Twister: Party Games, Book 3 (5 page)

The buzz of the Twister spinner sawed the tense silence.

Cameron’s heart thumped harder in her chest.

“Right foot, yellow.”

She drew a steadying breath. The move would draw her and Lachlan but one row of circles apart, but whereas her limbs were splayed and her body straight, Lachlan would need to twist his to achieve the position.

“C’mon, McDermott,” a man to the left of the Twister mat called. “I’ve seen you in trickier positions than this.”

“Shut up, Harris,” Lachlan called back, although Cameron didn’t think the tone malicious. Just focused. Determined. He continued to stare at her, his dark eyes intense before, with one fluid move, he contorted his body into what should have been an awkward U shape and placed his right foot on a yellow circle.

“I just had a thought,” the same man who had called out—Harris?—suddenly spoke. “What’s the winner of the game get?”

“The loser,” someone behind Cameron answered.

A nervous laugh hiccupped around the room.

Lachlan’s nostril’s flared. “I never lose.”

Cameron’s pussy constricted. “So I’ve heard.”

“Which means when I win—”

“You get me.”

“Lucky fucking bastard,” the same man who’d complimented her arse groaned loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“I don’t want you.”

Cameron smiled slowly, even as her pulse thumped like an insane moth in her neck. Even as her mouth went dry and her belly knotted. “Liar.”

Lachlan’s nostrils flared and Cameron
knew
by that slight reaction she was telling the truth. He wanted her. Now she just had to win the game. Win the game and stop being Kole.

But what did she do if she lost?

A deep shiver ran through her body at the notion of being in Lachlan McDermott’s control, turning her nipples to aching points. God, what would that be like? To surrender to the man’s every whim, a man known universally for his utter dominance of anything he set his mind to?

What would it be like, and why did she,
Cameron
, want to find out?

The sound of the spinner whizzing around stopped her contemplating the answer. Heart racing, she studied Lachlan’s face, waiting for their next direction.

“Left hand, green.”

Cameron’s throat grew thick, the very second a low growl rumbled in Lachlan’s chest. Her breath quickened and she stared at him. It seemed he’d realized the same thing she had. Left hand, green meant they would be touching each other.

Let the game begin.

Chapter Three

Damn it, he was going to be sliding against her. How the hell was he going to control his body when hers was sliding against it?

Lachlan jerked his focus from Kole’s face, found the closest green circle and then jerked his attention back to the model. One move. One bloody move.

Fuck, what had he been thinking?

This is what you get for letting down your guard, Lachlan.

Before he could respond to the mental rebuke, Kole moved. Graceful and fluid, she stretched her long, slender left arm out before her and placed her hand on the only green circle physically possible. Right beneath his shin. Which left him with only one option.

His balls throbbed, already eager for what was to come next.

Drawing strength into every muscle of his body, Lachlan pushed off the mat with his left hand, twisted his upper torso and then placed his hand firmly in the centre of the closest green circle. Directly beside Kole.

Their arms brushed. Their faces hung but an inch from each other. He could feel her warm breath like a soft caress on his jaw, the side of his mouth. He could smell the delicate floral scent of her perfume, the mint of her toothpaste. If he turned his head he would be able to kiss her without barely moving. If he lowered his gaze he would be able to see her breasts unprotected beneath the strip of material some pretentious designer called a top.

Before he could stop himself, he lowered his gaze.

Oh Christ.

His mouth went dry. Hot blood rushed to his groin. The shimmery silver material of her ridiculous shirt swayed open from her chest as she adjusted her weight, giving him the quickest peek of dusky pink nipples and smooth creamy breasts.

His cock jerked in his jeans. He sucked in a steadying breath and then bit back a choked curse when all he succeeded in doing was to draw her intoxicating scent deep into his body.

His cock jerked again, the damned organ harder and thicker than it had been but a second ago.

“Right hand, blue.”

The weatherman’s call rose over the thrumming murmurs of the room. Lachlan flicked his gaze to the row of blue circles and ground his teeth.

She would be under him. There was no other way for it. With this one move, he would be splayed above her, his bare chest sliding over her back—a back left practically naked thanks again to the strip of silver material she wore. A shard of tight heat sank into his balls at the thought. Followed by another when he realized Kole’s head would be very close to his groin.

He made the move.

As did she.

Her warm, smooth skin brushed against his, her back sliding against his chest as she reached for the blue circle closest to her right hand. His nipples pinched tight at the contact and shards of hot awareness speared into his groin. For an agonizing second, her shoulder touched his inner thigh, right next to the engorged bulge of his trapped cock and then—thank fucking God—it was just her back touching his chest again.

Just her back?

Lachlan clenched his jaw and fixed his stare on the mat.

He couldn’t think about what was happening. He wouldn’t let himself think about it. He had to stay focused on the position of his body and pay no attention to hers. That was the only way to win.

And he was going to win. He never lost. Ever. Tonight was no exception.

When he won tonight, he won her.

Her. To do with what he—

“Right foot, yellow.”

She moved quickly. A simple move for her, given her position on the mat, but one that nevertheless drew her head closer to his dick. For a dizzying moment Lachlan felt her ragged exhalation fan his thigh through the denim of his jeans and then, he too was moving. Bending his body until he stomped his right foot into a yellow circle.

Which left him perilously close to losing balance.

The room let out a collective
oooh
. Someone to Lachlan’s right said, “He’s going to fall, he’s going to fall.”

Someone else—a male voice he thought may belong to the country’s latest Hollywood export—answered with, “She’s going to own his arse.”

