“Are you serious?” Jonathan gaped at me.
“Of course.”
“Oh my goodness, did you hear that, Claire?”
“I’m sitting right here,” Claire said, raising her eyes to the ceiling in a way that reminded me of Madison. “Of course I heard it.”
Jonathan ignored his wife’s reprimand. “I’d love to,” he said, his eyes shining with excitement.
Madison stroked my knee beneath the table. I took that as her approval, and although I hadn’t offered as a way to gain favors with her, the fact she liked my idea brought happiness to my heart.
“Dean would have loved this,” Madison blurted, out of the blue.
The room fell silent and, for a brief second, I wasn’t sure how to respond. Then Jonathan and Claire broke out into wide grins.
“He would,” Claire agreed, nodding in my direction. “My boy adored you.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “And my daughter clearly adores you, too, so you’ll do for me, too, son.”
Emotion I didn’t really understand rushed through me, and a prickling sensation materialized at the backs of my eyes. These people were so far removed from what I knew growing up, and yet I felt more at home, more like the man I really was inside, than I had ever done at any other time in my life.
“Thank you, Mother,” Madison drawled. “As if Tate doesn’t have a big enough ego. You’ve just given it a turbo boost.”
Her teasing helped bring my emotions under control. I captured her hand under the table. “I already know you adore me. All your mum has done is confirm it.”
Madison dug me sharply in the ribs, and I playfully grunted.
“When are you back on the track, Tate?” Jonathan asked.
“Dad,” Madison chided. “He’s only just finished for summer break, and you’re sending him back already.”
I chuckled. “I have about ten days before I’m expected back for testing, and I plan on taking full advantage of the break. It’s going to be a hell of a run-in. Jared is right on my heels, and I can’t relax for a second.”
“Yeah, that Kane boy isn’t a bad little racer… for an American,” Jonathan said.
“I’ll tell him you said so, sir.” I grinned.
“What are your plans?” Madison asked, feigning casual interest.
I saw right through her pretense at nonchalance and decided the time had come to tease my girl a little.
“I have a place out in Majorca. It’s up on the hillside and very peaceful with amazing views. I try to get there a few times a year. It’s very relaxing. I plan to go there and do absolutely nothing.”
A lie. I planned to go there—with Madison—and do her. Repeatedly.
She nibbled on her lip, struggling to quell her disappointment. “Sounds lovely.”
Suppressing a grin, I picked up my glass of water, then took a casual sip. “It is.”
She glanced at her watch, faked a yawn, then gathered the plates together. “Well, it’s getting late. I’ll clear up, Mum.”
“I’ll help.” I rose from my chair.
“You’re a guest.” She pressed down on my shoulder, encouraging me to sit.
I resisted. “I want to.”
She shrugged. Grinning, I followed her into the kitchen. I closed the door to give us some privacy and propped myself up against it, watching as she scraped the leftovers into the recycling. She opened the dishwasher and stacked the crockery inside.
“What are you planning to do until you have to go back to work?” I asked.
She stiffened, and her stacking grew more violent. “I thought you were going to help?” she bit out.
I withheld a smile that threatened to show my hand. “You’re doing a fine job by yourself. Far be it for me to interrupt your Olympic gold medal dishwasher stacking.”
She turned her back on me. “You’re an arse.”
I walked over to her and slipped my arms around her waist. “And you’re beautiful when you’re pissed off.”
“I am not pissed off,” she lied.
“Oh, Madison, I love teasing you.” Twisting her in my arms, I gently nudged up her chin. “Do you really think I’d head off to Majorca without you? You’re coming with me, you crazy woman.”
A glimmer of light shone in her eyes, then she clamped down on it and glared at me instead. “That sounds remarkably like an order.”
“Well, I’m not giving you a choice if that’s what you mean.”
She snorted. “Have you considered that I might not want to come to your stupid villa in the mountains?”
“No, because you do. And it’s not stupid. It’s remote, with gorgeous views over the sea and private enough that we can walk around naked all day.”
