Samurai Game

CHAPTER 8

Screams pierced Sam’s ears, jerking him out of a deep sleep. The sound of a mindless animal in excruciating pain. Long, dreadful wails. Pleading, incoherent cries. He leapt up and sprinted down the long hallway. The stark white hall was narrow and stretched out before him for seemingly miles. The screams grew loud, more agonized, the begging unintelligible, but clearly pleas, the voice taking on the pitch of a child.

His heart pounded as he passed great glass windows. He peered in as he ran and his blood went ice cold. Room after room was empty, but the aftermath of the butchery was everywhere. Blood was splattered up the walls and dripped steadily from steel tables to form dark puddles on the floor. White hospital coats had been carelessly tossed aside along with trays of surgical instruments, all stained a murky wine red.

His mouth was dry and he pushed himself to greater speed, using blurring speed, but still the hallway extended on and on. The screams began to wane, trailing off into a gasping hoarse plea that wrenched at his heart. He found the last room, still filled with men in bloodstained coats and small masks bending over a cold surgical table. Great drops of blood dripped steadily from a patient he couldn’t see. The child writhed and moaned and pleaded, the tone filled with horror and pain.

A guard posted at the door leapt at him, coming out of the shadows fast. The blade of a knife glittered bright, caught in the light from the surgery room. He slapped the knife hand down, controlling the wrist with his palm while he slammed his fist hard into the guard’s throat. Choking, the man fell backward and Sam kept moving, rushing forward, kicking open the door to the surgery. Glass shattered around him, exploding into the room, showering the nearest bloodstained coats with long splinters and lethal shards.

He threw the nearest man into the wall, wading through them as if they were nothing more than paper dolls. He shoved them out of his way, reaching the stainless steel table and the child strapped to that cold metal. Blood ran from her body, her chest ripped open. Her eyes were wide-open, staring at him, filled with horror, with terror and pain. She had Asian features, but her hair was as white as snow, a thick cap of cornsilk.

“It’s all right now, baby,” he whispered, his throat closing on a terrible lump. He’d never seen such a thing, a mere child dissected like an insect. “I’ve got you. I won’t let them hurt you ever again.” Tears burned in his eyes as he reached for her. “I’ll take you to someone who can help you.”

He found the ties binding her to the table. The ties bit into her soft skin, digging deep so her wrists and ankles bled as well. Cursing, he turned to face the faceless monsters who had done such a thing.

“Why?” he demanded, taking a threatening step toward them. For the first time in his life he wanted to kill another human being.

“Science of course.” The disembodied voice sounded reasonable and not in the least afraid of him. The surgeon removed the bloody gloves and tossed them carelessly into the sink. “She’s a throwaway. I’ve given her a useful purpose for her life. She understands.”

Sam took a step toward the surgeon, his fingers itching to wrap around that neck and strangle until there was no more breath in the body. The surgical mask was removed with that same careless precision, and Sam found himself looking at Dr. Peter Whitney. With an oath, he took a step toward the monster. The child’s breath rattled in her chest and Sam swung quickly around to see her cat-shaped eyes glazing.

“No, baby,” he whispered. “Stay with me,” he coaxed. “Stay with me.”

He stared down at that baby face. She looked so familiar. That silky white hair that made no sense, the dark eyes fringed heavily with black lashes, the soft skin. He recognized her face and yet her name eluded him.

“Please,” he pleaded, afraid to lift her into his arms. She was like a broken doll, and anywhere he touched her would hurt. “Stay with me,” he repeated.

“Open your eyes,” she answered softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sam blinked. Above him, that same face swam into view, older now, no longer ravaged, but serene and composed. He blinked again, trying to understand. The child had white hair, this woman had hair as black as midnight.

“Sam, look at me. Wake up. You’re having another nightmare.”

“Azami.” He breathed her name, more breath than sound. His heart jumped at the sight of her. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

She brushed at his hair with gentle fingers, barely a touch, just that whisper of movement against his skin, but he felt it right through to his bones. “You were having a nightmare.”

He caught her hand. She instantly curled her fingers into a fist and took a step back, shaking her head. He pried open her fingers one by one and pressed her palm over his heart. His gaze searched hers. Her eyes didn’t drop. She let him see who she was. His breath caught in his throat and he lifted a hand to her cap of black silk.

