Samurai Game (GhostWalkers #10)(67)
Author: Christine Feehan

“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.”