Gridlock: Full Velocity Series - Book 2

by Delaney, Tracie

He bent his head and kissed me, not softly, but hard and with lots of tongue. I understood the lipstick question now, because it definitely wouldn’t stay in place by the time Tate finished. Heat flushed through my body, and my heart thumped wildly. Every time we kissed, it was more intense than the last. Our growing passion was definitely leading somewhere, although after my open invitation on Monday night, which Tate turned down, I wasn’t sure how long he would make me wait.

  I didn’t want to wait.

  I should wait.

  If I wanted to keep Tate interested, I needed to wait.

  Dammit all to hell. I hated sexual politics.

  He pulled back, wearing more of my lipstick than me. I swept my thumb over his bottom lip. “I don’t think it’s your color.”

  I expected him to laugh at my teasing, but instead, he stared at me with a hooded gaze.

  “You’re stunning,” he said. “You take my breath away, Madison.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” I joked in an attempt to recover my composure that Tate, with those few words, had ravaged.

  He skimmed a hand up my side, over my ribcage, grazed the side of my breast, and then cupped my cheek. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off you this evening.”

  I noticed he didn’t answer my question which, I guessed, gave me my answer. Disappointment struck me when it shouldn’t. I had no rights to this man. We barely knew each other. If he’d chosen to declare undying love, I’d have called him a liar. But the one thing I clung to was the fact he hadn’t taken me up on my offer of a night of hot sex. If he’d only been interested in fucking me, he wouldn’t have turned me down.

  “Talking of hands, how is yours?”

  He glanced at his palm, the red line of his cut much less angry than it had been on Sunday. “Getting there.”

  “That’s good. Give me a second to reapply my lipstick, and then we can go.”

  He captured my wrist as I turned away. “Don’t bother. It’ll be a waste of time.”

  My stomach flipped. More of kissing Tate? Yes, please.

  He refused to release his hold on my waist as we left my building until he opened the passenger side door for me. I slipped inside the familiar cabin of Tate’s sports car. He climbed in beside me and started the engine, but instead of immediately driving away, he left the car idling and captured my hand.

  “I need to tell you something about tonight.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”

  He sucked in his lips and then blew out a heavy breath. “I don’t take dates to my mother’s events.”

  My heart took a wild leap into the land of hope. Maybe he thought I was different after all. “Why?”

  “Because my intended future wife will be there.”

  Hope crashed and burned. Smashed into smithereens. Thank God I hadn’t given in to my baser instincts and slept with Tate. His throwaway comment made it clear he only wanted to bide his time with me until he walked up the goddamn aisle. No doubt his fiancée would be beautiful and firmly entrenched in his social circle.

  I hardened my heart, finding comfort in the familiar sensation. “Will she be there tonight?” I asked, my voice rasping and painful.

  He nodded.

  “Then I don’t think it’s right for me to go. In fact, it’s cruel and heartless of you to invite me. What kind of a person does that?”

  Before Tate could answer, I exited the car. I made a beeline for my building, suppressing the mounting tears of anger until I safely reached my apartment.

  What a bastard.

  I didn’t get very far before Tate caught up to me. He gripped my elbow. “Madison, wait. Let me explain.”

  I wrenched my shoulder up, dislodging his hold. “Explain what, Tate? That you think it’s perfectly acceptable to date me, to kiss me, to touch me when you’re engaged to be married? That might be fine in the upper classes where you come from, but let me tell you, where I’m from, it makes you a fucker.”

  I stormed off. I only managed to set one foot inside the lobby before he caught up to me once more. “Hang on a sec, please. She’s not my fiancée.”

  I planted my hands on my hips. “You said she was your future wife.”

  He shook his head. “I said she’s my intended future wife.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “It’s the same bloody thing.”

  “No, it’s not.” He swept a hand down the back of his head. “Please get back in the car, and I’ll explain properly.”