“Your hair was white,” he whispered. “The child in my nightmares was you, but your hair was white.”

Azami pressed her lips together and then slowly nodded. “I prefer to allow you to believe that I’m beautiful. I suppose sooner or later you’ll have to know that isn’t true at all.” Her smile was brief and a little wistful. “You made me feel beautiful.”

Sam sat up, and then waited a moment for the room to right itself and the flash of pain moving through his abdomen to fade. He tugged on her hand to pull her close to the bed until she either had to tip over or sit on the bed. “You are beautiful, Azami.”

She raised a tentative hand to her hair. It was the first time she looked truly vulnerable. “It isn’t real.”

He sank his fingers into the thick mass of hair, his fingers curling into a fist, crushing strands in his palm. “This is no wig, honey. I can tell the difference between real hair and a wig.” Her hair felt like pure silk.

A faint smile curved her mouth even as she swallowed hard. Sam kept one anchored in her hair, the other pressing her palm to his chest.

“Tell me.” Clearly she didn’t want to. Her revelation had to be a matter of pride with her. A woman’s pride, not a samurai warrior’s pride. He understood that very clearly just by the way her gaze wavered for just a split second. She was Azami Yoshiie, a trained samurai, and she didn’t falter long, but he caught the tiny hesitation just before her chin lifted and her eyes locked on his.

“The color, I dye it. I’ve already gone gray, or at least, in my case, white. My hair turned white when I was a child-around three.”

Rage burst through him, hot and bright, a volcanic emotion that shook him as nothing else ever had. Three years old.

“How long did that monster have you?” he asked, his voice low because it was the only way he could control it.

Azami didn’t deny the obvious. She shrugged. “I was eight when my heart gave out and he threw me out. He put me in a box and shipped me to Japan. His men took me to an alley in a part of the city where the sex trades were and they tossed me out like a piece of garbage. I suppose to Whitney I was. He always said I was useless, and eventually my body just refused to hold up to his experiments.”

He wanted to drag her into his arms and shelter her, just as he had the small child she’d been. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He meant it too. “Is that when your father found you?”

She nodded. “I was skinny, my body a mass of ugly scars and my heart trying to decide if it would function or give up.” A tiny smile broke through, an affectionate memory she found amusing. “My father shaved my head in the hopes my hair would come back black. It came back streaked. I look a bit like a skunk unless I dye it.”

He found the memory more heartbreaking than entertaining, but he smiled just the same because he could see she needed him to feel that same delight in her reminiscence of her father. “I’ve always found skunks to be quite beautiful,” he admitted, sincerity lending his voice a solemn tone. He inhaled. “And you smell amazing, unlike a skunk.”

Genuine laughter reached her eyes. “I don’t know, Sam. I think a skunk’s smell might be pretty amazing.”

He ran a finger down her face, lingering on her soft lips. “Why didn’t you tell me about Whitney?”

“Lily. I wasn’t certain if she was working with her father.”

“Did you come to kill her?”

She pulled back, frowning at him.

“I could understand if that had been your intention, Azami,” he admitted. She hadn’t tried to lie about being that child to him and he was fairly certain she wouldn’t lie about this.

“No, she wanted to purchase one of our satellites. I had turned down her father. I had to meet her and decide whose side she was on.”

Sam believed her. “Has Whitney contacted you since he…” He trailed off, not wanting to say the words. It had to hurt, being discarded, even though Whitney was a monster. He was the only parent the orphan girls had known. He’d collected them from orphanages when they were mere infants.

“Threw me into the streets?” she finished for him. There was no bitterness in her voice. “It was the best thing that could have happened to me. My father loved me and taught me how to believe in myself-and believe in the world again. He gave me an honorable code and a way to make a difference. I had nearly fifteen years with a man who respected life and fought evil. He gave me every opportunity and showed me that, although many doors might be closed to me, there were other honorable paths for me to follow.”

Sam frowned. He heard that hurt, wistful note in her voice when she’d said, “many doors might be closed to me.” What did she long for?

The pad of his thumb slid over her lips. “How can any door be closed to you, Azami?”

