“Find her.”
Even in his own frustrated state, Lachlan couldn’t miss the anger in his half-sister’s voice. “What do you want me to do, Lil?” he asked, his stare fixed on the busy streets in front of him. “Plaster Cameron’s image on every newspaper website and television station I own?”
The question was meant to be sarcastic. Unfortunately, the idea had crossed his mind more than once in the four hours since he’d left Cameron’s home.
“Exactly,” Lil snapped, her vehemence loud and clear through his Maserati’s hands-free phone system. “You caused the problem, now you have to fix it.”
Lachlan’s gut clenched at his sister’s choice of words, but he forced the cold guilt away. All he had at the moment was his control. Letting Lil know he was less than composed would only stress her out. “How is it my fault?”
An image of Cameron struggling to escape his weight whipped through his head and his gut clenched again.
“I don’t know,” Lillian conceded, her voice a muttered growl. “But you were the über wanker who took her phone from her while I was talking to her about the whole media frenzy this morning, so as far as I’m concerned that makes it your fault.”
“That makes no sense, Lil.”
A soft sigh came through the car’s speakers. “I know. I’m just worried about my friend. Especially after Mum…” She stopped and the Maserati filled with deafening silence.
“Decided to way into the fray?” Lachlan finished, keeping his voice calm. Just. As the morning had progressed more images of Lachlan and Cameron together had emerged in all forms of media. Images taken with camera phones at Lillian’s party. Images of a shirtless Lachlan wrapped around Cameron on the Twister mat, his legs entangled with hers, his bare chest brushing her bare back, his expression dark and tormented. Images of Cameron and Lachlan kissing on the steps in his home, his hand well and truly in possession of her backside, their bodies pressed together, their eyes closed in obvious passion. Images now splashed all over the news, spoken about on the radio, tweeted about, blogged about.
Images Cameron would be unable to escape.
And then, just to add to the fun, Lillian’s mother, his wonderful, loving ex-stepmother joined in, holding a press conference during which she mentioned—in absurd detail—Lachlan’s teenage obsession with the model Kole and how she’d found him “pleasuring himself” over posters of Kole more than once.
All Lachlan could be thankful for at this point was his father’s dementia was so advanced Roland could not witness the atrocity of his ex-wife’s behaviour.
There was little else Lachlan could be thankful for. Not when the only thing he wanted was to find Cameron and hold her close. Both were apparently achievements beyond him.
He maneuvered his Maserati from behind a slow-going van and shot forward, his stare fixed on the road. What Lillian’s mother had done was unforgiveable, but then again, that was Alyssa to a tee, wasn’t it? Doing everything to be the centre of attention, no matter what.
“I’m sorry, Lachlan.”
He bit back a sigh at Lillian’s soft apology and gripped his steering wheel harder. “You don’t need to apologise for her, Lil. Ever.”
“I know. But I am, anyways.”
Lachlan’s lips curled with a small, wry smile. “Lil, I love you to death. Now stop being an idiot.”
“I just want to tell Cam I’m sorry. That I’m here for her if she needs me. I’m worried. And you know me when I’m worried.” There was a pause, and for a moment Lachlan swore he heard Mac’s voice in the background. And then Lillian let out another shaky breath. “I get…snarky.”
A soft chuckle slipped from Lachlan, surprising him. “Snarky’s the perfect word.”
“You see?” Lillian burst out, frustration back in her voice tenfold. “Here I am freaking out over my friend, and what do you do? Make fun of me. When you should be doing everything you can to—”
“Lil,” he cut her off, her distress like a knife in his gut. “I will find her. I don’t know where she is, she’s not answering my calls either, but I will find her. I promise.”
“How?”
He shook his head, a stupid thing given he was alone in his car. But then at this moment in time rationality wasn’t exactly his strong point. “I don’t know. But I will.”
