Samurai Game (GhostWalkers 10)

When she stood in front of him, he wrapped a thick towel around her body and dried her body gently. "Show me the next step, Azami," he encouraged, nuzzling her slender neck.

She took his hand and tugged him toward the bedroom. His heart tripped a little. He loved her confidence, the way her body moved sensuously beneath the towel, and he couldn't wait to take those pins from her hair and let it fall around her face. She looked all woman, yet she walked without a whisper of movement, placing her feet automatically and lightly on the floor. He could tell it was a reflex with her to test her footing and memorize floor plans. He would bet his life that she could describe in detail everything in his house and exactly where it was placed. How many men had a woman like that?

She turned to look at him over her shoulder, a small smile on her face. "No one but you wants a woman like me, Sam. Most men don't like that a woman is dangerous."

"You'd be surprised," he countered, "although let's not try finding out."

Her eyes laughed at him for that possessive streak he hadn't known he'd had until Azami had come along. He found himself laughing with her.

His bedroom was spacious. He liked room--lots of room. And he enjoyed being surrounded by nature. He knew it wasn't the best idea to have trees close to his house; they could always come down in a storm--or worse, an enemy could use them both for cover to creep up onto his house, or to gain the roof via one of the branches. He didn't care. He loved fresh air and detested the city. He wanted as much forest around and as close to him as possible. A bank of windows overlooked the stream and surrounding trees, with a verandah just outside where he could sit and watch the deer come in close to drink.

Only three candles spilled light around the room. One was much smaller than the other, and a small pot sat over it, warming whatever was inside. Azami lowered the pot so that the flame was close to the bottom and could heat the contents faster. She waved him to a mat on the floor, tugging on his towel. He obligingly handed it over to her and, following her silent direction, lay facedown on the mat.

She slipped out of her towel, folding both neatly and setting them aside before going to the obviously old pot and lifting it away from the candle. He inhaled her exotic fragrance as she straddled him, her warm body sending heat rushing through his veins. He closed his eyes and prayed for strength to endure--to allow her to finish whatever she felt needed to be done before he claimed her wholly for his own.

"This is very ancient and sacred oil," Azami explained as she lifted the lid on the old pot. The scent drifted to him, surrounded him, and seemed to enfold him, all before she ever laid her slick, oiled hands on his shoulders and began a slow, methodical massage. "Each generation has added to the formula. The oil is hand pressed and will absorb quickly into your body, invigorating you even as it soothes tired muscles."

Already he could feel the tingling heat invading and spreading like a wildfire even as, for the second time that night, he felt absolutely boneless. He drifted in a haze of love and lust, of complete contentment. Her hands moved down his back to his buttocks, kneading and working out every kink, but the ritual gave them much more than relief from sore muscles. The more she worked on his body with her small, sure hands, the stronger the connection between them grew, as if that ancient oil created a bond that cemented them together. She massaged all the way down his legs and each foot, with that same easy, slow pace.

"You must turn over, Sammy," she whispered.

He opened his eyes as he rolled over. She had placed both feet flat on the floor on either side of his hips and lifted herself just enough to allow him to turn over. Immediately she lowered her body over his, straddling his lap, her hot, damp center sliding intimately over his heavy erection. Her hands immediately went to his shoulders.

Sam held up his hands. He was aching to touch her and this wasn't going much further, not without him taking her. "Share, Azami."

She smiled at him and swiveled slightly, causing a wealth of sensations to course through his groin. The candlelight played over her skin, the swell of her breast and narrow rib cage. The spider moved, showing itself briefly before she turned again to give him a full frontal view. She held the pot of oil in her cupped hands as if it was precious to her. Her gaze locked with his, she offered him the oil.

Sam coated his hands in the warm, slick oil and waited until she placed the pot carefully on the floor just within reach. When she would have bent forward to resume massaging his chest, he shook his head and lifted his hands to her shoulders. She sat back a little, watching him from under those long, luxurious lashes. He took his time massaging her shoulders before sliding his hands to cup her breasts. The oil disappeared quite fast, just as she'd said it would, leaving her skin softer and silkier than ever.