That threw her-just for a moment he saw that sudden insecurity and it shocked him. Azami was a woman of confidence. She was intelligent and a skilled warrior. What could she long for that could be unattainable to her? Every protective instinct he had welled up. His hand curled tighter in her hair. White hair? What would that be like for a child of Asian descent? To be so traumatized that even the hair on her head betrayed her?

“Azami, I want to know. Show me the worst you have.” He could only hope his expression stood for him, the sincerity of his voice. He leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. “I don’t know your world or your cultures. I know this is too fast and you don’t trust it, but we fit. You and me. We fit together perfectly. When you’re in my mind, there’s no loneliness, only warmth and security. We have this one chance and everything around us doesn’t matter. Together we can do anything at all. Accomplish anything. I know it. I can’t explain it, but I know it to be truth. Show me. Let me be the one to show you that you can have everything you want with me.”

“You don’t know me, Sam. I’m not the woman you think I am.”

He lifted her head with his fingers beneath her chin and looked her in the eyes. “I attended a meeting today with my team. There were three people connected to Whitney’s pipeline to the White House who supposedly died in accidents. I don’t think they were accidents. You have every reason, just as we do, to try to stop Whitney. You can teleport, you’re highly skilled with weapons, including a blowgun, and if someone told me to take a shot in the dark as to who might be responsible for those deaths… Well, honey, my money would be on you.”

She didn’t blink, and he admired her all the more for that expressionless serenity she faced adversity with. She reached out with both hands and framed his face, all the while looking him in the eyes. “Do you wish to know the truth for yourself or for your team?”

“My team will figure things out without my help. They’re already close. You have to make the decision whether or not we’re your enemy. We’re not and have never been your enemy, but you need to know that for yourself. You have to know that I’m with you all the way, Azami. I don’t give my word lightly and I know you’re the one. The only one for me.”

“Is it possible that Whitney somehow paired me to you?” she asked.

He could hear the underlying horror and fear in her voice. He shook his head. “I don’t see how he could have. In any case, maybe his gift is in the knowing which couples belong. I belong to you and it has little to do with sex. I’m attracted to you, yes, that drive is there and I think that’s very obvious to you. But it’s so much more than that. I think about you, Azami, and you make me smile. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman, and I’ve spent a hell of a long time looking. Give me this chance.”

She regarded him for what seemed an eternity, her serene demeanor hiding her thoughts, but he could feel the tension in her. She moistened her lips and his heart stuttered. She’d come to a decision and for one moment he wanted to stop her. If she crushed every chance, he’d have to abide by her decision-but he wasn’t certain he could. He knew with absolute certainty that they should go through life together, and if he couldn’t have her, no other woman would measure up in his mind.

“I was useless to him, remember?” This time she let the hurt show in her voice. The child was still there. “I wasn’t worth stitching up properly. There was no way to correct the damage he did to my body.” Or my mind.

She poured into his mind, filling him with her warmth and her emotions. She was every bit as afraid to end what they had as he was.

Sam knew he was using a delaying tactic, but it was still important. “When you have so many amazing gifts, why didn’t Whitney value you more?”

Regret and guilt flashed in her eyes. “I hid everything from him. I suppose I didn’t really understand that if I showed him a psychic gift he wouldn’t use me for experiments. I could hear the other girls screaming sometimes and he knew what they could do. He felt sick to me, and it grew each time I was around him. I think I instinctively hid any talent and he couldn’t detect one. That must have made him crazy because he prided himself on knowing who was psychically gifted and who wasn’t.”

“You were just a toddler.” He reached to pull her across his lap and fire took his breath as he stretched his abdomen, reminding him he wasn’t 100 percent. He breathed away the pain and held her to him, wanting to comfort the child as much as the woman.

“I knew when he touched me that something was wrong. I knew he didn’t love any of us and never would. I hid my talents instinctively and then later, when he was using my body for experiments, I thought that was what he wanted from me. I probably was half crazy with fear all the time. A child doesn’t think the way adults do.”

“Surely you don’t blame yourself for what Whitney did to you,” he said, nuzzling the top of her hair. He couldn’t detect any white hairs, but she’d probably dyed her hair right before visiting the compound so there would be no roots for anyone to see.

