GhostWalkers 10 - Samurai Game

unable and unwilling to give up her habits to look after him. He’d been hungry most of the time, dodging blows from whatever men she brought home and walking through needles and filth barefoot as she rarely bothered to find him a pair of shoes. Later, when he was a bit older, he fended for himself, learning to steal food, all the while trying to get an education. He stole textbooks from thrift stores, desperate to feed a mind always seeking more knowledge. Fate had intervened in the form of General Ranier when he’d boosted Ranier’s car. The general, instead of having him arrested, took him home.
    Ranier and his wife had been good to Sam, much more than he deserved, paying for his education, sending him to boarding schools and giving him money to buy decent clothes. But, and he felt a little guilty—okay, a
lot
guilty that he’d never felt at home there. The old man wanted to be addressed as sir. He was gone all over the world, busy with his career, too busy to be home for holidays. His wife often accompanied him and when she wasn’t, her charitable organizations kept her too busy to see him often. They were good to him, and he loved them for it, but their house had never been his home.
    He’d built his house with loving hands. He knew he wanted to stay here in this wilderness, surrounded by men he trusted and had come to let into his world, but each time he came back from a mission, the house was empty and cold. No matter what he did to it, there was no life in it. Azami had already made just approaching the house seem more of a coming home than he’d ever had.
    He took his time walking up the stone path to his door. Insects rustled leaves. An owl fluttered its wings while it watched for a meal. Frogs took up a chorus of love songs, each trying to outdo the other. This was his world with Azami, closed to everyone else. She was his and only his. No one else knew the woman behind that perfect mask of serenity. No one felt her passion and fire smoldering beneath the surface. They had no idea of this … He turned to lookat the sheer magic she’d created there in the forest for him. Forever wasn’t long enough to spend with a woman like her.
    Still, he stayed outside the door, holding his breath, half afraid his miracle wasn’t reality. The paper lanterns floating down the stream and bobbing up and down in the pond created a beauty he’d never had in his life—and had never expected to have. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Azami had been created for him—sent to him—and yet he was half afraid that if he actually opened the door to his home, he would be alone and he’d discover everything was an illusion. He’d been wounded; perhaps he was dreaming the entire thing up.
    “You don’t have that vivid an imagination, knucklehead,” he whispered and dropped his hand to the doorknob. He couldn’t have conjured up the images in the forest, let alone a woman like Azami. He turned the knob and pushed open the door.
    He smelled exotic flowers the moment he crossed the threshold. The room was warm and bathed in soft candlelight. He hardly recognized his front room, yet it was the same. She came to him with a whisper of silk, to stand directly in front of him. Her hands went to his shirt and he bent his head, allowing her to slip it off. She folded the material unhurriedly and set it aside. Her hands dropped to the zipper of his jeans. There was possession in her touch, and a deference he hadn’t expected.
    He said nothing, aware of everything about her as she pushed his jeans down the columns of his thighs. He stepped free of them. She folded the jeans just as carefully. When he was completely naked, she picked up a man’s silk robe obviously brand-new, probably intended for her brother judging by the size of it. She held the robe open for him to slip his arms into. Her eyes were very dark, twin black pools of hot liquid, her long lashes veiling much of her expression, but for the first time, there was some shyness in her gaze.
    She took his hand, her fingers tugging at his wrist. “Come with me.”
    He followed her silently through his home to the bathroom. Again, candles were her choice of light. The softer glow threw dancing shadows on the wall. He had designed the bathroom to be a very large, tiled shower, with a showerhead above and a handheld nozzle. His tub was large and deep. He was a big man and enjoyed soaking in his tub and looking out the large window into the deep forest.
    Steam