Watching her face, he brushed his thumbs over her nipples, saw the flush creeping under her skin and her heightened breathing. "Are you afraid, Azami?" he asked. It was a legitimate question. He wasn't a small man, and she was quite diminutive by comparison.

"A little nervous," she admitted, "but I want you quite badly."

He expected nothing less than her honesty. Azami didn't have it in her to play personal games with him. She would tell him what she wanted and provide for his needs as best she could. He knew the ritual bath had helped to calm her nerves and allow her to familiarize herself with his body while allowing him to see hers.

"I love this spider," he whispered and lifted his head so he could taste the oil.

As he expected, some previous ancestor had considered that a husband and wife would be anointed with the oil and want to consummate their marriage bed. Her skin was more than just pleasant, it held a hint of cinnamon, citrus, and maybe apple. He would never forget the smell of her skin or the way she looked with the flickering light dancing over her. He took possession of her breast, drawing the soft flesh into the heat of his mouth.

She let out a soft sigh and bunched her fist in his hair. He teased her nipple gently, his mouth moving over that intriguing spider guarding his woman. "I'm going to roll us over, baby," he said softly.

He wanted her under him. She'd shown him her world and now he was going to introduce her to his. She nodded and straightened her legs as he caught her around the waist and rolled, pulling her small frame beneath his. The oil on their bodies made them both so silky smooth their skin seemed to caress one another as they shifted and moved. He caught the quick nervousness in her eyes and immediately lowered his head, kissing her mouth over and over until she went boneless and pliant beneath him.

"Would you feel safer with a dagger in your hand?" he asked as he kissed his way to the tip of her breast.

"I'm safe with you," she said. "This is new to me, just as the ritual bath was new to you."

"I'll make your experience every bit as wonderful as you did for me," he promised. She was nervous, yes, and maybe, just maybe, there was that little hint of fear for the unknown, but she trusted him.

Sam bent his head to her flat belly and began tracing the delicate lines of the spiderweb with his tongue and lips the way he'd wanted to from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her tattoo. His tongue swirled in her intriguing belly button and moved again to trace her ribs.

"You need another spider right here by your belly button for me to tease," he whispered against her skin.

His body wanted to go fast and take her, burying himself deep over and over, but another part of him wanted to savor her in that same unhurried way she'd built such anticipation. He wanted her soft, breathless cries pleading with him. He wanted her so ready for him there would be little discomfort to her.

Her stomach muscles bunched and rippled beneath his exploring hand and mouth, her breasts rising and falling as his mouth moved closer. His heart nearly exploded when her mind slipped into his, a little hesitant at first, as if she needed reassurance that he wanted the added intimacy. She would know then--he wouldn't be able to hide what she meant to him. He wanted her with every breath in his body. He needed her just as he needed air to b

reathe, and he didn't even know how it happened.

Something had happened when their minds connected, out there on the battlefield, and when she'd left his mind, she'd taken a part of him with her. The slow ritual bath had only deepened that bond, pushing his desire so far, creating a hunger so endless for her that it clawed and raked at him. He caught her hands and drew them around his neck, lifting his head to look down at her face. Her eyes were wide-open, and he could see the passion and desire shining back at him. The same hunger clawed at her. He lowered his head to kiss her again, sharing her breath, sharing his mind, one hand sliding down all that smooth skin to find the vee between her legs.

She was all heat and dampness. A private sanctuary for him to get lost in--and he didn't give a damn about trying to find a way out. As his palm covered her mound, his thumb sliding deep into her sheath, she flushed, her body growing hotter. Her eyes went wide with shock and her breath turned ragged, but she parted her thighs wider for him.

"It's all right," he soothed. "You're safe with me, Azami. We'll do this together."

