The Full Velocity Series Box Set

by Tracie Delaney

I pulled her into my side and kissed her temple. “You won’t.”

  We kitted up, and I fitted her helmet, making sure it was secure before putting on my own. I tested the earpieces. Satisfied our communications system worked, I helped her into the car and leaned over to strap her in. My arm brushed the side of her breast. I braced, half anticipating a metaphorical slap, but either Madison didn’t notice, or she knew it had been accidental, because when I stuck up my thumb, she responded with the same gesture.

  I slid onto the front seat. Ant fastened my seat belts—there wasn’t enough room for me to do it myself—and affixed the steering wheel. The engine fired up, all done remotely via computer, and the seat beneath me vibrated.

  “Ready?” I asked Madison through the comms system.

  “No,” she replied. “Get going before I change my mind.”

  I chuckled. I heard a slight tremor in her voice, but not enough to stop me from slowly steering the car into the pit lane. I took it easy until we filtered left onto the track, and then I hit the gas. The car launched forward, and the G-force pressed me back into my seat.

  “Oh my God!” Madison’s scream through the communication gear almost pierced my eardrums.

  I kept the car to eighty percent of its capability through the first couple of laps, but when the first whoop from Madison came through my earpiece, I stopped taking it easy and really opened her up.

  “You okay back there?” I asked.

  “I can’t breathe,” she said, panting.

  I laughed. “If you can talk, you can breathe.”

  “How are you doing this? Talking and concentrating on not killing us at the same time?”

  “Years of practice, baby. Plus, I’m fucking amazing.”

  “Not to mention modest,” she hit back.

  “Honest, not modest. I’m the best of the best.”

  I pitched the car into a fast corner, without lifting off the gas. Madison’s gasp sounded in my ear, and I grinned.

  “Best date ever, right?” I asked.

  “My teeth rattled so much, I think my fillings have fallen out.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a smooth ride.”

  After completing fifteen laps, I turned into the pit lane. Even though Madison was only the passenger, she’d have completely underestimated the level of exhaustion created by hurtling around a racetrack, and we still had the second part of the date to go yet. I didn’t want her demanding to be taken home because she needed to sleep.

  I drove forward into the garage and cut the engine. Ant ambled over and unfastened my seat belts. Leaping out of the car, I released Madison’s belts—careful not to brush her boob a second time, as much as I’d have liked to—then took her hand to help her out. We both removed our helmets at the same time. Her hair was an unholy mess from the helmet and the wind, her face flushed in a delicious pink. She’d never looked more gorgeous.

  “Oh my God, Tate. How long were we out there?”

  I smoothed her hair. “About twenty minutes.”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea how you do that for two hours. And surrounded by other drivers, too. It’s exhausting.”

  “It is, but it’s also exciting. Right?”

  She nodded. “Very.”

  I handed the helmets to Ant. “Thanks for helping me out, buddy.”

  He clapped me on the back. “Anytime. See you in Hockenheim. Nice to meet you, Madison.”

  “You, too.”

  Taking her hand, I walked her back to the parking lot where I’d left my Mercedes. She was a little unsteady on her legs, which wasn’t surprising. Once we were inside the car, I twisted in my seat.

  “Has that won me brownie points or lost me a shit load?”

  She tapped her fingertips against her lips, considering my question. “You’re slightly ahead of the game.”

  I pretended to be offended. “Only slightly ahead? What do I have to do to make a step change?”

  “Agree to do more to help young kids understand the dangers. Now that I’ve actually traveled at that speed, and with a professional, I have firsthand knowledge of just how dangerous speed is in inexperienced hands.”

  I blew out a heavy breath, one that started from deep within me. “You never give up, do you?”

  She shook her head. “Wrong girl for that.”

  I rubbed a hand over my chin. I couldn’t do what she asked of me because that wasn’t the kind of oratory my sponsors permitted. They were selling a dream, not reality. I could explain why I chose to sign so many deals, what motivated me to give so much of myself to the public, but I was afraid she’d see it as an excuse. I needed her to get to know me better first, to see me as a person and not just the racing driver who’d led her younger brother astray—at least in her eyes.