“I imagine a sunburned cock could be rather painful,” she scoffed.
I laughed. “Then you’ll have to make sure you rub in plenty of sunblock. Wouldn’t want my cock to be out of service for any length of time.”
She tried for a scowl but failed miserably. “Keep your voice down. My parents are in the next room.”
“You started it.” I lightly brushed my thumb over her lips, then gently kissed her. “We leave in the morning.”
Madison
I peered out of the window at the rolling green hills and moss-covered mountaintops as Tate’s plane made its descent into a private airfield on the Spanish island of Majorca. I’d only visited here once, many years earlier, for a girlie weekend. We went to Magaluf which couldn’t exactly be described as a cultural location. As I recalled, we’d spent our nights drinking in countless bars and our days on the beach recovering from head-splitting hangovers.
“Can you see your place from here?” I asked.
“No. It’s buried in the hillside.”
“Oh, shame.”
We landed with a bump, the tires screeching on the runway. The plane drew to a halt, and Tate and I walked out into the dazzling sunshine. A sleek black limousine awaited our arrival. Our documents were briefly checked, then Tate ushered me inside the air-conditioned car and climbed in after me.
Thirty minutes later, the car pulled off the main road, although main was a stretch, more of a narrow lane in reality. We drove through a set of wrought-iron gates. As the car turned right at the top of a slight incline, I got my first look at Tate’s home here on the island. I gasped in surprise—good surprise. I’d expected a huge place, all sleek glass and steel, cold but contemporary. It looked to be nothing like that at all. Built into the rock face, respecting its surroundings, the house was much smaller than I imagined. The word ‘homely’ sprang to mind. After seeing Tate’s parents’ house, and his penthouse in London, I hadn’t been prepared for his home out here to be so quaint. Clearly, I didn’t know Tate as well as I’d thought.
“Come on,” he said, taking my hand and leaving our driver to handle the luggage. “I’ll show you around.”
The interior surprised me as much as the exterior. The rock remained exposed, and every doorway or wall could have been made by nature rather than man. Even the furniture was emblematic of the surroundings. I could see straight through to the rear of the property and, not unusually for a sun-drenched island in the middle of the Mediterranean, it had the obligatory swimming pool, but even that had been tastefully designed with the setting in mind. The water appeared almost black because the pool had been carved out of rock.
The whole thing took my breath away.
“Tate, it’s… beautiful.”
“This is the real me,” he said. “When I’m here, I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not.” He grinned. “Still find me sexy now that you know I’m an at-one-with-nature kind of guy?”
I wrapped my arms around his waist and tucked my head under his chin. “Even sexier.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Bodes well for me, then.”
I tipped back my head and smiled. “When can we get naked?”
His eyes glittered with promise. “The second the chauffeur fucks off.”
An hour later, I lay in Tat
e’s arms, replete, resting my head on his chest. Even the bed was round, molded especially to fit in with the curved walls. I drew my fingertip down the jagged rock that acted as a headboard. Cool to the touch, but not at all unpleasant.
“Does it get cold here in winter?”
“It can. I installed underfloor heating which is powered by solar panels buried into the rockface. That staves off most of the chill. I don’t mind the cold, though. I add an extra layer, and I’m good.
I peered up at him. “This place really is wonderful, Tate. You’re full of surprises.”
He chuckled. “You expected one of those contemporary monstrosities, didn’t you? Ten thousand square feet of glass, chrome, sleek lines, and instead I bring you to a cave built into the side of a mountain.”
I snuggled into his side. “I like your man cave.”
He kissed the top of my head. “You hungry?”
“I could snack.”
Tate slid out of bed, and I watched him with a greedy gaze as he walked, stark naked, across the room. He really did have the most amazing body. I wasn’t a fan of those huge, bulky guys, but Tate, with his sinewy muscle stretched tight over his tall frame, well, he was the perfect man for me.
