Maharaja's Mistress Page 3

  She would wait a long time for any sign of the old humour, Mia realised. Ram just continued to stare at her, his brow furrowed as if he were reading everything she didn’t want him to know.

  Seconds ticked by. Her breathing sounded loud in the silence. Suddenly she was eight years old again and mesmerised by Ram. Or, maybe thirteen and feeling gawky with braces on her teeth. Or worse—sixteen, when she had wanted nothing more than the touch of his hands—

  Apart from the braces, she was all of those things, Mia concluded as Ram eased onto one hip. ‘I like the outfit,’ he said. And finally his lips tugged in a grin.

  ‘Your approval means everything to me,’ she countered dryly.

  She had laughed with relief when Monsieur Michel had personally orchestrated her costume at one of the more outlandish costumiers in the principality, but now she felt awkward and exposed, exactly as she had at Tom’s engagement party. Why did Ram have to make those remarks—look at her that way—when he clearly wasn’t interested? Who was he to come here to her place of work and judge her? So her outfit was brazen. What was that to him?

  ‘Whatever happened to my girl, Mia?’

  ‘She grew up.’

  He had expected to feel many things when he saw Mia again, but he had not expected this—or the fierce desire to protect her that came with the discovery that his perfect imp had been so cruelly injured. Mia had always been defiant—always vulnerable—but her fighting spirit had always carried her through. Not this time, he suspected. She didn’t fool him—she never had been able to do that. She had come to Monte Carlo like a beaten dog to defiantly lick her wounds—choosing the most glamorous place on earth to punish herself and ride the guilt. He had lived wildly too, but he had got away with it.

  Why hadn’t Tom told him? Why hadn’t he picked up on this?

  There was only one possible explanation. Mia’s injuries must have occurred around the time he had been absorbed in his own private tragedy. There was only one certainty here—he couldn’t leave her. He would have to make plans. All this he decided in a heartbeat as he stared into Mia’s ravaged face.

  ‘So,’ he prompted dryly, as if none of these thoughts had occurred to him. ‘We’d better talk about the rally. Are you sure you’re up for it?’

  ‘I have a problem with one eye, Ram. I’m not blind.’

  He wanted to cheer at this proof that the old Mia was still in there, but instead he stared at her steadily as he explained, ‘The last leg of the race is to be a time trial around the winding streets of the principality—’

  ‘Which is why I’m perfect for it,’ she cut in. ‘I’ve only cycled the route, but I’ve lived here for some time and I know every curve and bump like the back of my hand.’

  ‘So you could do it blindfold?’

  She was shocked for a moment, but then she realised they were back where they used to be in the old sparring corral. ‘If you’re prepared to risk it, I am…’

  ‘Then we have a deal.’ He turned to go.

  ‘Are you offering me the job?’

  The uncertainty—the hope—in Mia’s voice stabbed him to the heart. ‘You’d better come through,’ he warned.

  ‘I will.’ She held his stare.

  What had happened to them both? Mia’s injuries were obvious, but they were both profoundly changed.

  ‘Just one thing, Ram…’

  ‘Yes.’ He held her gaze, enjoying the connection between them.

  ‘Why are you racing cars when you should be running a country?’

  He might have expected a counter-attack. ‘Ah…’ He shifted position.

  ‘I know, it’s none of my business—’

  ‘Damn right it’s not. I’ve had my finger on the pulse. I just needed one last—’

  ‘If you say hurrah, I’ll slap you,’ she warned him.

  This time he couldn’t stop his lips pressing down with amusement. ‘Still the old Mia.’

  ‘Still up for a fight?’ she demanded. ‘You got that right.’ And then her cheeks blushed red as if she could read his mind. The type of fight he had in mind right now was very different from those they had indulged in when Mia was younger.

  ‘We should make time for you to take a proper look at the route map before you commit yourself.’

  ‘Not that I need to.’

  But he wanted her to—and not just to ensure she knew the road.