  I opened my mouth to refuse, but we were attracting attention. Tate behaved so normally around me that I’d momentarily forgotten his celebrity status. The phones were out and pointed directly at the two of us. I nodded curtly and returned to the car. The second we were both inside, Tate pulled away, probably to stop me running away for a second time.

  “That’s not explaining, that’s driving,” I said, sarcasm prevalent in my tone. “Or even kidnapping.”

  He flashed me an irritated look. “It’s called trying to prevent our disagreement from trending on Twitter in the next five seconds.”

  I bit my lip, embarrassed. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  He didn’t answer, but he did stop the car a few streets away. I wrung my hands as I waited for him to speak.

  “Her name is Daphne,” he said. “She’s the daughter of one of my mother’s closest friends, and your typical debutante. My mother decided years ago we’d be the perfect match. I, on the other hand, have absolutely zero intention of marrying her, not least because I am not in the slightest bit attracted to her.”

  I scratched my cheek, confused. “Then why did you say she’s your intended future wife?”

  He sighed heavily. “Because my mother is convinced that’s what she’ll become, and she will probably refer to her as such this evening. I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”

  “So just tell her you don’t want to marry this Daphne.”

  He barked out a laugh. “I have. When you meet my mother, you’ll understand.”

  Realization nudged at me. I narrowed my eyes. “So I’m a stooge? A way of ramming the point home to your mother, and Daphne, that you’re not interested.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Partly, yes. But also, because I really want you there, Madison. I need you by my side.” He picked up my hand and kissed it. “I find these events… difficult. Please come.”

  I blew out a slow, steadying breath. “Your mother is going to hate me, isn’t she?”

  He grinned. “You’ll be in good company. She doesn’t like many people, me included.”

  I frowned at his odd response, but one I refrained from questioning him about further. “Do I need to wear protective armor?”

  He closed the space between us and lightly kissed my lips. “I’ll protect you. Promise.”

  “Drive, then, before I change my mind.”

  He caressed my cheek, his expression awash with relief. “Thank you.”

  An hour later, Tate turned off the road and passed through a set of wrought-iron gates that led onto a winding, gravel driveway. After a few more seconds driving, he stopped the car in front of an enormous Georgian mansion.

  “Home sweet home,” he murmured, cutting the engine.

  “Is this the same house where you grew up?” I asked.

  He nodded somberly. He was sending strong signals that this hadn’t been a happy home. Sorrow scored my chest. My parents weren’t wealthy, although they weren’t exactly poor either. But our home had always been full of love and laughter. My heart ached for him, for what it must have been like growing up in this huge house, so devoid of the warmth every child deserved.

  Tate captured my hand, his thumb rhythmically brushing my knuckles as we neared the entrance. I wasn’t sure whether the cadence was for my benefit or his own. The front door opened without us having to knock, and standing inside with her hands behind her back, her head bent in deference, stood a uniformed maid.

  “Mr. Flynn.” She averted her eyes as if actually
looking at Tate would send her blind. “Your parents are waiting in the drawing room.”

  “Thanks,” Tate said, leading me across a parquet floor dressed with patterned rugs.

  I glanced around. The house was oppressive and dated, not at all the kind of home in which you’d picture two little boys running around playing hide and seek and having fun. I’d bet my medical degree that hadn’t been Tate’s experience.

  Tate braced his spine as he drew to a halt outside a thick, wooden door. “Take a deep breath,” he said.

  “You’re not selling it to me,” I replied with a grin, one he didn’t return.

  He pushed open the door. The room fell silent, and every single head turned our way. It reminded me of that scene in An American Werewolf in London where the two lost students stumbled upon the pub in the moors. I half expected to be told not to veer from the path before being sent onto the moors to be ravaged by a werewolf.

  A bespectacled woman with blonde hair piled high on her head and the most amazing bone structure I’d ever seen gracefully rose from her chair and came to greet us. Cue Tate’s mother.

  “Tate,” she said, holding out her cheek for him to kiss. “You’re late.”

  “Mother,” he replied stiffly, confirming my suspicion as to her identity.

