Maharaja's Mistress

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 right,’ 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.

She exclaimed with relief as they crossed the finish line and Ram brought the monster machine to a screeching halt. Lifting off her helmet, she threw herself back in her seat, laughing with relief and happiness. The whole experience had been incredible—and quite an education. And the race had been good too, Mia conceded dryly as Ram removed his helmet and ruffled his thick black hair.

‘You’re still alive, then?’ he said, turning to look at her.

Alive? She felt properly alive for the first time since…for ever. ‘Did you see our time? According to my calculations we just knocked a good three seconds off last year’s record.’

‘Not bad,’ Ram agreed. ‘And good to see you did your homework,’ he added wryly.

Would he expect anything less of her? Slanting a glance at him, Mia guessed not.

But then he started laughing.

‘What’s so funny?’ she demanded.

‘I think you must have forgotten that I can hear every sound you make through the headphones—’

‘Every—’ Mia’s cheeks fired up.

‘Every sigh and gasp—every sexy little groan you make,’ Ram confirmed, staring at her with unbearable male smugness.

‘Well, I can see why that might amuse you,’ Mia agreed. ‘Though…sexy little groan? I don’t recognise that. I can only conclude you’re going deaf and need to turn your microphone up.’

‘And I’m equally sure you need your heat control turned down.’

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