Azami turned her head to look at him. “I was a child. Of course I blamed myself. He was so cold toward me. I never once got a smile from him like some of the other girls. I never felt worthy. It was almost a relief that I was used for experiments because at least then he told me I was useful. That was part of his brilliance-to withhold love and approval so we would do anything to try to please him. A part of me knew he was completely mad, but the child just wanted his love and approval.”

Again Sam experienced that tremendous flare of rage. It roared through him bright and hot, shaking him with the savage intensity. He was a thinking man, not a primal warrior, but he felt like one in that instant. He needed to kill Whitney, to wipe him from the face of the earth and out of Azami’s memories. How could any human being traumatize an infant to the point that her hair would actually go white when it was naturally black?

He brushed a kiss on top of her head, helpless to do anything but try to silently comfort her. He couldn’t imagine what her father had found in that alley, a child so torn and weak with a mop of white hair and skin over bones.

“I watch Lily and Ryland with their son, and the way they treat him is so different-the complete opposite,” Azami said. “He’s a happy boy. I can feel the love they have for him and the way he responds.”

Of course that would be important to her. He should have known she would check on the condition of an infant in the care of Whitney’s daughter.

“We protect the compound so that there’s no chance of Whitney getting his hands on one of the babies. He’s tried, and we know he’ll try again.”

“He won’t stop,” Azami said. She shifted away from him. “Sam, you know we won’t work. I think about it all the time and there are far too many complications. I have a company, my brothers, you have your team and your family.”

“That’s logistics, Azami, and you know it,” he said. “If we want this, we’ll find a way. There’s always a way. You’re afraid, and it’s not of my team, or what I do, or even me.”

She slipped off his lap, back onto the floor, the movement graceful, flowing water over stone. There wasn’t even a whisper of sound, reminding him what she was in that beautiful package-a lethal weapon. She didn’t need guns or arrows; her father had trained her to be a woman to be reckoned with and given her the honor and code of the samurai. In his way, her father had ensured that Whitney could never again torture her.

Yet Whitney still lived in her head. Sam could feel the man as sure as if he was standing in the room with them. He colored everything in Azami’s life whether she knew it or not. She stood, her head up, the woman her father had taught her to be, facing him, eyes steady, mouth firm, shoulders straight, unapologetic for who she was, yet she was reluctant to let him all the way into her life. And that was all Whitney.

Sam waited, his pulse pounding in his ears. He could taste her in his mouth, feel her rushing through his veins, and yet she was so far from him.

“Azami Yoshiie is an illusion,” she finally whispered, her voice filled with sorrow and despair. “From my dyed hair to my seemingly perfect body. Azami doesn’t really exist.”

She was telling him something so difficult she trembled in the telling, but still, she held that firm, upright stance, with that serene expression on her face even though her eyes were alive with pain. She swallowed once, a hard lump he could clearly tell, but she didn’t waver. He almost stopped her. Azami was a woman of courage, and yet telling him this dark secret took a terrible toll on her. It was all he could do to sit on the bed silently and wait for her to reveal the one thing she knew would keep them apart.

Very slowly her hand went to the hem of her shirt. His breath caught in his throat as she lifted it, revealing her flat, defined abdomen and the soft skin there. He knew the moment he saw the spiderweb tattoo attempting to cover the scars running up her waist in all directions, circling around her narrow rib cage and traveling up higher to under and between her breasts, spreading completely over the left breast and partially over the right. The scars continued, peeking out from under the tattoo with its intricate web, dissecting her flesh from front to back.

She turned slowly. The tattoo on her back was even more detailed, not the lines of a spiderweb, but a triumphant bird-a phoenix rising from the ashes flowing from the top of her shoulders, spreading across her delicate back, the wings intricate and lacy, slowly narrowing to a curving tail of wispy feathers hugging the small of her back and curving over her right buttock. The scars were more rigid, jagged and raised so that the flowing tattoo held hundreds of images and scrolls. Both the bird and spider were done in shades of color, mostly dark, but the phoenix had gold and red outlines that only served to heighten the dramatic effect. He found the tattoos fascinating rather than repugnant. She’d turned all those scars, those badges of courage, into pure artwork and he admired her all the more for it.