  ‘Where do you suggest we do that?’ she said.

  ‘I’ll send for you—’

  ‘You’ll send for me?’

  ‘My driver will come and pick you up.’

  ‘Forget it, Ram.’

  ‘Do you want the job or not?’

  ‘I want to work alongside you as your co-driver—I have no interest in becoming part of your entourage.’

  ‘Make up your mind, Mia.’

  Did she want the job? Would her heart slow down long enough for her to answer? Did she want a chance to return to the old days—the old ways—the fun, the heat and stress, the pace, the danger? And that was just the rallying. Did she want to spend time with Ram? ‘If you’re prepared to take your chances with a one-eyed co-driver…?’

  Ram shrugged, but his gaze remained steady on her face. ‘At this short notice I’ll take whatever I can get.’

  Chapter Four

  THE encounter with Mia had shaken Ram beyond belief. He was outside in the fresh air now, pacing the balcony of his penthouse suite, but he had spent the first hour back at L’Hirondelle with the phone welded to his ear, issuing instructions.

  He had never appreciated money and influence more. His yacht was expected in harbour within the hour, and all the other arrangements were underway. He wouldn’t abandon anyone he suspected of needing his help and he wasn’t about to walk out on Mia. The last thing she wanted from him was his pity and he didn’t need complications in his life, but Mia’s injuries had been a massive wake-up call. He’d been easing himself into taking up the reins of a country—the easy way, from a distance. He’d even ordered the building of an eco-palace, which he would pay for with his own money, and where one, as yet unspecified, day he had intended to live…

  All that had been brought forward. Seeing Mia again had forced him to confront life’s bigger issues. There was no easy way for her—no long-distance solution. Mia needed close-up warmth and support, just as his people needed him in the country, rather than some distant stranger who issued orders for others to carry out. He would return home and take Mia with him. When he was sure she was healed she could leave and pick up her life—become the old Mia, rather than this theatrical version. It was the only way he could live with the guilt. He should have been there for Mia—for the family—for his best friend, Tom. He’d already been on the phone to Tom, berating him—though that was hardly fair when Mia had sworn Tom to silence. But since when had he been cut out of their lives?

  Since he’d cut the ties?

  He couldn’t have cared less if Mia had been dressed as a fairy queen, complete with wings and a wand. The salon she worked in was high camp and each member of staff had adopted some gimmick to set them apart. He was only sorry she’d thrown away a promising career in interior design, though he had to admit her new disguise was hot. Mia in Tom’s cast off clothes, climbing trees—Mia in a quaint, old-fashioned ball-gown—these were both images he could live with comfortably, but Mia with the cheeks of her well-formed buttocks just visible beneath a pair of tight black leather shorts—

  So much for his good deed for the day! How quickly his thoughts could turn from selflessly helping Mia to selfishly wanting her. He had to turn his mind back determinedly to the accident. She’d handled the fall-out well. He owed her respect. Both of them had always liked to live dangerously and had always played to win. He’d got away with it. Mia hadn’t. He stood by his offer for her to be his co-driver—that was if she turned up for the race tomorrow. And something told him she wouldn’t be able to resist.

  He was easing his muscles outside the entrance to the motor racing cl
ub when Mia stalked up to him the next day. Wearing banged-up jeans and sneakers accessorised with a shedload of attitude, she was brandishing the fireproof clothes he had arranged for her to wear. He noticed how full her lips were—how kissable—

  How firmly pressed together.

  He was ready for battle when she stopped in front of him—just as well. ‘You knew what to expect,’ he pointed out. ‘You’re hardly a stranger to the sport.’

  ‘You should have warned me these came with your logo plastered all over them. I could have hired something plain.’

  ‘You don’t like naked women?’

  She gave him a withering stare. ‘When it’s taken straight from the Kama Sutra, I draw the line.’

  ‘This used to be a man’s team.’

  ‘Well, pardon me for having breasts.’