He disconnected before Lillian could press him with more questions, questions to which he didn’t have the answers. Shifting back a gear, he flattened his foot to the accelerator and shot through the traffic. He wasn’t lying to his sister. He didn’t have a bloody clue where Cameron was, which left him doing, quite possibly, the most ridiculous thing he’d ever done—drive around Sydney hoping to spy her Mini.
So much for the feared, all-conquering, all-powerful Lachlan McDermott. What good was all that fear, that power, that domination if he couldn’t find the woman he loved and make her feel safe?
No good. And doesn’t that just put your whole life into perspective now, McDermott?
The thought was unsettling. Biting back a sigh, Lachlan took stock of his location, flicked on his turn signal and flung his car down the next left. He needed to take stock. To focus. Strip away the pressure and tension of his own expectations and gather his thoughts.
Only one place came to mind to achieve that.
Forty-five minutes later, along with two phone calls from Lillian, one terse call from Mac, as well as countless calls from board members, reporters and, of all things, the prime minister, none of which he bothered to answer, he directed his car into the busy car park of the North Ryde soccer field.
And his heart smashed into his throat.
A lone woman sat perched on the edge of a park bench table at the northern end of the field, her eyes covered by large, black sunglasses as she watched the horde of Little League junior soccer players run about the field in pursuit of the ball. At least, Lachlan assumed that was what the children were doing. Truth be told, he hadn’t taken his stare off the woman since spying her.
A non-descript green and white truckers hat sat low on her head, all-but covering short, shaggy-cut hair the colour of midnight underneath it. The massive sunglasses finished the job of making it impossible to discern who she was, but Lachlan knew. He knew it by her graceful stature, by her delicate chin. By the lips he’d fantasied about for a lifetime. Lips soft and lush and full and perfect. Lips that made his heart sing when she smiled and his soul break when she cried out in fear.
For a long, silent minute he sat behind the wheel of his Maserati, mothers, fathers and excited children moving past him on the way to and from the field, and did nothing more than gaze at her.
She’d come here. Of all the places in the world she could have escaped to, she’d come here. To the place they’d truly discovered each other.
Before he could let himself ponder the significance of that—and Christ, did he want to ponder—he opened his door and climbed from his car. The solid thud of the door closing behind him was drowned out by the pounding thud of his heart. The squeals and laughter and calls of encouragement on and off the field faded to nothing. He crossed the car park and the grassy sidelines, his focus fully on the woman perched on the edge of the table. The woman now swinging her head to face him.
He heard his name mentioned. And again. It didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered except the woman watching him approach her.
When he was a step away from the table, he stopped. Stared at her. Waited for her to say something. Anything.
“You don’t happen to have a camera in that thoroughly un-classic car of yours, do you?”
He shook his head at her unexpected question, fighting to control the smile wanting to pull at his lips.
Cameron turned back to the battle on the field, her lips as unreadable as her sunglasses-covered eyes. “’Tis a pity. I rarely leave home without mine and there’s such an innocent, simple beauty to this game I’d love to capture.”
Every fibre, every molecule in Lachlan’s body ached to take
her in his arms. Every muscle strained to hold her close. He almost did. Almost. Until he saw the faintest hint of moisture on her cheek below the rim of her large black sunglasses. So instead, he climbed onto the bench beside her, rested his elbows on his knees and let his gaze follow the action on the battleground before him.
He didn’t pay attention to the people mingling away from the table, watching him and Cameron with curious expressions. He watched the game, wishing he had the courage to let his thigh brush hers.
What felt like a lifetime later, Cameron swung her face back toward him. “Is it true? What your stepmother said?”
He stopped his ragged breath before it could escape him. “No.”
Black sunglasses regarded him.
He pulled a face. “Okay, maybe a little.”
She waited. Silent.
“You were my fantasy,” he said, turning back to the game. “I had a poster of you on my wall when I was a teenager. I fell asleep every night looking at you. Every wet dream I had was pretty much about you.”
