Samurai Game (34 page)

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

T
ears 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.

“Where is this coming from?” Sam asked.

He opened and closed his fist, a gesture she was certain he wasn’t aware of, but his eyes had dropped from her face to drift over her body. He didn’t look disgusted, if anything he looked tender and loving. His erection wasn’t quite as hard as it had been, but it was still there, still attracted to her in spite of . . . What? What was she doing? Why was she determined to shove him away from her? To throw happiness away?

“I need something to wear.”
He
didn’t mind her body, the evidence of her shame, but she couldn’t stand him looking at her, not now when she was so panic-stricken.

Sam glanced around the room, found her a shirt, and tossed it to her while he pulled on a pair of jeans, half buttoning them. Azami pulled his shirt around her body, hastily buttoning it up the front to cover herself and found his scent surrounding her, comforting her.

“Azami.” He whispered her name, an ache in his voice. “Talk to me, baby. Just say it out loud. Give us a shot at this. We’re both fighters. Fight for us. Am I so easy to throw away?”

Her head snapped up, her stomach sinking. Was that what she was doing? She shook her head. “This isn’t about you, Sam, it’s me. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to get rid of her. My father said . . .” She trailed off, choking back her greatest shame.

She couldn’t look at him, she didn’t dare. She was being a coward. Running. So she wouldn’t have to tell him the rest.

Sam took a step forward and caught her chin in his hand, forcing her head up. “Tell me, Azami. No one else is here, just the two of us. What is this about?”

She took a deep breath and lifted her lashes, allowing herself to meet his eyes. She knew it would be a mistake. She wouldn’t be able to resist him, resist that look of such tenderness. He was offering her a world she was terrified to walk into. She knew her worth where she was. She could never go back to being useless, to feel as if she was nothing but garbage, deserving of being thrown out.

“Sam, I’m not meant for this kind of thing. You. Me. I wanted it—I still want it—but even my father believed I could not please a man.” The words came out in a little rush, but she got them out. The truth. Her shame. The one man she loved and respected above all others had decreed her useless as a wife and mother. There was only the battle for her, the protection of her brothers and their genius. Her father wouldn’t lie to her. He’d seen the damage done to her body and he knew the minds and hearts of men.

“You were meant for me.”

“You may feel that you want me now, but . . .”

He put his finger over her mouth. “You’re so wrong, Azami. So wrong about so many things. Wrong about your father. About your past. And especially about me.” He bent his head and brushed a kiss on top of her head. “Wait right here. Don’t move. And I mean don’t move. No leaping out the window and running away. Just wait here.”

He was gone before she could protest. The window did look inviting, but she wasn’t that big of a coward as much as she’d like to be. What did Sam know about her father? How could he know more than she? He made no sense at all. She should have ignored his order but she had some pride left and refused to take the coward’s way out. She stood
exactly
where he left her as if the soles of her feet were rooted in the floor. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. Even the palms of her hands felt clammy.

She was in full-blown panic mode. She hadn’t had a panic attack in years. She’d had them all the time when her father had first found her, but samurai didn’t panic. Lungs didn’t burn for air and one didn’t claw and fight inside where no one else could see. She wanted Sam to just walk away from her and let her sort the entire thing out. She just needed space. Distance. Somewhere safe.

You are safe with me.

He stood in front of her, holding out his hand, palm up, his dark eyes locked on her face. She studied his face, so still he could have been carved of stone, but for his eyes. So alive. So tender. This man stood before her, offering her everything, offering her paradise, and she’d thrown it back in his face because she was still that white-haired child a brutal, inhuman monster had declared useless. She’d allowed her own fears to overcome what she knew of him. He was a man of honor, and yet she dishonored him by not believing he could handle the things she needed to tell him. In truth, it was Thorn who couldn’t handle them.

“Not Whitney, Azami,” Sam disagreed, obviously still reading her thoughts. “You are considering rejecting me, not because of Whitney, but because you mistook what your father said to you because you believed in a monster and that was the only way you could make sense of everything.”

Her gaze dropped to the object in Sam’s open palm. Her heart jumped. She’d recognize her father’s work anywhere. He was as famous for his intricate jewelry as he was for his swords. She didn’t touch that very small ring, but actually stepped back to look up at Sam.

It took a moment to find her voice. “Where did you get that?”

“Your brother gave it to me. He said your father made it for the man who would bring you happiness. He knew the right man would come along and fall like a ton of bricks for you. You’re so easy to want, Azami, so easy to love, but you still reject who and what you are. You are Thorn, that incredibly brave girl who has grown into a remarkable woman. Look at the ring and tell me your father didn’t see the true Azami for everything she is and everything she stands for. He loved Azami
because
she’s Thorn.”

She didn’t want to look at the ring. She wanted to look at his face. This man who believed in her when she’d momentarily lost herself. This was a man who would always find that small child huddled in a corner and he’d lift her up, shelter and protect her.

“How blind could I be? How reckless?” she murmured in wonder.

“Your father knows how brave that child is, he always knew. He took you home because he knew your worth. He saw it even as you lay in that street. He put his life on the line to take you from those men. That’s Thorn, Azami. That courage of spirit. That will to survive. Whitney couldn’t break you as a child. Don’t let him do it to the woman.”

Still, she didn’t take the ring. Instead, she looked at the man holding her father’s gift out to her. Sam was really the gift. The sun would always rise in his eyes. He would always be the man who saw her. Almost from the first moment he laid eyes on her, he had looked past her physical body and really embraced her—who she was as a person. She hadn’t done the same to him. Had she looked carefully into his mind, she would have seen unconditional acceptance, but she’d been so certain he wouldn’t want Thorn. Little Thorn with her misshapen body, carved up by a butcher, with her freakish white hair, useless and thrown away like garbage.

Sam had given himself fully to her, everything he was, right from the moment their minds connected. He didn’t try to hide the loyalty he had to his team, or the struggle he felt knowing he had to tell them about her, but he’d stayed true to his character. He let her see who he was while she tried to hide herself from him.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I really am. I don’t know why I can’t seem to let go of Whitney’s evaluation of me.”

“Because every child wants their father’s approval, and for all intents and purposes, Whitney was your parent,” Sam said.