Sam slipped out of his bed and again had that strange fading in and out moment, but it passed much more quickly than the first time. He padded over to her, towering over her much smaller figure. She didn’t flinch or give ground when his fingers slid over the ridges on her back, tracing the myriad of images, feeling the thick scar tissue beneath the impressive tattoo. Very gently he turned her around to face him, allowing him to view the spiderweb crawling across her body, rippling with every movement of her defined muscles.

He could see why a woman would look at the scars on her body and think she was destroyed. Clearly she’d had multiple surgeries and at least one heart surgery. Her soft, flawless skin made the scarring almost obscene. One breast was larger than the other, and a little lopsided, as if part had been carelessly cut away. Tattooed over the shiny scar, right beside her nipple, was a female red-backed spider. Sam leaned forward before he could stop himself and brushed a kiss over that spider. His lips skimmed her nipple, tongue curling for just one breathtaking moment along the dark peak before he lifted his head and looked into her eyes.

Azami stood very still, holding her shirt above her breasts, her eyes wide with shock. “You can’t possibly want me.”

Her voice was so low, so shocked, so incredulous, Sam couldn’t help but smile. He bent his head to hers. Lips inches from hers, he curved his hand around the back of her neck. “Honey, I’m totally naked, in case you hadn’t noticed. I think my wanting you can’t possibly be in question.”

Her gaze left his eyes, dropped low, and she inhaled audibly. His erection was long and thick and made no apologies for his desire for her. Her image as a woman was wrapped up in how she viewed her body. She didn’t realize that every inch of her scarred body, now covered in artwork, was testimony to her strength and spirit.

Sam tipped her face up with his thumb. It took a few seconds for her gaze to follow the lift of her face. Her eyes were wide, her long lashes fluttering a little, reminding him of feathery fans. “I’m going to kiss you, Azami, so if you have that dagger of yours handy, now might be a good time to use it if you’re so inclined,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers as he reminded her of their first kiss.

He captured her answering smile, and warm breath, as his mouth settled over hers. The world tilted and righted itself. Sam urged her closer to him. His body was naked and shamelessly demanding toward hers. She had forgotten to let go of the hem of her shirt, holding it across the top of her breasts while she melted into him, suddenly boneless.

His chest crushed the soft cushion of her breasts as he pulled her into him, his erection lodging just above her belly button. She felt fragile, and yet all muscle beneath her skin. The scars rasped against his cock, creating a friction he hadn’t expected. His breath exploded out of his lungs and he tightened his hold on her, afraid she’d try to escape when all around him the earth was shifting under his feet.

She tasted like a combination of flame and sex, a deadly mixture, a volatile cocktail rushing through his bloodstream and melting his mind. He knew he had dropped too far too fast and there was so much unresolved between them. They barely knew one another, but he was certain of the woman who had gone so courageously into battle with him. Kissing her over and over, his body as hard as a rock, need so urgent he could barely think, Sam allowed himself to just fall over the edge with her.

Azami gasped and pulled away from him, her hands finally letting loose of her hem to clutch at his neck for support. “I can’t breathe. You’ve made me so weak I can’t stand up,” she confided in a shy voice.

Sam took a deep breath, knowing his belly would protest, but he needed to reassure her. He lifted her, cradling her against his chest, a little surprised at how light she was when she was all firm muscle. “I’ve got you, honey. You’re safe with me.” He wanted her to feel safe with him. It was necessary to go slow, to get himself under control. “You’ve never been with a man, have you?” Kissing her had already told him she was untutored, an innocent in the ways between a man and a woman, and that meant he had to go slow, be very careful of her. She had a poor body image and doubts about her ability to be a woman.

Her father had been wonderful to her, loving and kind, and he made certain to give her the skills to survive in the world. He’d given her a sense of family, but inadvertently, he’d fostered the belief that no man would want her scarred body and freakishly white hair, by telling her she would live an honorable life as a warrior without her own man, and Azami believed that meant, once again, she wasn’t good enough.

Her long eyelashes fluttered again. “Did I do something wrong?” Her voice was filled with trepidation, but once again, she met his gaze squarely.

He let himself smile. “No, honey, you did everything right. I just have to take a breath myself here and do the right thing.”

“Which would be?” she prompted.

“Get in bed alone or get some clothes on. I have to talk to your brothers before we get into trouble.”

A slow smile teased the corners of her mouth and warmed her eyes. “Talking to my brothers could get you in trouble.”

