Sweet Seduction Sayonara by Nicola Claire Page A

the danger she represents.
    I can’t walk away. I won't.
    Breathless, sweating, bones loose with euphoria, I carry her into the bathroom and under the spray of the shower, feeling like a giant. Feeling like Adonis with his Aphrodite. Paris with Helen. Orpheus with Eurydice. Hell, I could list a thousand names and none of them would compare.
    Momo watches me from under long lashes as I wash her down so carefully, taking care of her, loving her with such a simple action. She tips her head back, allowing me to wash the soap from her hair. She doesn’t say no when I kiss her almost too deeply.
    I’m hard again - I can’t get enough of her - and her little hand wraps around my dick and strokes eagerly. That feeling of being a giant rushes through me again. But I finish washing her and then wrap her in a towel and take her to bed. We lie there on our sides, staring at each other, cataloguing every nuance, every feature, every thing. She traces her finger over my jaw, runs her hand through my short hair, kisses down the side of my neck and nibbles on my ear.
    I want her.
    I want her to stay.
    “Tell me what’s going on,” I whisper instead. She buries her face in the curve of my neck and remains silent. I run my hand down her spine, feeling a tumult of emotions. Elation that she’s here in my bed. Satisfaction that she came to me. Fear that I’m just a distraction. “Momoko,” I say. “What’s going on?”
    She doesn’t pretend to not understand when she pulls away. She offers a shrug, and moves to leave the bed. I pull her back, slip her smaller form under my body, and pin her with my chest and a hard stare.
    “Why are the Triads after you?”
    “It’s better that you don’t get involved.”
    “I’m already involved.”
    “I don’t want you to be.” She means it. My heart breaks. I drop my forehead onto hers and just breathe.
    Her hand comes up and cups my cheek.
    “My father,” she says and licks her lips as though nervous. This woman who fought so courageously. Who meets me desire for desire in bed. This woman who seems bigger than life, brighter than the sun, more capable than anyone I’ve ever met. This woman is afraid of something.
    “Tell me,” I urge, stroking my hand over her silky locks.
    “He is traditional, Finn,” she says. And I love hearing my name on her lips, but this is making me anxious. I know I’m not what her father would want for her. But I can’t let her go now. I’m lost. “He was highly respected in Japan,” she says. “A big man. Tanaka-sama. Very powerful. But he chose to walk away from it all. To start again.”
    “Here in New Zealand,” I say, because she’s stopped talking again.
    She nods her head and I feel her fingernails bite into my shoulders. I wince, but don’t stop her. If she needs to grip me so tightly to get through this, I’ll gladly wear the scars afterwards.
    “My life,” she says, almost a whisper, “is not my own. It never was. For a while, I thought I could escape it. For a while, he let me. But duty is as important as success. Failure dishonourable. He will not fail in his duty. And his duty…”
    She can’t say the rest.
    I’m at a loss, because I have no idea what she’s trying to tell me. I’m only vaguely aware of Japanese culture and the strict parameters of their family law. It’s not a subject I specialised in, but now I’m wishing I’d studied more international law in university. Because I’ve got a feeling this is going to be binding. Whatever it is she’s about to say. I think it might be their version of the law.
    I brush my lips against her forehead, close my eyes and just breathe in her scent, revel in the touch of her skin beneath my fingers, then I say, “Tell me, Momoko-san.”
    It unlocks something inside her and she lets out a little sob.
    “I am promised,” she says. “A debt my father must pay.”
    “What?” I can’t voice more than that.
    “ Omiai ,” she whispers, but I don’t know this word. “My