If his crude confession affected her, she didn’t let on.
“And yes,” he continued, his chest tight, “I did…pleasure myself, as my wonderful ex-stepmother so gracefully put it, in front of that poster often.” He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “I was a teenage boy and teenage boys jerk off. A lot.” He slid her a sideward glance. “It’s a fact of life, I’m afraid.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. A little.
“But what Alyssa failed to reveal at her press conference was that after catching me once when I was seventeen—once mind you, only once—she offered to pretend she was you and then abused me for being a sick, depraved boy when I told her to fuck off.”
Her lips parted, an almost inaudible gasp slipping past them.
He finally released his earlier sigh and returned his gaze to the soccer game. “Suffice to say, family dinners were a tad uncomfortable from that point onward. Every time she looked at me I squirmed. Every time my dad touched her I felt sick. Every time she kissed him I wanted to shake him and tell him to wake up to himself. When she left him for an older man—a mining magnate with more money than Dad at the time—I wanted to laugh with happiness. And then Dad brought home the next model, and the next, and for the remaining years I lived under his roof I got to witness his humiliation at the hands of those I’d grown to despise. Women who made a living out of being beautiful.”
“Models.”
Cameron’s low voice stroked over him.
He nodded, giving her another sideward look. “Which I hope explains my abhorrent behaviour at the party last night. Behaviour for which I am truly sorry. It was narrow-minded, infantile and arrogant.”
“I think the impromptu soccer game made up for it.”
Lachlan smiled. “Soccer. Is there nothing the game can’t fix?”
Cameron laughed, a short, soft chuckle. But her body was still tense, and Lachlan had to quell the hope swelling in his soul. Hope that slipped away when she swung her face away from him and said, “Maybe.”
Risking it all, unable not to, he moved his hand, found her fingers and threaded them with his. She didn’t pull away. It was something. “Please tell me what’s going on in your mind.”
It was the most elemental request he’d ever made. And the most important. If she didn’t answer him now, he knew they had no chance. That she’d already decided the outcome.
“Three years after beginning my modeling career,” Cameron said just as his head began to swim, “I woke to find my bodyguard straddling me. Naked.”
Lachlan blanched, the simple calm in her voice, the horrific image of her words like an icy blade thrust into his stomach.
“He was aroused, panting and, if I hadn’t been able to grab the phone on my beside table and smash it into his temple, I know exactly what he would have done.”
Lachlan’s chest constricted. His throat slammed shut. Hot rage rolled through him, filled his mouth with bile, his gut with churning knots. He stared at her profile, wanting to kill a man he didn’t know. Kill him, revive him and kill him again. All in the space of a heartbeat, he wanted to commit murder.
But not as much as he wanted to take away Cameron’s pain and make her feel safe.
“Cameron,” he began, but she shook her head, lifting her other hand and placing her fingertips on his lips.
“I smashed him in the head with the phone—a ridiculous thing shaped like a pair of big, fat pink lips—and he tumbled off my bed, staggered to his feet, told me he loved me and ran for the small balcony off my bedroom. Before I could comprehend what he was doing, he’d thrown himself through the glass door and over the rail. I lived on the tenth floor. The paramedics said the impact ruptured every organ in his body and shattered every bone.” She stopped, caught her bottom lip with her teeth and then shook her head, her fingers threading with firmer pressure through his. “It was kept out of the media, apparently because Andre was ex-military the government didn’t want the backlash, and I retired from modeling. Until this morning, no one has ever been in my bed but me. I’ve never woken to anyone since that night. When I woke to you…” Her voice faded away. “Do you see now why we can’t be together? What man wants to go to bed every night wondering if the woman he loves is going to wake screaming when he touches her?”
Lachlan’s blood roared in his ears. His mouth was dry. He studied her profile, wishing to hell she’d look at him. He wanted her to look at him. To see his face, his eyes, when he said what he was about to say.
