Samurai Game (31 page)

The small hospital was connected to the laboratories. Sam was grateful that Lily had chosen to have him in her small guest bedroom sometimes used as an infirmary for a team member recovering from a wound that didn’t need around the clock care. Sam disliked hospitals on principle. Staying in Lily’s house was always warm and friendly. All the men stopped by and visited and even baby Daniel came to see him.

He stopped in front of the largest guest room. It had a large sitting room and private bathroom for important business guests such as Daiki and Eiji Yoshiie. There was no sound, but he knew they were in there waiting for him. They had bugged the war room in order to better protect their sister. He had no doubt that in spite of the fact that they weren’t psychic, both men were skillful warriors.

He couldn’t believe that his hands were clammy and his heart pounding. He’d gone into full-scale battle with less apprehension. Both men spoke excellent English, so there was no language barrier, and if truth be told, he spoke fluent Japanese. Standing in front of the door, he took a moment to inspect his clothing. He was barefoot, wore jeans and a carelessly buttoned shirt that had a few bloodstains clinging to it. Damn. He should have changed.

What the
hell
was he doing? He should have carried her off like a caveman. He could persuade her to marry him. Wine. Sex. Candlelight. Yeah, he could manage that. But asking stone-face swordsmen for permission? They were probably laughing at his predicament. He would be if Azami was his sister.

Sam took a breath and knocked on the door before he talked himself out of it—a polite knock when he wanted to pound until the door broke down and he just demanded they hand her over to him. He wasn’t going away without her. If she thought about it too long, she’d change her mind. What sane woman wouldn’t?

The door swung open slowly and Eiji’s broad frame filled the doorway. He stared at Sam without expression, his dark eyes thoughtful. “May I help you?”

If the man was a team member, Sam would have told him to can the crap; after all, they knew
exactly
why he’d come. He gave a slight bow instead and tried a tentative smile.

“Please excuse my attire; I had no other clothes with me.” He nearly groaned. That had been a little reminder that he’d gone into battle, but maybe not such a good idea. He’d been wounded. They might think he wasn’t a good enough soldier to protect their sister. “The matter is urgent or I wouldn’t have disturbed you so late. I wish to speak to you and your brother.”

Eiji studied him a moment longer and then stepped back, his robes flowing around him as he did, using that same fluid motion Sam recognized in Azami. The apartment was lit with candles rather than the harsher lights overhead. A Go game was laid out between two chairs on the smaller coffee table, and clearly they’d been playing. He couldn’t help but notice that a long samurai sword lay inches from Daiki’s fingertips, enclosed in the ornate scabbard.

Daiki rose and gave that studied, perfect bow that made the two men seem as if they were traditional warriors of old. “I had hoped that your wounds were not so bad,” he greeted. “Thank you for looking after Azami.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself a smile. “I think it was mutual.”

Daiki waved him toward a chair. Sam nearly groaned. Not another chair. He could get in and out of one, but he looked like an old man doing it. He took a deep breath and took the plunge.

“I don’t know how this is done in your family, so I’m just going to get right to the point. I would like your permission to marry Azami. I know I’m not much to look at and I’m in a high-risk job, but we’re . . . we . . .
fit.
I’ll make her happy. I know I will.”

“Her happiness is not of paramount importance,” Daiki said. “Her safety is our first priority. Azami would throw herself in front of a bullet for the ones she loves.”

Sam heard the dark warning in Azami’s brother’s voice. Daiki Yoshiie was definitely a man of confidence. He talked with great intelligence, his voice cultured and smooth, yet he moved like the whisper of the wind. The man would hold his own in any fight—if you ever saw him. Their father had trained them in the way of the samurai and it had become their way of life. They chose to put the principles into business, but nevertheless, they could use them just as easily if needed to defend themselves.

“As would I,” Sam said. He didn’t know what else to say. Daiki told him the truth about Azami and Sam knew it was true. There would be no stopping what he knew was central to her character any more than they could stop the need to protect those he loved in him. He was certain that simple statement was a test to see his reaction. Azami was Azami and there was no changing her, nor would he want to do so.

“She is her own woman. I will protect her with my life and love and value her for all my days.” He felt silly saying the truth aloud to strangers even if the men were Azami’s brothers.

Daiki studied his face for a long time before he stepped forward and opened his palm. “This ring was made by our father for the man who would see beyond the past and bring her happiness. You are her choice.”

The ring was small, delicate like Azami, but intricate, just as her personality was. The blossom of a thistle nestled in the middle, surrounded by thorns. Along the band was etched a detailed samurai sword. The work had been done by a master craftsman. Sam stared down at that tiny symbol of a man’s commitment to a woman and knew that the artist had been equally gifted and detailed when it came to making weapons.

“I would have liked to have met your father,” he murmured.

Daiki bowed as he placed the ring in Sam’s hand. “He would have liked to have met you.”

Sam closed his fingers around the ring, a strange soaring sensation in his heart.

“My father found my brother and me in the street just as he did Azami. Several nights a week would we walk on those streets with him. When he found her, she was surrounded by those who would have used her for the child sex trade. They knew him and knew he would have fought to the death for her. He saw her bravery, right there in that horrible alley, the light in her eyes, the courage she possessed. She has a spirit no monster could slay. That’s what my father saw in her, and he knew a man would come along who would see that same spirit. I’m glad it is you.”

Sam bowed slightly. “Where is she?” He could barely get the words out. He needed to see her. Right then. Right now. He had expected her to be there, but he knew little of the traditions of her family.

“I believe she has gone to your home to welcome you,” Daiki answered.

Sam’s stomach did a slow somersault while his heart lifted.