  “Let me talk to my manager,” I said, stalling. “I’ll ask him to identify the right opportunity. You understand I can’t simply jump into these things without due diligence.”

  She nodded, her eyes lighting up at what she thought was my capitulation to her demands. “That’s all I ask, Tate.”

  I fired up the engine. “Hungry?” I asked. “The next phase of ‘Operation Tate Flynn Cracks Tough Nut Madison Brady’ awaits.”

  She laughed, gesturing with her hand. “Lead the way.”

  Madison

  Tate seemed lost in his thoughts on the drive back into central London, and in a way his muted silence played into my hands. The quiet gave me the head space to work out how he’d managed the impossible—to get me to like him—and in fewer than two weeks, too.

  Him being so damned reasonable caught me off guard, and while I firmly believed he could do a lot more to shine a light on the dangers of his chosen sport, I’d begun to understand him more. Maybe the loss of our respective brothers provided us with a common ground, a place for us to meet without conflict, at least on a temporary basis. Both of us were hurting, and although my loss felt understandably raw, his pain, too, was still prevalent, even after so many years.

  He stopped outside The Gallery, one of London’s top restaurants. We were immediately greeted by a valet who drove the car away. Tate lightly pressed his hand into the small of my back and guided me inside, barely touching me, yet the warmth from his hand sent shivers of delight inching up my spine with an intensity where I had to resist pressing hungrily into his palm.

  He must have booked a table, or maybe people like Tate didn’t have to bother with such trivialities. Regardless, the host immediately whisked us to a cozy alcove with subtle lighting and a plush red seat that curved in a semi arc, meaning we effectively sat adjacent rather than opposite each other.

  Tate ordered himself a bottle of mineral water, and a glass of wine for me, and then the waiter left us with the menus.

  “Don’t you drink?” I asked, my mind turning to my earlier visit to his apartment when he’d only drunk water. “I mean, I know you’re driving, but you can have one glass, right?”

  “Not during the racing season, no.”

  He rested his arm across the back of the seat, directly behind my head. I fought the urge to lean back, to rest my head against his taut forearm.

  “I take my health and fitness very seriously,” he said. “Formula One is a highly competitive sport, and anything that gives me an edge, I’ll run with it. It’s not only the car that needs to be in peak physical condition.”

  Once again, his dogged determination, his willingness to make sacrifices to achieve his goals impressed me.

  “It must take an awful lot of discipline to do what you do.”

  He nodded. “It does.”

  He dropped his head to peruse the menu, and I studied his profile. High cheekbones, strong chin, aquiline nose, ever-present stubble. As I recalled the roughness of his face against mine when we’d kissed, I squirmed in my seat. The movement brought our thighs into contact, but when I rapidly jerked mine away, Tate widened his legs until we were touching once more. He tried to pretend he hadn’t done it deliberately, but my instincts
were inclined to disagree.

  “Tell me about your childhood,” I said, not for something to break the silence but because his drive to succeed interested me. Clearly his parents were extremely motivated individuals, but I wanted to understand whether Tate’s need to win at all costs stemmed from nature or nurture.

  He closed the menu and set it to one side. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  He offered me a crooked smile. “That could take some time.”

  I smiled. “So talk fast.”

  He grinned back at me. “I can’t tell you everything, otherwise you’d have no reason to agree to a second date.” The hand that he’d rested on the back of the seat shifted to clasp the nape of my neck. His thumb brushed beneath my ear as he lowered his voice and murmured, “And I really want that second date. In fact, I want all your dates from now on, until either or both of us decide that whatever this heat is between us has run its course.”

  Every muscle below my belly button contracted, and I clenched my core in an attempt to relieve the growing ache between my legs. Grazing my teeth over my bottom lip, I rapidly blinked.

  “Presumptuous much?”

  “I said ‘want’ all your dates, not ‘will have’. I’m still giving you a choice. Of course, if you try to escape, I will give chase.” He winked.

