Visions of Fire and Ice (The Petiri) (13 page)

“You can’t take responsibility for what is not yours to accept.” She stepped toward him, slowly, lest he brush her away again. “You have to understand you aren’t to blame for other people’s choices, no matter who they are, friend or foe, enemy or kin.” She took his hand in hers. “Just as I accept that you aren’t frightened by my power, and you let me touch you.” When he didn’t pull away, she put a hand on his chest, easing soothing heat into his body.

“You don’t understand.” He seemed to be fighting what she was saying, and losing. His eyes showed such pain, his aura showed such confusion.

“I do. I sense it. I know you. You’re a good man.”

“No, Tamara,” he growled. “You know what you think is me. You’ve known me for less than a day.”

Nobody knows me
.

The last words echoed in her head.
Nobody knows me
. Yet she knew he hadn’t said them aloud. He’d spoken in her head before. Did he realize he’d done so again?

“Besides, there’s more.”

He pulled himself from her arms and moved toward the window again. Her heart wrenched. He was a man alone in his grief, refusing to let another comfort him.

“Years later, we discovered Amunkha raided her tomb. He was so furious he even tracked her down in death, the ultimate humiliation.”

“What did he do?” This time, her voice cracked. The idea of someone hating another so much they broke into their grave was unbelievable. Dread filled her heart as she waited for the final part of his story.

Ramose shook his head. His pain was like a living, breathing creature between them. “I can’t....” He leaned one hand against the clear glass.

She nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks. She dashed them away with the back of her hand.

“I didn’t tell you this so you would cry.” He whipped away from the window, his voice sharp.

If she didn’t know how much he hurt, she would have responded in kind. Instead, she took a breath. “I’ll cry if I want. That’s something even you can’t control.” She thought of the Ramose in her dreams. A man always sad, always alone. Like the pain was an ingrained part of him. The same could be said for this Ramose.

“Maybe soon you can let go of the pain and remember her love.”

“Doubtful.” His shoulders were stiff, his face hard as granite. Yet in his eyes, she could still see the haunted glow of pain.

“One day, the fear will subside, Ramose.”

He whirled to face her, his face filled with anger. “You think I’m afraid of him?”

“No, I think you’re afraid of your emotions.” Tamara tightened her fingers into fists at her side, struggling to hide the need to touch him. With every passing moment, she saw more and more of the man hidden beneath the hard exterior he portrayed. A man in pain, and, despite his outward confidence, a man with his own brand of insecurity. “It’s not unusual, Ramose. Everyone’s afraid of something.”

“Oh, really?”

She knew hitting a man’s biggest weakness wasn’t the smartest thing to do, and she waited for the shouting. For the denial. But when his eyes turned curious, she took a step back.

“And what are you afraid of, Tamara?”

Tamara shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest.
No, not yet. Not now
. “Nothing important.”

“But you just said everyone’s afraid of something. Tell me, little
Neferhemet
, what are you afraid of?”

“I’m not beautiful,” she said, in response to his calling her a beautiful woman, “and what I’m afraid of is private. For now.”

He smiled, that same lonely, sad smile she’d seen in her dreams. “Oh,
Neferhemet
, you are gorgeous. And young. Definitely too young to advise a man about fear.”

“Right,” she scoffed, finding herself on familiar ground again. “I’m not as young as you think.”
Not as young as everyone thinks.
She couldn’t help it if her genes made her look young. The last time she’d tried to buy a car the salesman asked for her daddy.

“Oh?” This time he softened, the green in his eyes glittering almost as though she’d surprised him. “And how old are you,
Axriad
?”

Child
! He’d called her a child. “I’m not a child, Ramose. I’m twenty-nine years old. You can’t be more than four or five years older than I am.”

This time, Ramose did laugh. Loud and full, the sound rolled around the room like a living entity. “Oh, Tamara, you are truly
Axriad
.”

She moved to correct him, but he stopped her. One finger lay upon her lips. The laughter had chased away the dark spots on his aura, and he seemed more relaxed than ever with her. The change made her smile in return.

“No, not now,
Neferhemet
. One day, perhaps, you will understand.”

She resisted the urge to bite his finger in retaliation. “Maybe so, but not until after we manage to do something about your English.”