“Maybe, but risking my life to tell them I want your hand in marriage is well worth it to me.” He set her on the bed and looked around for his jeans. His mind was still a little scattered and his body didn’t want to cooperate with his intellect. It took a moment to pull up his jeans and button a few buttons. The material felt stretched and uncomfortable, but at least she was safe-for the moment.

“Does it bother you that I don’t have a clue what I’m doing?” Azami asked, as candid as ever.

“Men tend to be very proprietary over their women, Azami. I’m quite happy being the only man you ever know intimately. In any case, I know enough for both of us. Trust me, honey, we have nothing to worry about in that department.”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re so certain, Sam.”

He leaned into her, framing her face with his hands. Her face looked so small against the largeness of his hands. “Once in a great while, Azami, believe me, not very often, a miracle happens, a gift comes along. I’m a man who deals in death on a nearly daily basis. I put my life on the line and don’t expect to come back every time I go out. You’re my gift, Azami, my personal miracle. Maybe it happened too fast for you and you need time to catch your breath, and I’ll give you whatever time you need; just don’t say no and shut the door on us.”

It was as much of a plea as a man like him could manage. She had the face of an angel with her eyes and full lips and all that soft skin.

“I should, Sam. For you, I should; but I won’t.”

The relief was tremendous. He hadn’t realized just how tense he’d grown. He knew the intense physical attraction wasn’t one-sided, he could see her desire growing in her eyes and feel it in her kiss and melting body. Still, she was extremely disciplined and slow to trust. He felt privileged that, through their mind link, she’d given that trust to him.

Sam brushed his mouth over hers and straightened, smiling. “I just have to figure out a way to keep your brothers from taking off my head when I ask for your hand. It’s not like a soldier has a lot of prospects. They might think I’m after you for your money.”

“They would be more understanding of that reason for such an offer-a business transaction. They will have far less ability to understand you wanting me as a wife for other reasons.”

Again he couldn’t detect bitterness or even a bid for sympathy; Azami was simply stating a fact as she saw it. “They’ll have to get used to it,” Sam said.

“We do not ever show affection in public,” Azami cautioned. “I don’t want you to be offended if I don’t show how I feel.”

His eyebrow rose. “Are you afraid I might grab you in front of the world and kiss you like crazy?”

She nodded solemnly. “It isn’t done.”

His grin went wider. “It’s done. We just have to pick our spots. We both have the ability to transport from one area to another. I think if I’m desperate, I’ll just give you the sign and we’ll exit fast and return before they notice we’re gone.”

Azami looked at him as if she didn’t quite know what to think. His fingers curled around the nape of her neck, drawing her closer to him. He found that bemused, confused look adorable, but he was fairly certain a warrior woman wouldn’t find that description appealing, so he wisely kissed her instead of commenting out loud.

She gave herself up to his kiss, her tongue dancing with his, her slender arms creeping up around his neck.

Open your mind to mine, he whispered in the much more intimate form of communication. I need to feel you inside of me, and I need to be inside of you.

He might not be able to have her physically, not yet. Instinctively he knew she wasn’t ready to give him her body. The intimacy of telepathic communication would have to be enough. He prayed it would be enough and give him the strength to do right by her.

There was a moment of hesitation and his heart went still. His mouth moved coaxingly against hers, a gentle, tender assault to entice her. Her mind opened and warmth poured into him. Her strength, the vulnerability she hid from the world. She filled all the cold, dark places in him, lighting him, illuminating the darker shadows and instantly removing every vestige of loneliness.

When we’re like this, Azami, welded together, you can know more about me than any other human being will know living a lifetime with me. He caressed the silk of her hair, his palm cradling her head. I won’t ever go anywhere. I’ll be with you, just like this. See who I really am inside. Judge me on my character, not on whether or not Whitney has done something to pair us.

He knew that was her primary worry. When she entered into his mind, strong and courageous, that doubt was there as well. Azami didn’t try to hide it from him, nor did she pretend she felt comfortable with her body or with him seeing her flaws. To him they weren’t flaws, nor would they ever be.

Sam…

She kissed him with exquisite gentleness until his heart stuttered and his body threatened to burst through the material of his jeans. She brushed the pads of her fingers so lightly over his skin, shaping his shoulders and the muscles of his arms. The touch was barely there, yet he felt it as if she was branded into his bones.