He glanced over his shoulder and caught me looking. His answering cocky grin said it all, but I didn’t care that he knew the level of my attraction to him. We were grown adults. No point in playing games.
“You’re stunning,” I said. “I could stare at you all day.”
I glimpsed his cock jerking out the corner of my eye. “Stop it,” he warned. “I’m supposed to be getting you something to eat.”
I swiped my tongue over my lips. “Got any maple syrup back there?”
His eyes flared, and his mouth parted. “I’m sure I could rustle some up.”
I flicked my wrist. “Off you go then, because I’m peckish for syrup-flavored cock.”
He groaned. “Fuck me.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
He moved so fast, he was almost a blur. Seconds later, he returned clutching a glass jar containing the decadent, dark liquid. I crooked my finger, beckoning him.
“Last time we played with food and sex, you were in charge. Today, I’m in charge. Now park that fine arse.” I tapped the mattress for emphasis because there was nowhere else he could sit, apart from the floor.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He was already hard, that delicious V pointing to the prize with his cock jutting out between his hips. It bobbed as he crossed over to me. He took a seat, placing his feet flat on the floor. I grabbed a pillow and dropped it in front of him.
“Part your knees,” I said. When he did, I shuffled between them. I untwisted the cap off the maple syrup and poured a small amount of the sticky liquid into the palm of my hand. Gripping Tate’s cock, I spread the syrup all over it, then bent my head and sucked.
“Fuck, I’m dead,” he moaned.
That’s the plan.
* * *
“Where are we going?” I asked—for the third time—as Tate drove us through the mountains in a glistening white two-seater sports car he kept at the house. It clung to the narrow, winding road as if it was on rails, although that could just be Tate’s supreme driving skills.
“You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that,” Tate responded with an impish grin.
I folded my arms and huffed. “Not fair.”
He chuckled. Leaving one hand on the steering wheel, he curved the other around the back of my neck and caressed the nape. Goose bumps sprang up along my hairline, and I closed my eyes and gave in to the gentleness of his touch. The breeze stroked my skin, and the early evening sun provided enough warmth to prevent it from feeling chilly. It might be the height of summer, but we were at a relatively high altitude, so naturally the temperature took a hit as the day drew to a close.
Tate slowed the car and turned left onto a dirt track. He stopped a few feet later in front of what I could only describe as a small log cabin. Unlike the modern ones found at woodland retreats, this cabin had been built from real logs, the dark planks of wood left to weather naturally. Two small windows nestled either side of a rustic door, and on the front porch were a couple of bistro tables each with a vase containing a single white flower.
“What is this place?” I asked as Tate cut the engine.
He got out of the car and walked around to my side. Opening my door, he captured my hand. “Come see.”
Intrigued, I followed him. When I reached the door, the most incredible smells of onion, garlic, herbs, and spices assailed me, filling my mouth with saliva.
Tate pushed against the door. Inside, there were four more tables, three of which were already occupied, with customers enjoying what appeared to be very hearty food. The fourth table, situated up in an alcove on a raised platform, remained empty. But it was the view behind that particular table which grabbed my attention. The cabin had been built right on the side of the mountain, a sheer drop tapering away into the sea. From up here, the Mediterranean glistened, its dark-blue waters providing a vista impossible to beat.
“Oh, wow,” was the best I could manage, my response nowhere near effusive enough to describe the stunning sight.
A woman appeared from behind a small counter which, from what I could make out, doubled up as the kitchen. Wiping her hands on her apron while chattering in rapid Spanish, she enveloped Tate in a tight hug.
Okay, so he wasn’t exactly a stranger then, unless she greeted all of her patrons in such a manner.
Tate eventually extracted himself and replied to her in what sounded to me like fluent Spanish. Honestly, the man was full of surprises. He tugged on my hand, pulling me forward. I heard my name mentioned.
“Welcome, beautiful lady,” the woman said to me in broken English. She encased my free hand in one of hers and kissed me on both cheeks. “If Tate like you, then I like you.”
