GhostWalkers 10 - Samurai Game

had it even happened? She’d done such a terrible thing, going to bed with him and stopping him right in the middle of things. No one had ever made her feel as he did. Out of control—but in a good way. She hadn’t even known it was possible. Sam Johnson. She’d read everything she could about him in his files. Right from the moment she’d read his impressive education and his equally impressive missions, she’d been intrigued. She just hadn’t admitted it to herself.
    “I am usually very good at making up my mind and sticking to my decisions,” she said.
    Sam laughed, the sound slipping beneath whatever guard she might have left and teasing her senses into complete compliance. This man, behind closed doors, would always be hers. He opened up his mind and his heart to her. He made her feel beautiful and worthwhile. Even more, he treated her as a complete equal on the battlefield. He would always have protective instincts, but she liked that about him.
    The house was dark other than the candles she’d lit in the bedroom, and Sam carried her close to him as he made his way unerringly through the house. The doorways were wide and ceilings high to accommodate his frame, but he moved in silence, reminding her he was as skilled as she was.
    “We’d better never get into a huge fight,” she teased.
    “That could be bad,” Sam agreed as he set her on the floor beside his bed. “I’m taking these pins out of your hair. Am I going to stab my finger on something and die from instant poisoning, because I need to see your hair down?”
    He grasped an intricately painted porcelain hair pin and tugged. The long pin was a slender round cylinder, and when he pulled it loose, strands of hair fell like a waterfall down her back. The pin looked innocent enough, but he didn’t trust it. Azami looked innocent and she was a dangerous woman. He would bet his last dollar this work of art was very lethal.
    Azami smiled at him and held out her hand. “The pins with cherry blossoms are used in up close fighting or perhapsa quick jab as one passes the enemy on the street. Just press twice and the needle is here.” She pointed to the end of the pin. “It would feel much like the sting of a tiny insect if felt at all and they are dead.”
    “Woman.” Sam grinned at her, blood heating at the mere idea of her abilities. She was everything he’d ever dreamt of. “I think I’m fast becoming obsessed with you. What about this one?” He pulled a dark red pin from her hair. The porcelain was decorated with lacy leaves winding up the cylinder. “Dark red is for … ?”
    “Blowgun. It works quite well up to about twenty-five feet. After that, no real accuracy, but handy in a pinch.” She placed the dark red pin carefully on the nightstand beside the cherry blossom pin.
    He pulled another pin loose and more hair snaked down over her shoulder. This one was black with a golden dragon curling around it. “And this one?”
    She shrugged one shoulder. “Arrows. For my mini crossbow.”
    Her casual answer, given in that low, husky voice sent another rush of heat spreading through his veins. His blood turned to magma, hot and thick with need.
    There was one red pin, three dragon and three cherry blossom pins. Sam pulled each one out slowly, watching the way her hair cascaded down her back in a silky waterfall. He found her incredibly sexy, a mixture of lethal and fragile. Her hair snaked down her back to her waist in another glorious miracle of womanly wiles. He’d had no idea her hair was so long. However she managed to pin it up with seven ornate weapons was simply another mystery.
    His hands dropped to the buttons of the shirt she wore. His knuckles brushed bare skin, that soft swell of her breast he found as fascinating as her weapons. He kept his gaze locked with hers. He needed to stroke all that silken skin. His need had continued to grow with every moment in her company until his erection was a continual aching need. She wanted him, he could see it in the way she ate him upwith her dark eyes. A slight flush crept up her neck to her face and her breath left her lungs in a ragged rush.
    “I’m starving for the taste of you,” he admitted aloud, craving her. He’d waited so long. A lifetime. She’d been under his body, in his arms, his face buried between her legs, and he still hadn’t managed to have her. Nothing could go wrong this time. He
had
to have her.
    He pushed the edges of the shirt over her shoulders and let