How could it possibly work? You’re here. I’m in Japan. We both have a job.

But she wanted him. She wanted to give herself to him and in a way, she already had. It was impossible to be in her mind and not know her. She had committed to him the moment she’d revealed her body to him. She’d allowed him to share her mind and memories. He hadn’t betrayed her trust by searching her mind for how she’d assassinated Whitney’s three flunkies, although she didn’t try to hide anything from him. He knew she was going after Whitney and how could he blame her?

Sam folded her closer. It’s going to work because there is no one else for me. I never thought I’d have a woman of my own. He really hadn’t.

He lifted his head slowly, waiting for her long lashes to lift. He loved those soft twin crescents, impossibly long and feathery, fluttering against her high cheekbones right before she opened her dark eyes to meet his gaze. He loved the sensation of his heart dropping the moment their gazes met and knew she would always affect him like this-just this way-his body so aware of her, his mind filled with her so there would never be room for anyone else.

Okay, then. You can risk your life and ask my brothers’ permission.

She didn’t sound quite as positive as he would have liked. He nuzzled her nose, kissed both eyes and the corner of her mouth.

“Tell me, Azami,” he coaxed. “I don’t believe in secrets. My woman will know what’s happening in my life and I need to know about hers. I don’t want hurt feelings between us. If you have concerns, we need to address them.”

She lifted her chin. “I have a mission to accomplish. It’s a matter of honor. I can’t stop until it’s done. I’m not unrealistic. I’m aware I probably will not be the one to kill him, but I have made it my duty to cut him off from the aid that lends him legitimacy.”

“I understand, Azami. I do. I’m a soldier. In any case, if you’re trying to bring down Whitney, you’ve got allies right here. Four teams of GhostWalkers are dedicated to finding him and destroying him.”

“He’s got powerful friends,” she warned.

“Believe me, honey, we’re very aware of that.”

She suddenly smiled. “You call me by your American name. Honey. We do not use this term in my country. I like it, but it seems strange.”

“It’s a term of endearment meant for a girlfriend or spouse,” he explained.

She took a breath, stepped back, and spread her hands. “He called me Thorn. Whitney. He said I wasn’t a flower, but only a thorn and there was nothing he could do to change that, no matter how hard he tried.”

Another revelation. She was very still. Holding herself. Waiting. Sam took a breath, wanting to make certain he said the right thing. When they’d met, he’d asked her what her name meant. He smiled at her, taking one step to close the gap she’d put between them, his hand cupping her chin, forcing her head up.

His heart did a curious somersault looking into the courage in her eyes. He would always see her this way, his Azami, facing the worst, expecting the worst, yet not flinching, but looking him right in the eye. He was a man who lived a life of duty, choosing honor and danger, although he had many choices. He had degrees and offers, but he was driven to be a soldier, to defend his country and the people in it. He had never thought to find a woman who could understand him, or admire his choices. He could see both in her eyes.

“You are Azami, the very heart of the thistle. The flower of the thistle. Whitney has no place here, nor can he stand between us. He’s nothing to us, honey. Do you have any idea what we are together? What kind of strength we’ll have united? Whitney can never defeat us, or break us. He wanted to create pairs of soldiers to be dropped into enemy territory, carry out missions without aid from the outside, and escape unseen before anyone ever knew they were there. We’re that perfect pair and he never even saw it. He is not invincible. He created the GhostWalkers-and you’re one of us, whether he knew it or not. And we’ll be his downfall.”

He knew she loved her family, but how could she ever feel she belonged, with her strange psychic gifts, her tortured past, scarred body, and white hair? Just as he never quite belonged anywhere until he became a GhostWalker.

“You belong with me, Azami. Your family will be my family. My family-the GhostWalkers-will be yours.”

“You’re a very dangerous man, Sam Johnson,” she whispered. “You stand there, tempting me with your pretty words of a future together, the devil in his blue jeans, so good-looking you’re impossible to resist. I don’t know why I can’t say no to you.”

His grin widened. His arms slid around her, pulling her tight against him. He didn’t want so much as a breath between them. “That will stand me in good stead in the future.” He bent his head once more to the temptation of her angelic mouth.