  “Then you should know I’m a fast runner.”

  He moved his lips to my ear. “The idea of you running and me hunting you down makes me hard.”

  My pulse jolted, and my eyes automatically dropped to his groin. He wasn’t joking. There was a definite, and very large bulge in his jeans.

  Oh hell. You’re in serious trouble, Mads.

  What would it feel like to explore his erection? To slide down his zip and slip my hand inside? To cup his balls and softly stroke? Focus, Madison.

  I raised my head. Tate’s smirk said it all. He knew exactly where my mind had gone. My cheeks heated, but lucky for me, the waiter appeared with our drinks and asked what we wanted to eat. I hadn’t even looked at the menu, so when Tate ordered grilled seabass, I asked for the same. The waiter tapped our requests into a smartphone-type device, then retreated.

  “So, Madison, still planning to run?” Tate teased, his lopsided smile brazen. “Or do I stand a chance of that second date?”

  I should have guessed my reprieve wouldn’t last long. “We’ll see.”

  Tate threw back his head and laughed. He clinked his tumbler of water against my glass of wine then took a sip. “My childhood was okay, I guess,” he said, bringing our conversation back to my original question. “Both my parents worked long hours, and what little free time they did have they put into Cam. He adored racing cars whereas I wasn’t nearly as interested back then. Dad was a motor racing nut without the talent to succeed, so he lived vicariously through Cam. I learned at a very early age to rely on myself for everything, because Mum and Dad were rarely around.”

  “That must have been very lonely,” I said, my heart aching for him. My parents had shared their time, and their love, equally between Dean and me. I couldn’t imagine how much it would hurt to think they favored one over the other.

  Tate hitched a shoulder. “Yeah, although I didn’t know any different. It taught me a certain independence.”

  Doesn’t make it right.

  “I’m sure,” I murmured, already judging Tate’s parents. Suffice to say they had a lot of ground to make up. Not that it’d matter—because I’d never meet them. “If you weren’t interested in racing, though, why did you take it up when you were sixteen?”

  He arched an eyebrow, and his eyes sparkled with laughter. “Been doing a little research, have we, Madison?”

  Despite being caught out, I held his gaze. “Busted,” I said with a faint smile.

  He curved his hand around my neck once more, the move both possessive and sexy, and my skin tingled.

  “You have no idea of the thrill that gives me,” he said. “The fact you gave enough of a shit to read about me, not as I am now, but as I was back then…” He bent his head and brushed his lips over mine.

  A rush of pleasure surged through me, but then I remembered where we were, and I withdrew.

  “It matters, Madison. More than you know.”

  I almost responded with a glib retort, but the timing felt all wrong. He was being sincere, and I owed him the same respect.

  “Why did you?” I repeated my question.

  His eyes glistened, and pain twisted his handsome features. He dropped his hand and stared into his glass of water. “Cam died,” he said, his voice barely audible. Then louder, “My parents were determined one of us would become World Champion. When leukemia struck Cam, and then he inconveniently died, their focus turned on me. It no longer mattered what I wanted or what I didn’t want. My dreams were worthless in their eyes. I didn’t stand a chance.” He picked up his drink, his gaze on a distant spot on the far side of the restaurant.

  This date wasn’t turning out to be anything like I’d imagined. I was discovering things about Tate that I never expected to. It made him so much more human in my eyes. Fallible, capable of pain and sorrow, a man I had an urge to comfort. And so I did. Shuffling closer, I put my arm around him and rested my head on his shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry, Tate.”

  He touched his head to mine. “We all have our demons, Madison. We’re all damaged in one way or another simply by living.”

  His words gave me pause. We stayed with our heads together until the waiter returned with our meals. I straightened while he set down our plates, then watched as he retreated.

  “What was your dream?” I asked.

  Tate raised his eyebrows as if the fact I’d bothered to ask surprised him. “I wanted to be a scientist, to help find a cure for cancer so that other families didn’t have to suffer like we did.”

  My lips parted. Oh. This guy…

  “That’s a very honorable career.”

