Twister: Party Games, Book 3 Read Online Free PDF Page A

light,” Lachlan snarled back, once again making his way through the crowded house. “I’m so light I could almost float away.”
    “Okay, Balloon Boy,” Mac slapped him on the shoulder. “Prove it. Play a game.”
    Lachlan stopped. Again. Swung his stare to Mac. Again. “I don’t play games.”
    “Then tell me about Kole.”
    Biting back a curse, Lachlan folded his arms across his chest. “Fine. Which one?”
    “The model you were just kissing on the—”
    “Which game ?”
    Mac flashed a grin. “The closest one.”
    “Which is?”
    His best friend and the country’s highest-paid lawyer scanned the immediate vicinity before grinning more widely. “That one,” he answered with a smirk, pointing over Lachlan’s right shoulder.
    Lachlan shot a look at the game Mac had selected, currently being played in the house’s library. “Twister?”
    “Twister,” Mac repeated. He placed his hands on Lachlan’s shoulders—one of the few people in this world who could get away with such physical contact—and swung him a complete one-eighty degrees. “Dive in, Balloon Boy.”
    With an ungentle shove, he pushed Lachlan forward until both men passed through the opened French doors into the expansive room, chuckling as he did so.
    The group of partygoers witnessing the game fell silent. As one, all looked at Lachlan.
    He looked back and straightened his shoulders. By the expressions on the faces of those standing around the Twister mat, and the two on the mat—both half-dressed for some God-known reason—his presence was a surprise. Why the hell that was the case he didn’t know. It was his fucking house, wasn’t it?
    They’re shocked because Lachlan McDermott is standing on the sidelines of a game that he didn’t even play when he was a kid, let alone a man.
    He had a reputation. He knew that. Taciturn. Serious. Arrogant. Ruthless. None of those qualities lent themselves to playing what appeared to be strip Twister.
    What the hell was he doing?
    Go back and find Kole. Take her upstairs to your room, throw her on your bed and—
    Mac walked up beside him and slapped him on the shoulder. “Anyone got a problem if McDermott plays next? Think the bloke needs to blow off a little steam.”
    The Twister crowd gaped.
    It was enough to make Lachlan grind his teeth. Anyone would think he didn’t know how to have fun.
    When was the last time you did?
    Someone coughed to Lachlan’s right and said, “Go for it”. A soft thwacking sound filled the silence, followed by the faint whirring sound of a pointer spinning around. A man to his left cleared his throat and said, “Right foot, yellow.”
    All eyes swung back to the couple on the floor. Both moved as one, bodies sliding over each other, limbs stretching, and then, with a muttered “fuck”, one of the Twister participants—Australia’s most loved television host—dropped flat to the floor.
    Someone in the crowd laughed, a nervous titter. Someone else said, “Watch out, mate, McDermott will fire you for throwing the game.”
    Someone else said, “Fuck that, he’ll cancel your whole show.”
    Everyone jerked their stare to Lachlan. Watched him. Waited.
    The couple on the floor didn’t move. The TV host stretched out on his side, his playing partner—a recent winner of Australia’s Got Talent—hovering above him on two skewed legs and one hand. Her right foot, Lachlan couldn’t help but notice, was in a yellow circle.
    He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I think you won.”
    As one, the crowd let out a cheer. The songbird giggled, cheeks going red as she squirmed back onto her feet and gave him a shy smile.
    “Your turn, McDermott,” Mac said beside him.
    “Gotta pay to play, Mr. McDermott,” the referee said on his right. The man stepped forward from the crowd and Lachlan bit back a snort, recognizing the weather reporter from one of McDermott Media Corp’s breakfast television programs.
    “Pay?”
    Mr. Weather’s Fine and Sunny cleared his throat.