Maharaja's Mistress. Susan Stephens
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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 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