His smile quirked even higher. “And what is wrong with my English?”

“
Machinations
? Ramose, I don’t think that word has been used in polite conversation since the seventeen hundreds.”

His grin grew wider until it was a full-blown smile. Tamara’s stomach did a nosedive.

“Then you will just have to teach me. Now, I returned to take you shopping, and shopping we shall go. Are you ready?”

Why did she feel as though she was the reticent child with a big, powerful babysitter? “Just let me call the J’s and tell them where we’re going.”

“The J’s?”

“Julie and Jeff, my cousin and her husband.”

Chapter Thirteen

Tamara inhaled, dragging Ramose’s scent into her lungs as she moved past him, sliding into the seat of the car. Her teeth scraped the inside of her lips in an effort to ignore the sensual heat coiling low inside her brought on by his wild, masculine aura. With every passing moment they spent together, her attraction for him intensified. Multiplied.

“I’m still not sure why you’re taking me shopping, Ramose. I could just as easily wait and go with the J’s. They should be willing to resurface from their room sometime this week.”

“Perhaps. But I do not wish you to be out alone.”

“But I wouldn’t be alone. And it’s
don’t
, not
do not
.”

He gave her a quelling glare.

“You heard me. And I wouldn’t be alone. I’d be with the J’s.”

“As if that would help,” he scoffed.

It didn’t seem as if he wanted to be with her. Not anymore. Upstairs, once the mood had lightened, she’d thought they had a breakthrough. Yet, now, he had a pained look of responsibility on his face, as though he didn’t really want to be with her.

“Fine,” she finally said. “Do whatever you want. But when I shop, please try to keep up.”

“Never fear.”

“Oh, God.” She rolled her eyes.

He arched a brow.

“
Never fear
? What is this, some kind of Victorian novel?”

He flashed her a smile. “And you suggest I say what in its place?”

“How about
don’t worry
?”

“Then,
don’t worry
.” The even white teeth flashed again.

Tamara rolled her eyes again and then looked out the window.

His lack of slang was one thing, but his scent was another. He’d sat as far from her as the car would allow, yet still the spicy masculine smell tortured her. The heat building inside her had less to do with her gift and more to do with the steady burn of arousal flooding her veins. She tried breathing through her mouth. The instant she did, a dark, sensual taste flooded her tongue. Her eyes fluttered in pleasure. It was almost as if she’d licked his flesh the way she’d longed to do since seeing his naked chest. Her breath grew labored, and she swallowed, struggling to get a hold of herself. Liquid heat slid and lubricated inside her, and she hungered for his touch.

The trip wasn’t long.
Thank heaven
. If she had to sit in the car for much longer, she may have ended up moaning in orgasm. The instant the wheels stopped, Tamara was out of the car, breathing in the air of the city.

Big mistake
.

Her lungs wrenched inside her, and she coughed at the sudden change in environment. A cool hand rested on her back. She gave a thumbs up then coughed one more time. She hadn’t quite expected such a change. From sensual to...musty?

Once she was able to stand erect again, she relaxed, letting in just a small portion of the smell. The sight of the foreign market drew her like none she’d ever seen before. Excitement zinged, and she stepped forward.

“Wait,” growled Ramose.

Damn
. He did. He really growled. Huh. Wonder why? But she slowed her pace. He grabbed her hand as though he thought he would lose her in the crowd. The heat in her hand suddenly cooled, and, for once, instead of wanting to keep her distance, she enjoyed the cool of his touch. In fact, it felt damned good.

She shook her head to clear it, jerking her fingers from his hand. There was no way she could be clearheaded with his skin touching hers, however casual. “Look,” she said. “My first task is souvenirs. Hang out with me, if you like, but don’t get in the way. I may be new here, but I know what I’m doing.”

Attempting to ignore him, she moved from shop to stand, and from street to street. The quaint white bricks squared off, mixing new concrete with old style structures. Buildings lined each side of the ancient roads, marketing their wares in their windows, and some, on tables outside. Perfumes, silks, gold, and souvenirs galore.

