His hungry gaze roamed over her body, and, for the first time since Amunkha had stepped into the scene today, feminine power surged through her.
The way he studied her was so like the look he’d given her in the shower. Damn, if he wasn’t sexy. Then she remembered him in the towel and swallowed a soft sigh. The white terry cloth had been so bright against his tanned flesh, accenting every bulge and every hard edge of his body. Tamara bit her lower lip, fighting the need to sweep her tongue across delicate skin, as her mouth watered in some ungodly desire to taste his mouth.
“What did he say to you?”
She shrugged and folded her arms, hoping to hide the sudden heaviness and rapid breathing in her chest. “Nothing much. It wasn’t what he said as much as what he didn’t say, and what I felt when he said it. He makes my skin crawl.”
* * * *
Ramose studied her from across the room. He tried to see her as he saw all human females. A woman who would run screaming at the knowledge he wasn’t born on this planet. Yet, try as he might, he couldn’t. The sweet curve of her lips was like a magnet, drawing his hungry eyes to the moist soft skin. The sight of her biting her lip was as provocative as the sway of a dancer’s hips.
He gave an inward shake of his head. He could not go down that path. He had to first keep her safe.
Everyone he knew, human or Petiri, avoided Amunkha, either because they saw what he was, or some survival instinct within them sensed his evil.
Yet when he’d entered the dining room, she’d shown anger, but didn’t seem to have a problem tolerating the man’s presence. Whatever the case, she was not what she appeared. He did not know this woman, despite the odd tendency he’d developed of wanting to touch her. Hell, he wanted to lay her on her bed and run his hands over that soft, feminine body, and that was dangerous. He had to remember, fire devoured ice.
“The next time you see him, you will not tolerate his presence. You will leave at once. Don’t worry about courtesy.”
She frowned, and the flush of pink in her cheeks paled. “I can make my own decision.” She threw her arms out in frustration. “I’m a grown woman, and, like I said before, I don’t let anyone tell me how to behave.”
The spark of anger in her eyes only attracted him more. Everything about her seemed to arouse him. The scent of lilies. That was it. He wasn’t attracted to her. It was the smell of the one flower he’d always loved which drew him. It had to be.
She let out a sound of disgust and turned, pacing toward the bed, her hands rubbing her arms as if she were suddenly cold. The motion of her hands drew his eyes. Each stroke, though intended as self-comfort, looked more sensual than the one before. Her hands dragged his thoughts to a place they had no business sinking.
Inside of her.
The rush of ice burned through his blood. Yes, burned. In all his life, he had never been so aroused, and his ice had never reached the level of cold it did when he looked at her and let his imagination run rampant. Every time he looked at her, a fervor of need burned in his body.
Ramose spun toward the window, forcing his eyes to focus on the pattern of the curtains, the intricate wood grain in the small table. Anything to get control of his wild emotions. Right now, he needed to protect her. Not bed her.
He heard the whisper of a sound and knew she’d stepped up behind him. Her scent stole over him, coiling inside his lungs, dripping its sweet spicy smell into his soul. “Most people would not have handled him as cleverly as you did.” Gods, he hoped she didn’t realize how rough his voice sounded.
“Tell me about him.” Her voice was soft and sympathetic. Her hands ran up his back. Soothing warmth eased the ice in his veins. His own gift melted
at the simple touch of her hands.
Dangerous.
And, yet, it felt so damned good.
Ramose closed his eyes, fighting the urge to turn into her caress, to see where it would take them.
Ramose sighed and pulled back the curtain. The grey remains of the once beautiful pyramids peered back at them. They looked almost…lonely. In the midst of a huge city, they stood out, towering above everything else. So different from the rest of the construction. So different from the rest of the world. I can understand that feeling.
“Trust me, Ramose.”
There was that word again. Trust. For the first time in many centuries, he wished he could trust. Yet millennia ago, he’d learned trust meant death. To him. Or worse, to someone he cared about. But he couldn’t lie to her. Deep inside, the thought was abhorrent. He let out a resigned sigh.
“He killed my sister.” He forced the words from his throat.
Her hands stopped their gentle caress, but she didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue.
He fisted the curtain as he struggled to focus on her question and not the stillness of her touch. “You already know I come from a race that has extraordinary powers of the mind.”
“Yes, I remember. I’ve seen it.”
“Some of us are able to use those powers to influence others should we so desire. Especially those with weaker minds than our own. Like any race, there were those among us unscrupulous enough to use their talents to direct politics. It was dangerous and threatened to expose our abilities.”
“And so your internal ruling body prohibited this use of magick?”
He nodded. “Then my sister fell in love with a man of great power here in Egypt, and they were wed. The council didn’t step in because, as a people, we respect soul mate connections, and Kiya insisted they were soul mates. Amunkha was furious. He had always wanted power himself, and our council fought him at every turn, blocking every chance he had at obtaining control. Now, she had everything he wanted.”
“And so he killed her?”
Ramose nodded again, his forehead pressed against the window as if finding comfort in the cold, smooth surface. “Yes. He did it slowly, so none of us suspected. Poison in their wine. He killed them both, husband and wife. Her husband became ill first, so Kiya helped with his government decisions when possible. Then, she too suffered, and they both died. We couldn’t seem to find the cause. It wasn’t until an old woman admitted she’d seen Amunkha pouring a liquid into the wine we were sure what had happened.” He didn’t say that the king’s first wife had been in on the plot. How the instant the child was born, they’d worked together to rid themselves of the mother of the heir to the throne.
* * * *
His sadness rushed over Tamara like a physical force. He wasn’t only mourning his sister. He mourned for Amunkha as well. The knowledge clicked inside her as if it had always been there. “He was your friend, wasn’t he?”
He nodded then pulled away from her touch, pacing the room. “I let her down, Tamara. I let Amunkha kill her.”
Pain sliced at a chunk of Tamara’s heart. “No,” she denied what he could not. “You did no such thing.” She reached for him, but he jerked away.
“I was supposed to protect her. It’s my fault she was there. She should never have left home.”
Tamara didn’t pretend to understand half of that last statement, but the part she did understand only showed her the man Ramose was. Proud. And in pain. A man who took on too much responsibility for the actions of others. “And if she’d stayed at home, Ramose, would she have found her true love?”
He stopped and faced her. “No,” he whispered.
His dark, green eyes were stricken, though his jaw was clenched tight. His aura blazed with color. His protective instincts were at an all-time high, but the gold and red were dotted with small bits of black. Not the total absence of color like Amunkha’s, but the darkness of grief. It ate at him, like a disease. How she’d missed it before she didn’t know.
“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 a
s 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?
O
nce 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.”
Visions of Fire and Ice (The Petiri) Page 10