  ‘Are we done?’

  ‘You tricked me, Ram.’

  ‘I tricked you?’ he demanded, dipping his head to stare at Mia intently. ‘It was your idea to help me—and you never asked about the clothes. Just kill the complaints, Mia, and concentrate on doing the best damn map-reading of your life.’

  She muttered something unprintable.

  ‘Just don’t let me down.’

  ‘Don’t you let me down,’ she retorted. ‘We’re supposed to be a team, remember?’

  ‘The winning team,’ he called after her as she marched off to get changed.

  The helmet she had to wear for the time trial was about as sexy as a bucket with a viewing panel. White with a red stripe and a black visor, it had Ram’s retro logo on the side. Five minutes into his life and she’d have to change that—not that she’d ever get the chance, Mia reflected. The all-in-one suit featured pants with a handy opening panel—

  Well, she was used to that from her rallying days. Everything was fireproof, apart from her knickers—the one item of clothing that should have been fire-proofed if she was expected to sit next to Ram for any length of time.

  And she had to stop thinking like that. Where had it got her back in the day—other than frustrated? It was time to stop thinking about Ram’s sexual potential and put him in the correct box, which was temporary teammate. He was nothing more to her than that—and she was certainly nothing more to him.

  It should get easier, Mia reasoned as she checked everything was zipped up tight. She could feel herself slipping into race mode, and once she was in the zone nothing would distract her from the job in hand. She had been good at rallying and would be again. And the chance to race with Ram, who was a world-class competitor, could only be another building block in her climb-back to confidence.

  And those bold resolutions lasted all of five seconds when she emerged from the changing room to find Ram surrounded by adoring women. No surprise there—though he did have the courtesy to tear his attention away long enough to acknowledge her existence. Wearing a black baseball cap pulled low over his thick, wavy black hair and laughing eyes, and kitted out in race gear, he did look amazing, she had to admit—taller, stronger and far sexier than any of the other men in the competition—but it was the knowing curve of his mouth and the wicked glint in his eyes that promised more danger than any decent girl should want to get close to.

  Irritated by all the hangers-on, she strode towards him like some warrior queen intent on relieving a siege, but the females currently assaulting Ram’s defences had their radar working too, and perfectly coiffed heads swivelled as she came close—which was where the fantasy scenario faltered. Ram’s glamorous admirers dismissed her with barely a glance—though Ram grinned as she elbowed her way through the scrum.

  ‘Are you ready, Ram? Or would you like me to leave you here—to sign a few autographs, perhaps?’

  His darkly amused gaze held hers for a moment. ‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ he told his adoring fans without once breaking eye contact with Mia. ‘It seems my co-driver needs a little last-minute reassurance.’

  ‘Ha!’ Mia exclaimed, swinging away.

  No wonder Ram had insisted she get a good night’s sleep before the time trials. Pity he hadn’t taken his own advice. She had a good idea of where he’d been last night—clubbing and who knew what else—though, unusually, there had been no mention of him in the newspaper, which had to be a first since Ram had arrived in town. But what did the media know? What did anyone really know about Ram?

  What did Mia know?

  Nothing.

  Except the sight of women slavering round him made her feel sick. Good for him. Lucky for her she wasn’t interested.

  She hurried away—not even knowing where she was going—only certain she had to get out of there—

  And jumped with shock as Ram grabbed hold of her arm.

  ‘Time for the technical inspection,’ he said in an altogether far too reasonable voice as he steered her towards the bank of officials.

  She shook him off, but went willingly all the same. She was prepared to comply with anything connected to the race, but as soon as the formalities were completed this misguided experiment of hers was over. She needed a boost to her confidence—not someone to sit on it.

  The moment she squeezed her rump into the moulded seat formed around Ram’s rangy Danish co-driver’s backside, Mia knew she had made a mistake. Ram in race mode was a powerful, brooding presence. She had not factored into her thinking how it would feel to be confined in such a small space with such a tightly wound mountain of a man. Had she really thought she would be cool with this? She slanted a glance at him—way too hot was closer to the truth.