“Oh, Tate definitely likes her,” he said, grinning down at me. “Madison, this is Dorotea. If you come to Majorca and don’t get an invite to eat here, you haven’t really been to Majorca.”
Dorotea nodded sagely. “This is true. Now come, sit, sit.”
She gestured to the free table in the alcove. I couldn’t stop looking at the absolutely mesmerizing view. I thought the aspect from Tate’s place was stunning, but this…
“How did you find out about this place?” I asked when Dorotea retreated after giving us a jug of iced water with a couple of sliced lemons floating on top.
“A friend of mine told me about it, but you can’t just come here. You must receive an invitation. Luckily, she likes me, so I can usually wrangle a table. Wait until you taste the food. There’s no menu. She cooks what she feels like, and that’s what you get, but I promise, whatever it is, it’ll set your taste buds alight.”
“More than maple syrup?” I asked innocently, blinking at him.
Tate squirmed in his chair, and his hand disappeared beneath the table. I laughed when he adjusted himself. This guy did wonders for my ego.
“That reminds me. We need to stop by the shop on the way home and pick up another bottle.”
I grinned. “Yeah, I kinda used it liberally.”
He tongued his top teeth. “Maybe I’ll pick up a few bottles.”
We chatted about nonsensical things and, sitting in this idyllic place talking to Tate, each of us without a care in the world, I couldn’t remember ever feeling so contented. Even the pain of visiting Dean’s graveside on his birthday receded. I gave a lot of credit for that to the man sitting opposite. My parents absolutely adored him, and even though I didn’t need their blessing for any man I chose to date, the fact they were so gushing had me feeling all warm inside.
Talking of parents…
“Have you heard from your mum and dad?” I asked Tate.
I noticed a slight hardening to his jaw and a flattening of his lips.
“Nope,” he said curtly.
“I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine
. I’m done. I’ve spent the fourteen years since Cam died hoping they’ll love me for me, but I was just the spare and, in their eyes, not a very good one.”
I couldn’t figure out Tate’s parents. I hadn’t known Cameron, obviously, but it didn’t matter how smart or funny or talented he’d been when he was alive, because Tate was all those things, too. I took hold of his hand and squeezed.
“Their loss, because I think you’re amazing.”
The darkness that had descended lifted, and Tate almost blinded me with a beaming smile. “You only think that because I’ve given you three orgasms so far today.”
“Shhh.” I checked around, hoping no one had heard—this wasn’t exactly a loud, bustling restaurant—but when no one glanced over, I blew out a relieved breath. Looked as though we’d gotten away with it. The other six diners were too busy enjoying their meals to pay attention to us. “You are incorrigible.”
Tate merely waggled his eyebrows, his expression one of who cares. I didn’t get to add to my reprimand, though, because Dorotea ambled over holding a deep bowl in each hand. She set them down in front of us, and I sniffed appreciatively.
“That smells delicious,” I said, smiling.
She seemed pleased with my comment, her grin knowing as if to say, “Wait until you taste it.”
“Buen provecho,” she said.
“Gracias, Dorotea,” Tate said.
“What is it?” I asked after Dorotea headed back to her tiny kitchen.
“It’s called Arros Brut,” Tate said. “Roughly translated as ‘dirty rice’, but there’s nothing unclean about this. It’s a pork and rice stew effectively, but you won’t get anything like this back home.”
Mimicking Tate, I left the knife and fork sitting on the table and picked up a spoon instead. I dug in. Oh my goodness. I’ve died and gone to Heaven. It gave the appearance of peasant food, but the taste was far from poor.
“This is delicious.”
Tate nodded. “Right? I told you.”
I ate so quickly, anyone watching would assume I hadn’t eaten in a week. I should savor it, relish every mouthful, but neither my stomach, nor my taste buds, would comply. If I wasn’t here with a guy I hoped to impress, I’d lick the bowl. Swear to God.
Gridlock: Full Velocity Series - Book 2 Page 14