  He grinned. “As opposed to hurtling around a racetrack at two hundred miles an hour and leading young, impressionable men astray.”

  I broke a smile, but I couldn’t keep it there for long. “You know, Tate, these last two weeks, I’ve had time to think, and I’ve come to realize something my best friend has been telling me for years. You weren’t to blame for Dean’s death. Sure, you were his idol, but he chose to get in that car. He made the decision to drive in that race. I still think there’s more that not only you, but the whole machine of Formula One could do, but I’ve labored that point enough for now. Although, don’t think that’s the last you’ve heard on that particular subject.” I held out my hand. “Truce?”

  He stared at my peace offering, but instead of accepting my offer of a ceasefire with a good old-fashioned handshake, his hands curved around my face, and he kissed me again. Right there in front of the entire restaurant. I should have stopped him. I’d always been awkward with public displays of affection. But I couldn’t, the pull of Tate was too hard to resist.

  The tip of his tongue slid over my bottom lip, and then he slipped it inside my mouth. I moaned, intense pleasure curling my toes inside my shoes, desire fueling my blood. When he released me, we were both breathless, our lungs working double time to replenish oxygen levels. A couple in their fifties at the next table were staring at us with their mouths hanging open. A jubilant smile edged across my face, and I winked. They turned away, probably embarrassed I’d caught them gawking.

  “Eat up, Madison, then we can get out of here, because next time I kiss you, I don’t plan to have an audience.”

  Tate

  I barely managed to shovel down the seabass, one of my favorite dishes at this restaurant. Usually I liked to take my time, to savor the taste. Tonight, though, every mouthful became a challenge to swallow. My dick kept getting hard, and then, with considerable effort, not to mention forcing my mind to conjure up images of lots of very un-sexy things, it deflated, only for Madison to press her leg against mine, touch my shoulder or
the back of my neck, and boom! The fucking thing rose to the occasion once more.

  Finally, she set down her knife and fork and expelled a contented sigh. “That was amazing. I wish I could get that much flavor into my cooking.”

  “Do you want dessert?” I asked politely.

  She blinked up at me, her eyes huge, an impish curve to her lips, and hell, if that didn’t set my dick off again. I fidgeted in my seat.

  “What did you have in mind?” she asked, her voice low and husky.

  Fuck. Me. She’s flirting.

  I inwardly grinned. Time to push the envelope a little, see how brave Madison really felt. “They do a great tarte tatin if you fancy it.”

  She touched my knee, then stopped far shy of where I badly wanted her to go. She swept a tongue over her lips. “Sounds delicious.”

  Okay, she wants to play. In that case, I’m all in.

  I gestured to the waiter and ordered the dessert. He returned in no time and placed it on the table halfway between us. Madison picked up a fork and a spoon, but before she could dig in, I whipped the silverware from her hands and dragged the plate closer to me.

  “Hey, ladies first,” she said, pouting.

  My stomach flipped. Playful Madison was sexy as fuck.

  I ignored her and sliced through the decadent caramel, apple, pastry thing. I used the fork to tease the slice of pie onto the spoon, added a dollop of Chantilly cream, and held it toward her. “Open.”

  She did. Her lips closed around the silverware, and she drew the sugary treat into her mouth. Her eyes closed, and she chewed slowly.

  “Mmm, that tastes so good.”

  My gaze roved over her face, watching as she ate. I couldn’t get enough.

  When she opened her eyes and saw me staring, she giggled. “Sorry, but dessert is like a religious experience to me. It’s the sugar. I so rarely allow myself to indulge.”

  I cut off another piece and held it to her lips. “Indulge away.”

  She took the food into her mouth, treating me to a repeat performance. My dick hardened to such a degree, it felt seriously fucking uncomfortable. I had intended to feed the whole thing to her, but I needed this dinner over with so we could get out of here while I still had the ability to walk. I tucked in, although desserts weren’t really my thing. As soon as I’d given her the last piece, I gestured to the waiter. He brought the check, and I handed over my card.