarin frowned. He did it for her. For Tarin Worthington, who had denied him courtship three times when all she really wanted was to be with him forever. The selfish notion did not sit well.

  Reaching up to her shoulders, Tarin took his hands in hers and brought them to her waist. His arms snaked around her, pulling her back against his chest. She laid her arms along his and stared up at the quarter moon. He softly kissed her ear.

  “I received a note from Dr. Gregory this evening.”

  Rafe nuzzled the hair behind her ear. “And?”

  She tilted her head, encouraging him further. A moan escaped her throat. “We have enough petition signatures,” she replied breathlessly. “He is taking the petition to the legislature on Thursday.”

  His lips trailed down her neck to the plain of her shoulder. His hair tickled the skin at her nape. “I will make a point of introducing myself to the representatives inside and stating my favor.”

  Straightening, she squeezed his forearm. “You would do that?”

  “Of course.” His hands skimmed up her waist to stop just below her breasts.

  She caught her breath. Reaching back, she hooked her arms around his neck. Her posture thrust her breasts out in invitation. “Rafe…”

  “What, sweetheart?” His hands inched higher, resting at the underside of her breasts, as though waiting for permission.

  “Touch me, please,” she whispered, “before I go mad.”

  On an agonizing moan, Rafe’s hands eased down the meager cover of her chest. Cool air brushed across her sensitive breasts before his large, warm hands closed over them.

  “I have thought of nothing else since I saw you in this dress.” Kneading her breasts with greedy hands, Rafe kissed the skin behind her ear.

  “That was the intent.” Shutting her eyes, Tarin leaned back against his hard shoulder.

  Groaning, Rafe turned her to rest in his lap, her back braced against his arm. His mouth closed over one breast, while his hand teased the other, blocking out all rational thought in Tarin’s head. She could only feel, completely focused on the pleasure he gave her.

  And heavenly stars, he was talented.

  Her fingers played in the thick, silky hair at his nape while she selfishly encouraged him to indulge quite literally like a man starved. He chuckled at her moan of disappointment when he pulled his head away moments later.

  “Do you trust me, Tarin?”

  Her eyes popped open. She could faintly make out his handsome face. She wanted to ask the same question, but now was not the time.

  “With my life.” She laid a palm against his cheek.

  The fierce kiss he planted on her mouth surprised Tarin. Hooking her arms around his neck, she drank what he offered. Long minutes later, while under the influence of his deep, open-mouthed kiss, she realized his hand had glided up her leg to rest on the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Of their own volition, her legs had spread wider, inviting him further.

  She had read enough to know of his intentions. Though she knew her actions were most unladylike, she felt no shame, no hesitancy.

  This was Rafe. The man she loved. The only man that would ever touch her this way.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

  “I know.”

  His deft fingers found the slit in her draw
ers, found the moist, sensitive flesh nestled further within.

  Tarin gasped. Though she had expected his touch, nothing had prepared her for the riot of sensations that barraged her. Every nerve ending centered on his masterful fingers. Her skin tingled, her mouth suddenly bone dry. The scent of forbidden fruits wafted in the air, hypnotic, drawing her further into his clever web of desire. Her breathing suddenly heavy, she could feel the intense heat radiating from his body.

  Rafe’s arm tightened around her shoulders as his forehead rested on hers. His breath came as though he had run a long distance.

  “You have no idea how hard it is for me to resist taking you right here, right now.” His finger delved deeper inside as he moved to kiss the spot where his forehead had lain.

  Moaning louder, Tarin no longer cared where they were or who found them. She only wanted the reward his touch promised. “Why resist?”

  On a deep, guttural groan, Rafe went to work. His fingers sure and deft, he quickly took her to a precipice of avowed pleasure. Within seconds, she found herself falling into a whirlpool of pulsating sensations that washed through her body like rushing water. Tarin rode the wave of ecstasy, wishing it would never end.

  Rafe’s kisses on her eyes, lips, nose, and forehead brought her down to earth. Oh my, she could get used to this.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered.

  Tarin stilled, listening. “What is it? Is someone coming?”

  His chuckle was bitter as he straightened away from her. “Damn, I hope not. I’m doing all I can to prevent it.”

  Tarin felt her face heat. Though she didn’t quite understand the words, his meaning became clear. She had no intention of this beautiful interlude remaining one-sided.

  Her hand glided to the front of his trousers. He sucked in a breath.

  “Tarin -” He grabbed her hand. “It has been too long since I have been with a woman.”

  Adding a touch of coyness to her voice, she replied, “That is good to hear.” Her hand reached for a button.

  He jumped, backing away from her on the bench. She sat up, bracing her hands in front of her.

  “Tarin, don’t tell me you have done this kind of thing before…”