He didn't think he'd survive that long. His body had never raged at him like this, never made such demands. The candlelight made her skin glow and the threads of the spiderweb actually appeared luminous, a trick of the ink. Watching her, mesmerized by her reaction, he slid his finger into that slick heat. She was tight and hot, and with her small body writhing under his, all that silky skin rubbing against him, he feared he might lose his mind.

He talked to her to keep sane, to keep from being a primitive idiot when she needed to be introduced into the world of lovemaking gently. "I dreamt of you when I was young, back on the streets. So long ago, Azami. I would spend the night huddled in a doorway, afraid I'd have to kill someone to stay alive, hungry, alone, and when I'd be so tired I couldn't stay awake, I'd be with you. You were so beautiful and exotic and unattainable, and at the same time, the only solace I had."

"I dreamt of you too," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I never thought to find a man I would want to share my body with." She lifted her head and waited until their eyes met. "A man who would see me in spite of my flaws." She brought her hand up a little self-consciously to her misshapen breast. The scars zigzagged across the soft mound and just to the side of the nipple, where the spider resided, in that small nook where a small part of her breast was missing. The scar was shiny white beneath the spider.

Sam bent his head to brush kisses across that spider. "The only flaw you have, my beautiful Azami, is that you didn't find me sooner."

Azami laughed softly, but her eyes were overbright and tears shimmered on her long lashes. "Only you could say that. Even my father did not think that. He said I would have to learn to curb my temper. I spent many hours scrubbing the floor of our dojo for losing my temper and nearly taking off the head of my brother when practicing."

Sam nibbled his way up to her chin. "Did you chase him around with your sword?" He moved his finger deep inside her, stretching her enough to add a second finger.

He took possession of her mouth, catching that breathy little moan. He kissed her over and over, savoring the sweet taste of her and the way her lips were soft and firm and her tongue danced with his. He lifted his head enough to kiss the corners of her eyes, removing those tiny, sparkling tears.

"Did you? Did you chase your brother with a sword?"

"Yes." Azami lowered her gaze, clearly ashamed.

Sam laughed. "I knew it. What did he do?"

"He teased me about my white hair and I wanted to chop all of his hair from his head. Father made me scrub the dojo from top to bottom."

"That seems fair to me, shaving his head, I mean."

She shook her head. "No, Father was right. I was learning to be quite lethal and I needed to hold my temper over silly matters. Although, I have to say, I was quite secretly pleased when the next time I saw Daiki, his hair was chopped off. He did it himself when he saw me punished."

Sam kissed her neck and then branded her there before kissing his way down to her tempting breasts again and tracing his way along her ribs back to her belly button. His teeth nipped occasionally, his tongue swirling, dancing over her bunching muscles. Her soft moans were like music to him, playing through his body and stroking caresses in his mind. He kissed her belly button and slid lower, inhaling her exotic fragrance. His dreams hadn't been this good. Nothing was this good. He parted her thighs and bent his head to lap at her slick crease.

Azami cried out and clutched at his hair, tossing her head back and forth on the pillow. She tasted as good as he knew she would, an addicting, exciting blend of spice. He took his time, indulging himself, bringing her to a fever pitch of need.

CHAPTER 13

Tears burned behind Azami's eyes. She had never thought to feel this kind of passion--or this kind of love. Her breath came in long, ragged, labored rushes. Her body was no longer her own but Sam's, and she gave herself willingly, yet there was a small part of her that kept protesting. Useless. Not worthy. He was bringing her to paradise, offering her something so precious, a miracle really, and yet what could she give him in return? A lump in her throat threatened to choke her. She should have told him everything, and she'd withheld vital information, fearing he would reject her.

I am Azami. I am samurai, my father's daughter. I am strong. I shaped myself into a being worthy of Sam.