CHAPTER 12

S
am had chosen a spot in the forest of trees near a running stream with water tumbling over a series of small boulders to build his home. His porch overlooked the stream, with his bedroom situated so he could open his windows and listen to the water as it made its way down the tumbling rocks to the cool pond below. Lacy ferns scattered along the narrow bank grew in every shade of green. Homemade paper lanterns floated down the stream, glowing softly, lighting the water so that it sparkled like jewels in the night and illuminated the delicate night fronds.

“Magic,” he murmured aloud. “Azami magic.”

She was welcoming him home in her own way. If his heart hadn’t been soaring before, it was now. He paused to watch the lanterns floating gracefully down the small series of falls toward the swirling pool of water several yards away. In the darkness of the forest, the warm radiance lent the water a luminosity that added to the magical illusion of the world around him shifting and changing. The rest of the world dropped away until there was only this moment, this place—and Azami waiting for him.

His childhood had been one of drugs and apathy, his mother, unable and unwilling to give up her habits to look after him. He’d been hungry most of the time, dodging blows from whatever men she brought home and walking through needles and filth barefoot as she rarely bothered to find him a pair of shoes. Later, when he was a bit older, he fended for himself, learning to steal food, all the while trying to get an education. He stole textbooks from thrift stores, desperate to feed a mind always seeking more knowledge. Fate had intervened in the form of General Ranier when he’d boosted Ranier’s car. The general, instead of having him arrested, took him home.

Ranier and his wife had been good to Sam, much more than he deserved, paying for his education, sending him to boarding schools and giving him money to buy decent clothes. But, and he felt a little guilty—okay, a
lot
guilty that he’d never felt at home there. The old man wanted to be addressed as sir. He was gone all over the world, busy with his career, too busy to be home for holidays. His wife often accompanied him and when she wasn’t, her charitable organizations kept her too busy to see him often. They were good to him, and he loved them for it, but their house had never been his home.

He’d built his house with loving hands. He knew he wanted to stay here in this wilderness, surrounded by men he trusted and had come to let into his world, but each time he came back from a mission, the house was empty and cold. No matter what he did to it, there was no life in it. Azami had already made just approaching the house seem more of a coming home than he’d ever had.

He took his time walking up the stone path to his door. Insects rustled leaves. An owl fluttered its wings while it watched for a meal. Frogs took up a chorus of love songs, each trying to outdo the other. This was his world with Azami, closed to everyone else. She was his and only his. No one else knew the woman behind that perfect mask of serenity. No one felt her passion and fire smoldering beneath the surface. They had no idea of this . . . He turned to look at the sheer magic she’d created there in the forest for him. Forever wasn’t long enough to spend with a woman like her.

Still, he stayed outside the door, holding his breath, half afraid his miracle wasn’t reality. The paper lanterns floating down the stream and bobbing up and down in the pond created a beauty he’d never had in his life—and had never expected to have. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Azami had been created for him—sent to him—and yet he was half afraid that if he actually opened the door to his home, he would be alone and he’d discover everything was an illusion. He’d been wounded; perhaps he was dreaming the entire thing up.

“You don’t have that vivid an imagination, knucklehead,” he whispered and dropped his hand to the doorknob. He couldn’t have conjured up the images in the forest, let alone a woman like Azami. He turned the knob and pushed open the door.

He smelled exotic flowers the moment he crossed the threshold. The room was warm and bathed in soft candlelight. He hardly recognized his front room, yet it was the same. She came to him with a whisper of silk, to stand directly in front of him. Her hands went to his shirt and he bent his head, allowing her to slip it off. She folded the material unhurriedly and set it aside. Her hands dropped to the zipper of his jeans. There was possession in her touch, and a deference he hadn’t expected.

He said nothing, aware of everything about her as she pushed his jeans down the columns of his thighs. He stepped free of them. She folded the jeans just as carefully. When he was completely naked, she picked up a man’s silk robe obviously brand-new, probably intended for her brother judging by the size of it. She held the robe open for him to slip his arms into. Her eyes were very dark, twin black pools of hot liquid, her long lashes veiling much of her expression, but for the first time, there was some shyness in her gaze.

She took his hand, her fingers tugging at his wrist. “Come with me.”

He followed her silently through his home to the bathroom. Again, candles were her choice of light. The softer glow threw dancing shadows on the wall. He had designed the bathroom to be a very large, tiled shower, with a showerhead above and a handheld nozzle. His tub was large and deep. He was a big man and enjoyed soaking in his tub and looking out the large window into the deep forest.

Steam filled the bathroom, evidence of a very hot bath being drawn, and the room smelled of cherry blossoms and spice. She had set a small wooden stool in the middle of the open shower for him to sit on. He allowed her to tug off the silken robe and lead him to the stool. Azami removed her own robe, folded both, and set them out of harm’s way.

His breath caught in his throat as she moved to his side. Her body was small and delicate, but extremely firm, muscles sliding beneath that delicate frame. Her hair was up in that strangely elegant style, thick, with her dark bangs falling, drawing attention to her eyes. Long strands of hair fell from the upswept do past her shoulders, hinting at a dark silky waterfall when he pulled those long ornate pins from her hair.

“The bath is more than cleaning your body, Sammy,” she explained.

Her voice, so soft and expressive, sent a shiver of awareness down his spine. Heat coiled around his heart and snaked into his belly. Just her voice affected him, so gentle, a whisper of sound that he felt all the way to his bones. No one had ever called him Sammy before, and he would have punched them if they had, but with her caressing voice, the name suited him just fine. Were other men so enamored of their woman? She’d crept into his mind and buried herself there, so deep there was no getting her out.