The Khan el-Kahlili. When she’d first decided to visit Egypt, she’d read all about the bazaar. One of the largest in the Mid-East, it called to the tourist inside her. Banners hung over head as she strode down the street, advertising the variety of small shops, bidding shoppers visit to see their wares, and she intended to do just that.

“It’s so crowded,” she muttered, sidestepping a group of tourists speaking what sounded like German.

He nodded. “This is a busy market. One of the most well known in the world.”

A small table sat outside one of the dark-trimmed shops. She stepped forward, drawn like a magpie to the gold and silver displayed on soft dark velvet cloth. Chain after chain of gold met her gaze. One piece held her attention. She lifted the delicate chain. The attached medallion depicted Isis, her wings stretched wide as though proclaiming her gift of protection to the one who wore her. Tamara smiled, her hands trembling as she caressed the edges of the tiny piece. “She’s one of my favorites,” she breathed. “The mother goddess.”

“And a fine mother she was, too,” said the shopkeeper.

She glanced toward him, noting the hungry gaze in his eyes. She knew exactly what he saw. American. Money.
Too bad.
She fingered the chain, her eyes narrowed on the vendor, sizing him up.

He was older, his skin dark and leathery from the hot desert sun. He’d been at this job for a long time. But she wouldn’t give. She’d learned from her brother, years before, the art of negotiating.

“How much will you give me for this?” he prompted.

Tamara bit back her grin. This was going to be fun. “You tell me,” she said. She caught the warning glance from Ramose and almost laughed aloud.

“For you, two hundred American dollars.”

Tamara arched a brow in surprise. “So much?” She placed the piece back on the soft velvet. “Not for me, then. That would take all my funds for this trip.”

“No,” he said, motioning for her to look again. He lifted the necklace and shoved it back into her hand. “You are with a fine fellow here. Surely, he can afford to buy this for you? I will give it to you for half price. One hundred American dollars.”

Ramose opened his mouth, but Tamara stepped in. “Oh, no, I can’t let him buy something for me. That would be rude.” Tamara made a play at looking in her wallet, sighing and shaking her head. “Nope. Can’t do it. Still too much.” She made as though to put the piece down again.

“I give you for fifty dollars. My lowest offer. But,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “don’t tell anyone, or I’ll be ruined. You are too pretty a lady, though, to not have Mother Isis as your protector.”

Tamara glanced at Ramose. He had a smirk on his face. Good. She hoped she’d impressed him. “Deal,” she said at last.

The shopkeeper’s face gleamed his satisfaction, and he wrapped the piece in tissue paper before placing it in her hand. “I have a gift for you,” he said as he turned to rummage through a small case behind his table. When he turned back around, he handed her a small marble egg. “For luck, for the beautiful lady.”

“Thank you,” she said.

They walked away, and Tamara smiled, beaming her satisfaction. “I did it,” she whispered, more to herself than to Ramose.

“You did an excellent job,” Ramose admitted.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You didn’t think I would, did you?”

The soft chuckle he emitted traveled down her spine, reminding her of the heat earlier, when they were in the car. She bit the inside of her mouth again. At this rate, she was going to have a nasty callous from all these little nips to keep herself in line.

“I did not expect quite the powerhouse,” he said. “Most come to Egypt and spend way too much.”

For the first time since they arrived, Tamara was comfortable. She grabbed Ramose by the sleeve, dragging him to the next shop. “Let’s go in here. It looks like they have clothes.”

* * * *

Ramose let her drag him inside the shop, its lights dimmed, the better to hide prices and quality. He’d been here before, many years ago. He hoped the shopkeeper didn’t recognize him, since he hadn’t aged in the forty years since his last visit.

Rack after rack of cheap T-shirts and Egyptian wear filled the darkened interior. Carpets hung on the walls, tempting the uninformed. The problem with the market was its touristy nature. But Ramose knew the entire country relied upon the funds brought in by tourists, so he merely nodded to the shopkeeper and waited while Tamara darted from one rack to another. She flipped quickly through the hangers, a frown on her face. T-shirts. In less than five seconds, she bypassed the rack. No matter how colorful they were, they didn’t seem to capture her attention. He couldn’t help smiling. Most Americans ate up the T-shirts, which was amusing, as most were made in China and the print was from Japan.