Samurai Game (Ghostwalkers, #10)(79)

“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 f*cking 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.”