GhostWalkers 10 - Samurai Game

use also investigated her and she’d come up clean. Yet Sam had doubted she was who she said she was. Maybe he was just going crazy and all Samurai Telecommunications employees were trained in warfare.
    He swore as the Jeep topped the small rise, bursting into view, with five dark-haired men, heavily armed, looking wild-eyed and disheveled. Not soldiers, but certainly men used to killing. His brain catalogued the information even as he fired methodically, taking out the two on his side and avoiding shooting the driver. He expected return fire, but the other two soldiers went down in the Jeep, automatic weapons falling from nerveless hands and dropping to the ground as the driver careened out of sight, four dead bodies in his vehicle.
    Sam turned his head just as Azami lowered her weapon.He frowned. He’d seen blowguns before, but like most of her weapons, this one had been modified. The darts were tiny, no larger than an unshelled peanut, the needle so thin and tiny he knew it would be impossible to discover that entry point. He would bet his last dollar that whatever fast-acting poison was used was undetectable. The loads were tiny, but in small individual chambers that looked harmless. She could deliver several shots before having to reload.
    “I see you have no need of a sword.”
    “Very difficult, these days, to get them through security,” she pointed out without changing expression.
    “You’re extremely accurate with that weapon.”
    “With all weapons. My father was an exacting man.”
    “You’re a very dangerous woman, Azami Yoshiie.” Sam meant it as an admiring compliment.
    One eyebrow raised. Her mouth curved and she flashed a heart-stopping smile. “You have no idea how dangerous.” She said his own words right back to him and he believed her.
    “And you’re just as adept with a sword as you are with your other weapons?” he asked curiously.
    “More so,” she admitted with no trace of bragging—simply stating a fact. “I said so, didn’t I?”
    Sam turned on his heel and strode toward her purposefully. “I’m about to kiss you, Ms. Yoshiie. I’m fully aware I’m breaching every single international law of etiquette there is, and you might, rightfully, stick that knife of yours in my gut, but right at this moment I don’t particularly give a damn.”
    Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move. He’d known she wouldn’t. She was every bit as courageous as any member of his team. She would stand her ground.
    Thorn moistened her lips. “It might be your heart,” she warned truthfully.
    “Still, I have no choice here. I really don’t. So pull the damn thing out and be ready.”
    She felt her body go liquid with heat, a frightening reaction to a woman of absolute control. “If you’re going to do it, you’d best make it really good, because it very well mightbe the last thing you ever do. I have no idea how I’ll react. I’ve never actually kissed anyone before.”
    Her heart thundered in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the insects coming back to life around them. She was more terrified in that moment than she’d been during the battles with the enemy soldiers. She had no idea how she would react. Self-preservation was strong in her and Sam threatened her on such an elemental level she had no real way of knowing what she might do to defend herself.
    With every deliberate step he took, Sam loomed larger and larger. She’d recognized that he was a big man, strong and battle-hardened, but she’d been going into combat at his side, so she hadn’t concerned herself with physical attributes. Now, she could see every detail. There was dark purpose in his eyes, a growing desire that left her breathless and weak. She
couldn’t
be weak—not now, not in her most important hour.
    She should have stepped back. Her fingers did curl around her dagger, but she didn’t draw it. She didn’t move. She stood captured in those dark eyes, watching his desire growing—for her, for Thorn, the warrior. He knew she was far more than Azami, her brother’s bodyguard, and he admired her for it. No, it was more than admiration. He desired her because of it. He desired the warrior in her just as much if not more than the woman.
    She found herself lost in his eyes as he stepped right up to her, without hesitation of any kind. His fingers curled in the lapels of her perfectly fitted jacket and he yanked her the scant inches separating them. Or had she leapt toward him in that last split