  ‘Ready for some real driving?’ Ram demanded, revving the engine until she was sure it would explode.

  She glanced at the impossibly complex array of dials and switches on the custom-built super-car and felt instantly at home. The answer to Ram’s question was a positive yes. However she felt about Ram, this was a fabulous opportunity to face her demons by hitching a ride with a true master of the sport.

  Dust and exhaust sparks flew as Ram released the brake and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. G-force hit her in the back like a punch. She had always been a speed demon, but Ram liked to break the rules of physics—and for a split second she was in such a state of shock she forgot what she was supposed to do.

  ‘Instructions,’ Ram barked at her through the intercom, followed swiftly by quite a few words she couldn’t make out. Fortunately for her sensibilities, Mia gathered, judging by the aggressive set of his jaw.

  She concentrated fiercely from then on, her gaze flashing between the road and the map as she rapped out directions as buildings flashed by in a silver rush. She couldn’t help remembering her own rallying career when her arms and elbows would have been flying everywhere by now. By contrast Ram sat quite still, calmly driving the car—and not just with his hands, but with his feet too, kicking the brake and hitting the throttle in a fluent rumba of synchronized activity.

  At least it seemed she was doing okay now, Mia thought with relief. Ram’s comments were on the brusque side, rather than the rude. He was tough, terse and in control and there was no false veneer of charm. She liked that. She liked him. Far too much…

  Ram exuded confidence and his confidence infected Mia until gradually she found herself relaxing into the rhythm of the race. He was totally on top of things and that was cool. He knew exactly what to do under pressure, which was sexy. She watched his hands move this way and that, making all the delicate little movements that made so much difference to their performance. He was the master of the elegant touch, she concluded, wondering how that would translate in the bedroom.

  And which of the annoying females had he bedded last night?

  Maybe all of them?

  She was only too glad to leave these thoughts behind and warn him about a series of hairpin bends, but then she returned to console herself that the other women were too obvious, too compliant, while she, Mia the Magnificent, would be like a lioness taming her mate—should she ever get the chance, that was. ‘One hundred yards ahead—sharp turn to the righ
t,’ she rapped out. She had to forget what was beneath Ram’s fireproof suit and fire off directions well in advance of him needing them. That was not to say a little day-dreaming was forbidden—just so long as she kept her concentration on the race. She was good at this. She hadn’t forgotten what to do—and not even Ram was going to find fault with her technique—

  And what about Ram’s technique?

  There was race tension—and then there was sexual tension. Her thoughts were operating on two levels, Mia realised. There was the race, and then there was something else sizzling between them. Could Ram feel it too? It was hot and tight—tight enough to unravel in a rush and sweep them both headlong into a situation. It was almost a relief when race excitement took her over when they streaked like a rocket down a rare straight stretch of the track.

  Ram’s hands on the wheel, the firm set of his jaw, the steady beam of his eyes—

  Race excitement quickly gave way to something else entirely, though she yelped in panic when he took the next hairpin at outrageous speed.

  ‘All right?’ he rapped, placing his hand on her knee when she gasped.

  Ram’s brief touch was far more of a shock to her than his driving. ‘Okay,’ she rapped, not trusting herself to say more.

  She pulled herself together as he accelerated out of the turn. Hairpin bends could come and go, but where Ram was concerned arousal was for ever. He was so good at this—the best. He had everything it took to be a top-class driver—power, strength and certainty, and there was no doubt that his timing was flawless. Lucky for her she had every excuse during the race to gasp and moan freely, as she imagined Ram’s technique being transferred to a very different set of skills. With the roar of the highly tuned engine blotting out all extraneous noise she could really let herself go. Ram was everything she had ever looked for in bed—

  In a driver, Mia corrected herself as they screeched round the final corner and Ram powered up to the chequered flag.