Twister: Party Games, Book 3 (7 page)

A new one. Another one.

God help her, she was about to experience her first ever multiple orgasm at the ripe old age of thirty-six. With a man who, by everything she could see so far, despised everything he knew about her even as he hungered for her. How surreal could it—

Lachlan sucked on her clit and slipped a finger into her sex and Cameron’s second orgasm smashed over her. Followed rapidly by her third as he pressed his fingertip to the sweetest spot within her feminine walls and stroked up and down.

Liquid heat pooled in her core. Her spine tingled. Every nerve-ending in her body sparked and quivered with explosive energy. She rolled her head side to side, clinging to Lachlan’s hair, her legs too weak to hold her pussy to his mouth.

So he did it for her. With a low growl into her cream-sodden sex, he hauled her butt off the floor and continued to feast on her clit and folds, his tongue growing more punishing as her third orgasm peaked. She whimpered and cried out and begged him to stop. Begged him to keep going. She didn’t know which. Both? Neither? Nothing was making any sense anymore. Nothing except the purely sensory mastery of her body by the man between her thighs.

It was a petrifying thought. It was a deliriously wonderful thought too. She’d set out tonight to meet him, just meet him. When had that plan gone so awry? How had she ended up here?

And how did she possibly recover from it? Or move on?

Or survive?

The last thought hit her hard, just as Lachlan plunged his tongue back into her dripping sex. The savage penetration pushed her over the edge one more time and this time she felt herself fall. She was lost to the pleasure devouring her, lost to the rapture of Lachlan’s mouth. She rode her ebbing release, a throbbing tension shuddering through her until, rendered weak by its force, she slumped limp on the Twister mat. Her heart pounded, her breath shallow and rapid.

With a low moan and a slow, gentle swipe of her thoroughly tongue-fucked pussy, Lachlan raised his head. “I’ve imagined doing that to you for so long, Kole.”

The confession tore from him on a hitching breath. He gazed at her up the length of her body, his eyes ablaze with un-sated desire, his lips wet with her cream.

She smiled a completely un-Kole smile, too awash in pleasure to care. “Cameron,” she murmured. “My name is Cameron, but most people call me—”

The rest of her sentence died. Cut short by the icy rage turning Lachlan’s face to a brittle mask. “Cam,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Most people call you Cam.”

Cameron blinked at him. A heavy weight, like a demolition stone, seemed to roll over her. Her skin began to prickle. “Yes,” she said. What had happened? What had she—

“Cam,” he continued, his nostrils flaring. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips where his hands still gripped her body before, with a low sound very much like a snarl, he recoiled from between her legs and rose to his feet, glaring down at her. “As in the mysterious, elusive
Cam
that’s been photographing my little sister in nothing but a coat of paint for the whole bloody world to see.” His stare turned cold. “I’ve been wanting to have a word with you for quite some time now.”

Chapter Four

Cam.

The name sank into Lachlan’s head with mocking ice.

Cam. The photographer responsible for Lillian’s debasement all over the damn planet.

He narrowed his eyes, studying the woman whose pleasure still coated his lips.

“Do you have a problem with me?”

The question left her on a steady voice—no longer shy, hesitant or even flirtatious. Steady. And confident.

Lachlan straightened his shoulders, ignoring the rigid ache of his cock. Disgust stabbed at him. Christ, he was still aroused. After discovering who she was,
what
she was, he was still fucking aroused. He turned his head, grinding his teeth. He couldn’t look at her. Not after what he’d just discovered.

“Let me get this straight,” Kole, no, Cam said. He didn’t need to look at her to know she’d risen to her feet. Her voice was no longer at his knees. It caressed his ears with a husky cadence, making his stomach clench. “You have a problem with me as Kole
and
Cam? Well gee, it’s a good thing you didn’t do anything stupid like, oh I don’t know, lock yourself in a room with me and eat me out, isn’t it?”

