The ring was small, delicate like Azami, but intricate, just as her personality was. The blossom of a thistle nestled in the middle, surrounded by thorns. Along the band was etched a detailed samurai sword. The work had been done by a master craftsman. Sam stared down at that tiny symbol of a man’s commitment to a woman and knew that the artist had been equally gifted and detailed when it came to making weapons.

“I would have liked to have met your father,” he murmured.

Daiki bowed as he placed the ring in Sam’s hand. “He would have liked to have met you.”

Sam closed his fingers around the ring, a strange soaring sensation in his heart.

“My father found my brother and me in the street just as he did Azami. Several nights a week would we walk on those streets with him. When he found her, she was surrounded by those who would have used her for the child sex trade. They knew him and knew he would have fought to the death for her. He saw her bravery, right there in that horrible alley, the light in her eyes, the courage she possessed. She has a spirit no monster could slay. That’s what my father saw in her, and he knew a man would come along who would see that same spirit. I’m glad it is you.”

Sam bowed slightly. “Where is she?” He could barely get the words out. He needed to see her. Right then. Right now. He had expected her to be there, but he knew little of the traditions of her family.

“I believe she has gone to your home to welcome you,” Daiki answered.

Sam’s stomach did a slow somersault while his heart lifted.

CHAPTER 12

Sam had chosen a spot in the forest of trees near a running stream with water tumbling over a series of small boulders to build his home. His porch overlooked the stream, with his bedroom situated so he could open his windows and listen to the water as it made its way down the tumbling rocks to the cool pond below. Lacy ferns scattered along the narrow bank grew in every shade of green. Homemade paper lanterns floated down the stream, glowing softly, lighting the water so that it sparkled like jewels in the night and illuminated the delicate night fronds.

“Magic,” he murmured aloud. “Azami magic.”

She was welcoming him home in her own way. If his heart hadn’t been soaring before, it was now. He paused to watch the lanterns floating gracefully down the small series of falls toward the swirling pool of water several yards away. In the darkness of the forest, the warm radiance lent the water a luminosity that added to the magical illusion of the world around him shifting and changing. The rest of the world dropped away until there was only this moment, this place—and Azami waiting for him.

His childhood had been one of drugs and apathy, his mother, 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 look at 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 filled the bathroom, evidence of a very hot bath being drawn, and the room smelled of cherry blossoms and spice. She had set a small wooden stool in the middle of the open shower for him to sit on. He allowed her to tug off the silken robe and lead him to the stool. Azami removed her own robe, folded both, and set them out of harm’s way.

His breath caught in his throat as she moved to his side. Her body was small and delicate, but extremely firm, muscles sliding beneath that delicate frame. Her hair was up in that strangely elegant style, thick, with her dark bangs falling, drawing attention to her eyes. Long strands of hair fell from the upswept do past her shoulders, hinting at a dark silky waterfall when he pulled those long ornate pins from her hair.

“The bath is more than cleaning your body, Sammy,” she explained.

Her voice, so soft and expressive, sent a shiver of awareness down his spine. Heat coiled around his heart and snaked into his belly. Just her voice affected him, so gentle, a whisper of sound that he felt all the way to his bones. No one had ever called him Sammy before, and he would have punched them if they had, but with her caressing voice, the name suited him just fine. Were other men so enamored of their woman? She’d crept into his mind and buried herself there, so deep there was no getting her out.

“You must also cleanse your spirit. At the end of a day, body, mind, and spirit must all come together. It is necessary for harmony, especially in the life of a warrior. I would show you my way, if you wish.”

Her lashes lifted and he found himself staring into those dark pools of midnight velvet. The impact was like a hard punch, low and wicked. No one should have those eyes. She didn’t need much else to bring him to his knees.

He reached down to frame her upturned face with his hands. “I can’t imagine denying you anything, let alone something so obviously important to you.”

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and brushing her mouth gently with his. His heart fluttered, and as na**d as he was, his body responded, his erection fierce and urgent. Her gaze dropped to the evidence of his desire for her and a whisper of a smile curved her mouth as she waved him to the stool.

Sam sank onto the little wooden stool, allowing her whatever she wanted. Azami reached for the handheld nozzle and what appeared to be some kind of sea sponge. Her body brushed against his shoulder. So close to her, he could see the fine lines of the spiderweb tattoo valiantly trying to hide the scars crisscrossing her body. Her small br**sts tempted him, two handfuls of soft, firm flesh. He couldn’t stop from touching that small spider residing so cleverly just south of her nipple in that small crater created by the hack job Whitney had done on her body.

Still, he remained unmoving as she circled around behind him, cascading hot water over his shoulders and back with the sprayer. Somehow she’d managed to get the exact temperature to find and remove every knot from his muscles. The heat felt amazing, but it was her hands, soaping him so gently, fingers kneading into his skin, that sent him to a different place. The aroma wafting up to surround him was exotic and smelled fresh, yet very soothing. The hot water, scented soap, and her hands sent him to a place of magic. Azami magic.

Sam closed his eyes and savored the feeling of a woman—his woman caring for him. She built up a feeling in him of total contentment, humming softly as she became totally immersed in the task of washing him thoroughly. The sponge slid over his skin, massaging lovingly. She urged him to lift his arms above his head. He felt the brush of her br**sts as she reached to soap and scrub his arms and armpits, sliding over his muscles to reach even his fingers and hands, massaging thoroughly until his body felt nearly boneless.

The feeling was both erotic and yet gave such a sense of well-being, of being taken care of. In a very short time, Azami had created a home and brought love and warmth into it, and he knew that no matter what happened, he would never forget this night.

Her hands, tugging on his hips, urged him to slide back on the stool, giving her better access to wash his bu**ocks. She was very thorough about that as well and the sensation was unlike anything he’d ever known.

When she came around to the front of him, he caught her hands. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t expect you … ”

Azami lifted her long lashes so those dark eyes regarded him soberly. “I wish to do this for you. You did not ask it of me. The ritual gives me great joy. I hope that you come to love it, Sammy, because caring for you gives me great happiness.”

How could any man not love being treated with such tenderness? He watched her face as she soaped his chest and scrubbed with the sponge, taking great care to remove all traces of antiseptic. Her face held that same serenity he was used to, but now emotion shone through—tenderness, rapt attention and concern. There was no denying she enjoyed taking care of him. She appeared nearly spellbound as she urged him to stand. With one foot she moved the stool and proceeded to soap his hips.

Still, he knew this ritual, for Azami, was much more. She was giving herself to him, declaring herself, in her own way, to be his. That he was her choice. However she treated him in public, without expression, no hand holding, no kissing, there would be this behind closed doors. To the rest of the world, she was samurai, to Sam, she was love.