  I could see where he got his looks from. She must have been close to sixty, yet was still an incredibly attractive woman. I’d bet she’d been a stunner in her younger days.

  “My apologies. I had a little… problem to deal with.” He glanced at me so quickly, I could have imagined it. “This is Madison.”

  Holding out my hand, I only just managed to refrain from saying, “The Problem”. Instead, I said, “Nice to meet you.”

  His mother didn’t even glance in my direction. She left my hand hanging in midair and glared at Tate. “Well, now that you’ve finally graced us with your presence, we can sit down to eat.” She spun on her heel and disappeared into the room adjacent.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry,” Tate said, the apology hardly his to make.

  I should have been offended at his mother’s summary dismissal of me, but instead, my lips twitched in amusement. “It’s going to be a fun night,” I whispered under my breath.

  Moments later, another uniformed maid appeared—a different one from earlier—and called us into dinner. Tate held my hand and led the way into the dining room. His mother indicated where we should sit—at least she seated us together—and then took up her own seat to Tate’s right. Thankfully, our moment in the spotlight seemed to be over, and conversation struck up around me.

  “Father,” Tate said to the man opposite as he lay his napkin in his lap. “How are things?”

  “Please try to have a little respect for your mother, Tate,” his dad snapped. “She works very hard to put on these events. The least you can do is be here on time rather than keeping our guests waiting.”

  Whoa. I could not, in all consciousness, sit here and allow Tate to shoulder the blame for being late.

  “My apologies, Mr. Flynn,” I interjected. “It was my fault we were late, not Tate’s.”

  A bona fide drop the mic moment followed my admission. The entire table quietened, and once again, we found ourselves the center of attention. Tate grasped my knee and gave the minutest shake of his head, but his warning came too late. His father peered at me scornfully over the top of his half-moon glasses.

  “And you are?”

  At least his contempt was a step up from Tate’s mother’s reaction. “Madison Brady,” I said. “Very nice to meet you, sir.” The lie tripped off my tongue.

  “Madison is a doctor, Father,” Tate said. “She works in the medical center at the track.”

  A flicker of interest crossed his face. Based on the little I knew about him, the momentary inquisitiveness had more to do with my loose connection with racing than it had to medicine, but I’d take it. Not because I cared less about these people—I didn’t—but if it made the night go slightly easier for Tate, then I’d play along.

  “I’ve only recently joined the team,” I said. “I’m covering for a friend while she takes a sabbatical, but I’m loving it so far. Everyone has been very welcoming, especially Tate.”

  “Are you a racing fan?”

  Tate’s hand tightened on my knee. Covering it with my own, I squeezed, hoping to send a reassuring message. I’d hardly tell his dad the truth.

  “It’s a very exciting sport,” I said. “You must be terribly proud of all Tate’s amazing achievements.”

  His dad’s jaw clenched, and his lips formed a white slash as he pressed them firmly together. “His brother was the real talent,” he said. “If he’d lived, he’d have set records no one would ever break.”

  Tate winced but recovered incredibly quickly. If my dad had spoken about me so dismissively regarding my medical achievements, it would have broken my heart. Not that my wonderful father would ever be so cruel and dismissive about my accomplishments.

  “Being a five-time world champion is hardly a failure,” I couldn’t help saying.

  “Four-time world champion,” his dad stated. “He’s yet to win the fifth.”

  I opened my mouth to retaliate. Tate stopped me.

  “Leave it,” he murmured in my ear. “You won’t change his mind.”

  The urge to defend Tate was so great, I almost swallowed my tongue with the effort of holding back. I only refrained because I guessed that by arguing with his father, I’d make things worse for Tate. Staring at my fork, I imagined ramming it right into Mr. Flynn Senior’s jugular. I wasn’t a violent person, but man, that guy could turn the saintliest of people into cold-blooded murderers.