“Who’s talking now?” he snarled, unable to stop himself swinging back to her. He was right, she was standing. Right beside him, her face level with his, her delicate perfume a subtle torture on his every breath. “The model or the photographer?”

She looked around the room. “Do you see anyone else in here?”

He narrowed his eyes to slits, an unidentifiable pressure building in his chest. Anger? Contempt? Lust? “So you’re both?”

“I’m all three. I used to be Kole, I work as Cam and I have been Cameron since the day I was born.”

“But it’s Cam who decides to make my little sister flaunt her naked body all over the place? I just saw some of your handy work in New York. A thirty-foot-high billboard of Lillian buck naked in Time Square in fact.”

Kole, Cam, Cameron, whatever the hell she called herself, smiled, her lips curling with cheeky insolence. “The PETA campaign? One of my favourites. Lil looked stunning, didn’t she?”

Lachlan drove his nails into his palms. “No. She didn’t. She looked naked. Tell me, how the
hell
does a girl splashed in paint and holding a peacock feather promote animal rights?”

The woman before him burst out laughing, shaking her head as she did so. “Oh man, who would have thought the head of McDermott Media Corp. was a prude?”

He ground his teeth, taking a step toward her. “Prude? How about protective? How about being a responsible older brother? A decent man? I don’t want my sister being ogled by who the fuck knows, but you just strip her of everything and put it all on show, don’t you? The modeling world at its finest—show as much flesh as possible to cash in. Do you even care what those images are going to do to her? Do you even think while you’re taking them about the sickos out there who spend hours jerking off over…”

He stopped. For two reasons. One, the second the words jerking off fell from his lips he saw himself doing that very thing as a teenager to a poster of the very woman before him, his stare fixed on her sublime body, his cock as hard as it was now. And two, the icy disgust that filled Cameron’s eyes. Cameron, not Kole. An ice-cold expression that somehow turned her smoldering sensuality to a breathtaking beauty.

Christ, Lachlan, you need to find your brain soon.

“I know
exactly
what Lillian—and every other model I work with—faces, Mr. McDermott. Which is why I only shoot them on closed sets where
I
control who is there. I can’t stop every
sicko
looking at them once their image is out there, but I can make sure only
I
see them at their most exposed—during a shoot.” She took a step toward him, her hands fisted on her hips, hips so perfectly curved his fingers itched to slide over them. Damn it, he really
did
need to get a grip on himself.

“And just out of interest,” she took another step, her face now inches from his. “How many of my shoots
are
you familiar with? Seeing you are such an expert on my work, tell me what you thought of the shoot I did with Lillian for the RSPCA Christmas campaign, when she was covered head to toe in slobbering dogs. Or the one I did with her for Target’s annual breast cancer charity where she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Or the one where I photographed her hugging a chimpanzee for the zoo’s sponsorship drive. What did you think of those ones?”

She stood motionless, waiting for him to answer, her stare fixed on his face, her eyes…what? Angry? Or something else? Something close to—

“Of course you can’t tell me,” she said, turning her eyes—and the mysterious emotion swimming in them—away from him. “You can’t tell me because you’re a child yourself. A boy playing at being a man of the world who only wants to see and believe that which suits him.” She crossed to the door, snatching her stilettos from the floor as she went. Her long fingers wrapped around the handle before she swung back to him, her expression unreadable. “Grow up, Mr. McDermott. And open your mind to what your sister does. I think you’ll realize just how
fine
the modeling world is with her—and
me
—in it.”

She flipped the lock and yanked the door open, the sounds of the party surging into the room in a cacophony of laughter, music and happy voices.

“You know,” she cast him a look as ambiguous as her expression, “you are not who I thought you were. Or who your sister thinks you are either. Enjoy the party.”

And with that she was gone, stepping out into the crowd beyond the room.

Lachlan clenched a fist.
Damn it. Go after her.

He studied the open door, his heart a sledgehammer in his chest. On the other side, Lil’s guests enjoyed themselves. A few cast him curious glances from where they stood, drinking and laughing, but only quick ones. Lachlan didn’t doubt most of the people currently in his house knew not to approach him.