“Cameron?” he said her name, and again when she didn’t turn. “Cameron, how many times did I touch you last night? How many times did I give you pleasure?”
She shook her head, still not looking at him. “It’s not the same.”
“Yes.” He placed his fingers under her chin and, with gentle pressure, swung her face back to his. “It is. Because your heart knows who is touching you. Your heart knows it is me, only me.”
She didn’t say a word. Nor did she flinch when he reached up and removed her sunglasses. Tears swum in eyes tormented with a nightmare Lachlan would willingly spend the rest of his life trying to eradicate.
“You say that now…”
“And I’ll say it tomorrow and the next day and the next.” He smiled. “And the next and the next.”
She swallowed. “And what about the day after that?”
Lachlan shook his head. “Won’t have to say it then.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
He leant forward and brushed his lips against hers. “We’ll be too busy playing soccer.” He tasted her lips again as she began to laugh, capturing the beautiful sound with a gentle kiss before pulling back just enough to say, “Or Twister.”
She laughed, and this time he let her. His heart thumped hard, harder than it ever had. Her strength, her courage… Christ, it made everything else pale by comparison. All the meetings with demanding studio heads, self-indulgent newspaper editors, deceptive journalists, manipulative board members…all of it suddenly seemed so superficial.
And unnecessary.
He touched his thumb to her bottom lip. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve fallen in love with you,” he murmured, loving the way she leant into his caress.
She smiled, her gaze holding his. The tears were still there, but so too were tiny laughter lines on the sides of her eyes, and for Lachlan those lines were the most beautiful, exquisite thing he’d seen today.
“And I’m not kidding—” she grinned, “—when I say the next time we play Twister I’m going to win.”
Lachlan burst out laughing, smoothing his arms around her back and pulling her to his chest. She trusted him, of that he didn’t doubt, and he would do everything in his power to show her she was right to trust him. He would show her that when her fears and memories and nightmares tried to claim her, he would always be there for her. That together they’d be able to achieve anything.
He was Lachlan McDermott after all. And when Lachlan McDermott
set his mind to something…
The distinctive click of a camera sounded behind them, followed by someone giggling and someone else shushing loudly. Pulling away from Cameron just enough to look over his shoulder, Lachlan counted at least twenty people paying very close attention to what he and Cameron were doing. All but a few of them held camera phones in their hands. All of them were grinning.
Turning back to Cameron, he tugged her closer to the protection of his body, shifting on the table edge in an attempt to shield her from the growing crowd. “Come on,” he said, giving her a small smile, “let’s get you out of here.”
She studied him for a still moment, her expression unreadable, and then, with a grin, ran her hand up his chest and cupped his jaw. “Better still,” she whispered, “let’s stay right here.”
Before he could ask her what she was doing, she leant forward and kissed him. Utterly and completely kissed him, her tongue touching his, her hands tangling in his hair, a low but very carnal moan vibrating deep in her throat, leaving no doubt whatsoever to those around how much she enjoyed doing exactly what she was.
To the left of their table someone yelled out, “Onya, Mr. McDermott.”
To the right someone else yelled out, “I’ve got a Twister game at home if you like?”
Lachlan didn’t care.
And it seemed neither did Cameron, if the way she climbed onto his lap, wrapped her legs around his hips and kissed him even deeper was anything to go by.
As far as Lachlan was concerned, the whole bloody world could photograph them this way.
About the Author
Lexxie’s not a deviant. She just has a deviant’s imagination and a desire to entertain readers with her words. Add the two together and you get darkly erotic romances with a twist of horror, sci-fi and the paranormal.
When she’s not submerged in the worlds she creates, Lexxie’s life revolves around her family, a husband who thinks she’s insane, a cat determined to rule the house, two yabbies hell-bent on destroying their tank and her daughters, who both utterly captured her heart and changed her life forever.
Twister: Party Games, Book 3 Page 13