The Miko - 02 Read Online Free Page B

sexual promise. Her warm, firm thigh between his legs as they danced through the chandeliered room, staring into each other’s eyes, oblivious of the glare the young Saigō leveled at them from his place at his father’s side.
    Though she be dead at Saigō’s hands, still her kami continued to haunt him. Though he loved Justine with all his heart, still his spirit danced that first dance with Yukio in a kind of private glowing world where death held no dominion. The mind was an awesomely powerful instrument and if the dead could ever be said to have been resurrected, Nicholas had brought Yukio back from her watery grave with the power of his memories.
    And now his feet were back on his native soil for the first time in over ten years. It seemed like centuries. Closer to Yukio now, to all that had happened to him. Dance, Yukio, I’m holding you tight and as long as I do nothing can come between us, nothing can harm you anymore.
    “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” A young Japanese woman stood, bowing, before them. “Sato Petrochemicals welcomes you to Japan.” Just behind her and to the left was a young Japanese male in a dark business suit and wraparound sunglasses. He reached out and took their bag claim checks. They had just cleared Customs and Immigration. “Junior will take care of your luggage.” Her smile was sweet. “Won’t you follow me, please?”
    Nicholas hid his surprise at being met by a woman. Of course he would not tell Tomkin this but it did not bode well for their coming negotiations. He might find this creature charming and Tomkin might not care either way, but to any Japanese this would constitute a serious insult. The more important the emissary of the company who met you, the higher your status in the eyes of that company. In Japan, women were very far down the executive ladder indeed.
    She took them through the congested heart of Narita, past scurrying tour groups, their leaders brandishing stiff calligraphied banners to rally them just as generals on the ancient battlefields of Japan had once done with their troops. Past regimented schoolchildren, uniformed and gaping at all the incredibly tall gaijin stumbling bewilderedly by them. Around old couples with brown paper shopping bags, sidestepping one brilliantly colored bridal party being seen off on their honeymoon.
    Tomkin was huffing by the time the young woman brought them out into the vapid sunshine and across to the waiting limousine.
    She paused as she held the back door open for them. “I am Miss Yoshida, Mr. Sato’s administrative assistant,” she said. “Please forgive the discourtesy of my not introducing myself earlier but I felt it prudent to remove all of us from that tumult most expeditiously.”
    Nicholas smiled inwardly at the endearing awkwardness of her English. He watched her as she bowed again, returning her gesture automatically, murmuring, “There was no discourtesy, Miss Yoshida. Both Mr. Tomkin and I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” in idiomatic Japanese.
    If she was at all startled by his use of her language she gave no outward sign of it. Her eyes were like glass, set in her oval, seamless face. In any other country she might have made millions putting that countenance on display before the camera. But not here. Sato Petrochemicals was her second family, and she owed it all the loyalty she devoted to her blood family, Nicholas knew. What it asked of her she performed flawlessly and without question. This, too, was tradition handed down from the time of the Tokugawa Shōgunate.
    “Won’t you please take advantage of the car’s comforts?”
    “Jesus, I could use some real comfort,” Tomkin growled as he ducked his head and entered the black gleaming limo. “That trip’s a ball breaker.”
    Nicholas laughed, pretending it was a mysterious gaijin jest, relieving Miss Yoshida of her embarrassment. She laughed lightly in concert with him, her voice musical. She wore a rather severely cut business suit of raw silk,