  I managed to get through the first course—scallops served in their shells drizzled with sweet chili dressing—without choking. As I put my knife and fork together, I checked out the rest of the guests. There must be over thirty people seated around the large dining table. I mused as to which one might be Daphne. There were probably four or five women in Tate’s age bracket. I couldn’t imagine his mother trying to palm him off with someone middle-aged. No, the poor bitch would be expected to breed the next Flynn heir, another child for Tate’s parents to torture.

  “How are you holding up?” I whispered to Tate when his mother had stopped chewing his ear long enough for me to get a word in.

  “Living the dream,” he said. His hand found mine underneath the table, and he entwined our fingers. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you.”

  “Nonsense,” I said, grinning. “I’m having the best time.”

  “Liar,” he whispered, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, sending a delicious tremor through me. “But don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you.”

  After dinner, we all moved back into the drawing room. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the men had abandoned the women in favor of the library so they could enjoy brandies and cigars and talk about politics and all those difficult subjects that little women—with their miniscule brains—couldn’t possibly hope to understand. I feel like I’m back in the eighteen hundreds.

  “Don’t you think it’s about time you spent some time with Daphne, Tate?” his mother said, appearing out of nowhere.

  Maybe she is a witch. Hmmm, The Wicked Witch of the West, or Bellatrix Lestrange?

  I suppressed a giggle at the thought.

  “Why would I do that?” Tate drawled.

  She pursed her lips. “Because Daphne is your future wife. I raised you to have manners, Tate. I’d appreciate you using them.”

  “I do have manners. That’s why I won’t be leaving my date to go and talk to another woman who, by the way, is not my future wife.” He curved his arm around my waist and held me tightly against him.

  His mother’s hands curled into fists, and her skin reddened beneath her professionally applied makeup. I held my breath, waiting for her to give herself a nosebleed.

  At least there’s a doctor present…

  “Next time,” she bit out, “I would appr
eciate some warning that you were planning to bring someone.” She almost spat the last word. “Marcie needed to add an extra chair and place setting at the last minute.”

  “I’m sure that must have been very taxing for her,” Tate replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  My lips twitched at the exact moment his mother chose to pay attention to me for the first time. She glared at me, her eyes filled with contempt. If looks could kill, that would have been the end of me. With great difficulty, I straightened my face. Tate’s mother resembled a pantomime villain, almost cartoon-like in her reactions. I couldn’t take her seriously at all. She stormed off without uttering another word.

  “Yikes,” I said. “I bet you never run out of ice. Your mother just has to breathe on the water, and boom! Your own personal glacier.”

  For the first time that evening, Tate relaxed. He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I’d like to say the same but…” I grinned and nudged him playfully. “Only kidding. I’m actually enjoying myself. I don’t recall a time my mere presence pissed someone off to the extent it has with your parents tonight. Not even at the height of my protests against you did I achieve such greatness.”

  He pressed his lips to my temple. “You’re so good for me, Mads.”

  My heart soared at his words, but I wanted to keep the banter going a little longer. I wasn’t ready to get serious yet. From what I’d gathered this evening, humor had been sadly lacking in Tate’s life. He needed some fun to balance things out.

  “Go on then, show me who my competition is.”

  He frowned, and then caught up. “Believe me, she’s no competition for you,” he said, smiling.

  “A girl shouldn’t be complacent.”

  He pointed his chin in the direction of the large, oak fireplace. “The dark-haired one standing on the right.”

  I searched her out. If I’d bothered to take notice, I’d have guessed it to be her, because she was glaring at me with almost as much hatred as Tate’s mother had earlier. Daphne was very pretty, but like most of the women in this room, she resembled a cardboard cutout, all stiff little smiles and fake laughs. I pitied her because she was clearly mad about Tate if her hungry eyes were anything to go by. I believed him, though, when he said she didn’t interest him. If she did, he wouldn’t have brought me, unless he’d intended to make her jealous. If he’d wanted to do that, he’d have sought her out to test the success or failure of his plan, yet he’d barely graced her with a glance all evening.