Perhaps it was the scowl on his face.

The scowl on your face because you lost control of yourself and the situation? Because Cameron spoke to you the way she did? Or because she was correct?

Or perhaps the scowl on your face because you want to go after her and drag her somewhere private and bury yourself between her long, firm thighs? To finish what you started?

The scowl on his face deepened. Started? What
had
he started?

He didn’t know. But he needed to. Like he needed to draw breath.

Spinning from the door, he snared his boots from where they sat beside the Twister matt and pulled them on. His shirt, folded and waiting on a nearby chair came next. With a rake of his fingers through his hair, he was in control once more. Lachlan McDermott, successful businessman. Not a horny teenage boy undone by a stupid crush.

Of course you are. And you’re following Cameron because she’s a photographer and not the model you had the crush on, correct?

He didn’t bother to ponder the unspoken question. Five long strides and he was out of the library, the crackling of the plastic Twister matt under his feet just another reminder he’d behaved like a child, not a man. A successful man. A very successful man.

The crowd parted before him, some risking a hopeful “Hello, Mr. McDermott,” others shuffling out of his way with averted eyes. He ignored them all, his stare locked on Cameron’s tall, willowy frame weaving through the partygoers.

He quickened his pace. He had to catch her before she reached the—

“Lachlan,” a woman’s voice squeaked to his left, insistent fingers curling around his biceps. “I didn’t know you were back from New York.”

Impatient anger shot through him. He gave the skinny blonde with ridiculous silicone implants a steady look. If she weren’t holding him in a death grip, he’d have kept walking. But Chantal Riche, up-and-coming starlet and well-known social climber, was one to make a scene. “Why would you need to know, Chantal?”

She blanched, a second before the overtly sensual smile returned to her face. “Why, after what we shared at the ARIA awards…” She let the rest of her sentence dangle, her voice louder than it needed to be.

Lachlan raised an eyebrow. “A lift?”

She laughed, a little-girl giggle that he knew was meant to make his dick stand to attention. It didn’t. He gave his arm a tug but to no avail. Impatience rippled into him and he shot Cameron’s back a quick look. Damn it, she was in the foyer now. Almost at the open front doors.

“It was more than a lift,” Chantal continued, pressing her belly to his hip. Her thighs brushed against Lachlan’s leg and a cloying wave of perfume engulfed him. “We had a connection. We couldn’t stop chatting to each other. You asked me for my number.”

Lachlan swung back to her, keeping his voice low. “You talked, Chantal. I didn’t say a word. And you
gave
me your number only after Nick Blackthorne had to have his bodyguard stop you trying to shove it down his pants.”

He tugged at her grip, finally freeing himself from her fingers. “Now if you’ll excuse me?”

He didn’t bother to wait for her reaction. Turning back to the foyer, he looked at the last place he’d seen Cameron. The party swelled around him, a mass of people he had no interest in. Where was she?

Five steps later, he saw her standing on the top step of the entryway. And he froze.

A man was smoothing his hands up and down her arms, ostentatious pinkie ring glinting in the foyer’s lights, perfectly capped teeth shark-like behind a smug smirk.

Something hot and tight and dark stabbed at Lachlan. Something he’d never experienced before. Jealousy.

He didn’t know the man touching her, but that didn’t stop him wanting to—

Mr. Pinkie Ring dropped his hands to Cameron’s arse and squeezed.

Lachlan’s blood roared in his ears. He ground his teeth together. An indescribable pressure wrapped his chest. Someone else was touching her.

And then Cameron turned her head away from the guy and Lachlan saw her face.

She didn’t want the man’s attention. Discomfort pulled at the corners of her eyes, the same tension thinning her lips, but whoever Mr. Pinkie Ring was, he wasn’t getting the hint. Cameron squirmed in his hold, resisting his attempt to tug her against his paunchy body.