Twister: Party Games, Book 3 (17 page)

“Broken,” she whispered again, bitter hate and self-contempt churning in her stomach.

She pulled in a slow breath, a choked cry bursting from her as Lachlan’s distinctive scent flowed through her nose, down into her being.

For a surreal moment, she heard his laughter, the carefree relaxed laughter from the soccer field, and her heart constricted, the torment too much. He’d called her a fantasy more than once during the night.
His
fantasy. She’d never told him he was hers and now it was too late. Now she’d cowered from the possibility she’d longed for because of the reality of her life. Which, when it came down to it, was really pathetic.

Perhaps if she told him about Andre? Told him everything about it?

She shook her head. No. She couldn’t. Because when all was said and done, what had just happened, how she’d reacted to Lachlan being in her bed, being on her when she hadn’t expected it, was the only proof needed to know she was incapable of a life with him. With anyone. A solitary life was the safest. At least then, she’d never—

Her security system activated, the high-pitched chirping telling Cameron someone had jumped her fence.

Her stomach dropped. Her blood ran cold.

Scrambling off her bed, she ran to the alarm’s main control deck and hit the button that turned on all the CCTV screens.

She stared at the small row of screens, searching for the intruder who’d triggered the motion sensor.

There. In the bushes on the east side of her house. Crouched under a large weeping willow, a camera gripped in one hand.

Cameron’s mouth went dry. She knew who it was.

Holston.

Damn it, the paparazzo had found her.

I can’t take this. Not now.

Turning from the sight of Holston scurrying through her garden, Cameron retrieved her phone where Lachlan had deposited it last night and slid her thumb across its small screen. She dialed 000, requesting the police when the emergency-services call attendant answered. “Hello, this is Cameron Winters,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm. “Please tell Officer Daniel Cashion of Inner City Sydney Command there’s an intruder trying to break into my house.”

She disconnected before the questions could begin. Officer Cashion was the police officer who’d answered her emergency call after Andre’s failed assault, the only person who truly knew why Cameron had such state-of-the-art security. Even if
he
couldn’t get to her, Officer Cashion would make sure another officer did ASAP.

Walking back to her bedroom, she dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and boots, refusing to let her mind linger on the reason she was naked—
Lachlan, Lachlan making love to you, Lachlan loving you, Lachlan
—and strode back into the living room, past the semi-rebuilt Triumph, to the front door. Five minutes later, unable to cope with feeling trapped in her home, she climbed into her beloved Mini, activated the automatic roller door of her garage and reversed out. If Holston was in her driveway, well, he’d better be able to jump out of the way fast.

He wasn’t, but as she pulled onto the street, pausing long enough to close her garage door with a press of a button on her dash, she saw him run at her car, camera raised.

And then she planted her foot to the accelerator, leaving him behind. Heading away from her home, her sanctuary. She had no idea where she was going, but she had to go. She had to get away from it all. From the life she’d thought she’d escaped, from the life she’d been living. From everything that made her think of Kole, of Cam.

From the memory of Andre’s attack.

From the memory of Lachlan’s love.

Before she did something stupid. Like chase after Lachlan and beg him to hold her forever.

She paid little attention to where she was going. She stopped when required, sped up and slowed down when the flow of traffic dictated, but apart from that, she was on autopilot.

Controlling her car with detached indifference, she turned random corners without consideration of direction or destination. She had no destination. Just…away.

For good? Are you really going to turn your back on the best thing that ever happened to you?

Cameron swallowed, the cliché making her chest ache. Her knuckles grew white as she gripped the steering wheel. Her heart fought to turn her around, to make her drive to Lachlan’s home and tell him she was sorry, to tell him everything. But her mind told her it was pointless. If she woke petrified with Lachlan once, she would do so again. And maybe again. And again. How long could a man put up with that until it was too much?

It wasn’t fair. To either of them.

So why does this solution feel so wrong?

Her phone burst into life on the passenger seat beside her, George Michael’s insistence she was too funky for him saving her from an answer.

She shot the screen a quick look, biting back a curse as she read the word
Blocked
.

Whoever it was, it wasn’t Lachlan.

And you wanted it to be Lachlan, didn’t you?

“Yeah yeah!” George Michael sang from her phone.

Snatching up the annoying communication device, she tossed it onto the back seat. She wasn’t going to answer it. She wasn’t going to answer it and she didn’t want to know who was calling her if it rang again.

Childish. You’re being childish. A childish coward. You know that, right?

Gritting her teeth, she turned on the Mini’s CD player, put her brain in neutral and drove, just drove, the wild beat of AC/DC’s greatest hits a deafening soundtrack that drowned out all other thoughts. Like what she was going to do about Lachlan. Like where she was driving to.

Ten ear-shattering tracks later, she drew to a halt and studied the view beyond her windscreen. She killed the ignition
and
the music, plunging her car into silence as she stared at where her subconscious had brought her.

“Well,” she murmured, her heart thumping fast in her throat. “How ’bout that?”

“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.