Shutting out all sound, Lachlan narrowed his entire existence down to the four anchor points on the plastic sheet beneath him—right hand on a blue circle, left hand on a green, right foot on a yellow circle, left foot on a—

Kole shifted beneath him, just enough for the sublime curve of her backside to offer itself to his peripheral vision.

He sucked in a swift breath. Christ, what he was going to do to that arse when he—

“Left foot, green.”

Lachlan froze.

There was no way she could make the move. Not without turning herself inside out.

And yet, she did. She was so goddamn limber, so goddamn flexible. For a dangerous moment Lachlan was utterly undone with the thought of such flexibility put to perfect use in the bedroom, in any room, in
this
room, and then her body rubbed against his and the thought shattered, replaced with a reality just as evocative.

With a hitching breath so suggestive it sent liquid heat straight to his cock, she twisted herself until her left foot jerked its way over the mat until it finished on a green circle. Leaving Lachlan to stare down at the backs of her thighs and the faintest curve of her backside peeking at him from beneath the rising hemline of her skirt. He caught a glimpse of black silk, knew it was her knickers and bit back a growl.

“Your move.”

Her voice, like a husky breath, teased him from between his spread thighs. His cock pulsed in his jeans, painfully erect and imprisoned.

He moved, willing his body to ignore the seductive torment of her presence and obey his command. It did, to a point. His muscles positioned him exactly where the spinner told him he needed to be, balancing precariously to one side, but there wasn’t a fucking hope in hell it could ignore her. Not when half
her
body was trembling and sliding against his. Not when with every breath he pulled he could detect the musky scent of her sex. Not when, if he raised his stare from his right hand, he would be able to see that enticing, tormenting strip of black silk hugging a pussy he wanted nothing more than to—

“Right hand, green.”

A tight stillness claimed Kole’s body. “Shit.”

Her muttered curse was so soft Lachlan wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. He twisted a little, enough to see where her hand was and where it needed to go. His stomach knotted. If she made the move her head would be directly aligned with his dick until he moved himself. But if he moved before she did, or at the same time, with his dominating position on the mat, she would most likely be robbed of anywhere easy to go and lose balance.

What do you do, Lachlan? Stay still? Or move?

Around them, the room fell silent. Even the music pumping through the piped sound system was muted in the library. The sounds of the party on the other side of the walls and open French doors taunted him—an existence devoid of sensuous vixens threatening his resolve. A part of him, the phenomenally successful businessman who never relinquished control of his emotions and body, wanted to be out there, away from temptation. The rest of him, the purely male part, wanted to be nowhere else
but
here. One move away from victory. One move away from claiming the woman as spoils of a battle that was so much more than a playful game.

He tensed, readying to change positions a heartbeat before Kole did.

Lachlan felt her tense against him, heard her mutter, “You can do this, Cam” under her breath. He had a quick second to wonder about the name before, with a jerk of her hand, she moved.

She twisted beneath him, her head hit his inner thigh, right beside his denim-compressed dick, her hip slammed into his left forearm and she collapsed to the floor, a soft yelp accompanying her fall.

The onlookers let out a deafening roar. The sound of stamping feet vibrated up through Lachlan’s legs and arms. People clapped and more than one shouted he was a lucky bastard. A few whoops and laughing cheers filled the air.

But he didn’t pay any attention. Exerting the un-relinquishing control of his body he prided himself on, he straightened to his feet. Unfurling until he stood upright, he turned, his gaze finding the woman now lying at his feet.

She looked up at him, the picture of sexual temptation, full lips parted, blue eyes wide, perfect breasts heaving.

He studied her, every synapse in his brain telling him to turn and walk away, every molecule in his body whispering seductive suggestions of an entirely different order.

His cock throbbed. His balls ached. His heart slammed hard and fast in his chest.

Kole drew a slow breath, her eyes holding his.

“Everyone out.” The command left him in a deep, flat growl.

The room fell silent for exactly the amount of time it took for him to raise his stare from Kole’s face and cast it over the partygoers gathered around the Twister mat.

He didn’t have to repeat himself. He was Lachlan McDermott after all. Everyone in the house knew who he was. With hurried feet, they shuffled from the room, occasionally dropping a glance to the woman still watching him from the floor, her long, long legs artfully askew, her exquisite face unreadable. He heard Mac hurry the departing guests along, heard his best friend and lawyer tell someone to mind their own business if they planned on working in the industry ever again.

“Mac?” he called without removing his attention from Kole’s face.

“Lachlan?”

“Lock it.”

Kole’s eyes widened. A little.

Lachlan heard the French doors slide, heard the faint click as Mac flicked the library lock before closing the doors completely, and then it was just him and Kole alone.

The game’s winner.

And its loser.

But which, Lachlan, is which?

Holy moley.

He’d cleared the room. With just two words he’d cleared the room, leaving Cameron locked in it with him.

Only him.

Was that what she wanted?

No. Yes.

No.

She hadn’t planned to be the loser. She hadn’t planned on being at his mercy.

For a jarring second the distinct smell of cloying, cheap cologne filled her nose, a vivid odor brought on by a vivid, unwanted memory. She swallowed, unable to tear her stare away from Lachlan’s eyes. The smell, and the memory, vanished. Lachlan wasn’t a bodyguard hell bent on doing the unthinkable. She knew that, but with what she saw in his eyes, the unthinkable wasn’t far off. Anger boiled in their dark depths. Anger, disgust, contempt and lust. Undeniable lust.