Samurai Game (GhostWalkers #10)(44)
Author: Christine Feehan

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.

CHAPTER 9

Kissing Azami was as close to paradise as he was ever going to get, and Sam allowed himself to get lost in her, but he was a soldier—a GhostWalker—and there was always that part of him that never rested. He felt the whisper of energy rather than heard footsteps, but he knew they were about to have company. Reluctantly he lifted his head and saw the same regretful knowledge in her eyes. He would never have to worry that his woman wouldn’t see danger coming. Her hand had already dropped to the dagger she carried inside the loop of her intricate belt. It was unseen, but he’d felt it the moment he’d pulled her tight against him.

Sam stepped slightly in front of Azami, an instinctive move, not to protect her from danger—he knew by the energy field that Ian McGillicuddy was coming down the hall to check on him. All the members of his team had taken turns dropping in, but he wasn’t certain if she wanted to be seen with him or if she wanted the chance to disappear.

Her hand slid over his bare back, the lightest of touches as she tended to do, but he felt the wave of warmth she poured into his mind.

I am not ashamed of being with you, Sam.

Sam found himself smiling like an idiot as Ian pushed open the door. The Irishman stopped abruptly when he saw Sam standing, his jeans carelessly buttoned, shirt off, exposing his wounded abdomen and bare chest. Sam knew instantly that Ian was aware of Azami by the way he inhaled and frowned, confusion in his eyes.

“You can’t be in here.” Ian stated it as a fact.

Sam sank back onto the bed. He was definitely growing stronger, but standing could be troublesome on shaky legs. The pain of his wound had definitely receded. “Why not?” he asked a little belligerently.

“She can’t; it’s impossible. I was standing guard at her door.” Ian’s gaze met Azami’s. “To protect you of course.”

“Of course, because there are so many enemies creeping around your halls,” Azami said, her voice soft and pleasant, a musical quality lending innocence and sweetness.

Ian’s frown deepened as if he was puzzled. She certainly couldn’t have meant that the way it came out, anyone listening would be certain of it. “Just what are you two doing in here anyway?” he asked, suspicion lending his tone a dark melodrama. He even wiggled his eyebrows like a villain.

Sam kept a straight face with difficulty. Ian was a large man with red hair and freckles. He didn’t look in the least bit mean or threatening, even when he tried.

“Azami was just telling me how when she left her room to inquire after my health, there was a giant man with carroty hair snoring in the hallway beside her door.”

“There was no way to get past me,” Ian insisted.