Thorn was gone. Long gone. That malnourished child with horrible white hair, a freak of nature, so useless she couldn't even be used as a rat in a laboratory. It was Azami Sam was taking to paradise, Azami who felt every wonderful sensation burning like a fireball through her body. She hadn't known it was possible to feel like this. To want someone until you almost felt insane with need. To desire another's touch. To writhe beneath them, skin to skin, seeing acceptance in his eyes. Even her beloved father had not thought that she could find such a man and yet she had. A sob escaped and she shoved her fist in her mouth to choke it back.

"What is it, baby?" Sam asked softly, lifting his head to look at her.

She couldn't meet his eyes. His voice, so incredibly loving, soft and sexy, was everything a man's voice should be. How could he talk to her like that? How could he look at her like that? As if she was the only woman in the world? She shook her head, another small sob escaping, further humiliating her. She had stopped crying the terrible night Whitney had thrown her like garbage into the street. She wasn't that girl anymore. That useless child. She was Azami Yoshiie, samurai. But if she was, why hadn't she told him everything?

"Stop it right now."

Sam's voice startled her. Shocked her. His tone was hard with authority and his eyes had gone from loving, consuming her with desire, to commanding.

Azami shook her head and twisted away from him. "I can't do this. I'm sorry, Sam."

She was sorry for both of them. She'd done the unforgivable, allowing him to think she could commit to him, to have a life with him. More, she'd convinced herself, but even her father had known the truth. Thorn was still inside of her, that small, ugly child who would never go away. She'd been born flawed and no matter what she did, she would always remain flawed, useless to a man such as Sam. He just couldn't see it yet, blinded by his infatuation. She hadn't been able to bring herself to a tell him the things he deserved to know before he chose her. Where was her honor? She was definitely that miserable child.

Sam moved faster than she thought a big man could, up and over her, catching her wrists, pinning them to the floor on either side of her head. His face was a hard mask, all edges and tight control.

"Don't you ever, ever, do that to yourself again."

She'd grown so used to Sam being in her mind that she hadn't considered he could read her thoughts.

"Thorn is as much you as Azami is. It was Thorn's courage I saw in the forest battling with the enemy. It may have been Azami's skill and craft, but she's not whole without Thorn--without Thorn's absolute determination and courage. I love Thorn. That's who you are. You're a

fucking miracle to me, and right now, all you're doing is pissing me off. You don't want to do that, Azami."

Her heart thundered in her ears, a terrible storm of emotion she'd choked back for years--for a lifetime. "I hate her. I hate Thorn. She won't go away. She's curled up in the fetal position, huddling there inside of me and no matter what I do, she won't go away."

"She is you."

"Stop saying that." She tried to bring her knee up, to get leverage against him to get him off of her. "I'm my father's daughter."

"Stop fighting me. You're not going to win in a physical battle with me, babe. All you're going to do is hurt yourself."

She hissed, grateful that her temper, long suppressed, was beginning to eat through her grief and shame. She needed anger to push him away. She wanted to touch his beloved face, to memorize every detail with her fingers. She'd never have the opportunity again, not once she left him. He wouldn't forgive desertion. She'd seen his file, seen his mother's treachery. He would forever brand her with that same label--no loyalty.

"Stop it," he snapped again. "I'm in your mind. Have you forgotten that? You aren't disloyal. You don't have it in you. You chose me. There's no going back on that choice. If you want to talk, then we'll talk this out, but you aren't going to push me away because you haven't quite been able to reconcile your past with your future."

"I have no future," she snapped. "That's what you refuse to understand. I have no future, not with you. Not with any man. I'm damaged. Broken. There's no fixing me. I didn't want to accept it, but . . ."

"Damn it, Azami, I'm not going to listen to this bullshit. There's nothing broken about you." He rolled off of her, getting to his feet and pulling her up all in one motion, wincing a little as his gut protested.

He took her breath away with his grace. He moved like no other man she'd encountered, not even in the dojo where she trained. She tried to remember where she'd left her clothes. Her mind was in terrible chaos. She looked around her a little helplessly.