Susan Stephens – Maharaja's Mistress (страница 2)
‘My co-driver’s sick—wait a minute,’ he said suspiciously. ‘You’re not suggesting—’
‘I could help you—’
‘You?’ Ram exclaimed as if the world and everyone in it had gone mad.
‘Why not me? I’ve got the right background.’ Having won the junior section of several international rallies before the accident put her out of the game should put her in with a chance.
Ram wasn’t exactly biting her hand off, but if she was serious about this she had to convince him.
‘You can’t be serious, Mia—’
‘I’m perfectly serious—’
‘Forget it, Mia. Is there anything else? I don’t have all day to stand and yap—’
‘And neither do I, Knucklehead—’
‘
Ice cubes filled the air. And were just as quickly melted by amusement. Ram didn’t have to laugh or say anything for Mia to know that the balance had tipped, and that everything was going to be all right now. They had catapulted back to a different time when squaring up for a good-natured fight came as naturally to them as breathing. ‘Of course, if you don’t want my help—’
‘
‘I don’t just meet and greet in a beauty salon, you know—I am a medal-winning rally driver—’
‘Of Dinky cars, perhaps.’
She hid a smile. This was not the moment to turn the air blue. She was almost home and dry—she could feel it. And while she might have reinvented herself as a respectable meet-and-greet girl in Monte Carlo’s most fashionable beauty salon, Ram was an international playboy, so she had to raise her game and play it smart.
He’d always been heading that way—dark, sexy, dangerous—
‘Are you still there?’ he demanded as heat curled inside her, and far more insistently this time.
‘I’m here…’
How did he live? Who was Ram these days—was he royal or a rogue? Was he a professional rally driver, or a professional bad boy? Ram had dropped off the radar around the same time she had, so she had everything to find out about him.
Secrets. What would life be without them?
‘Just tell me what you want, Mia.’
‘What
‘Like
‘Like, who else is going to volunteer at such short notice?’ Mia countered smartly. ‘Who else would want to spend the day cooped up in the world’s smallest space with the world’s biggest head? Who else won the junior section of the Davington rally that you know? And who’s here now—?’
‘In Monte Carlo?’
‘No, dummy—New Ashford, Massachusetts. Of, course, Monte Carlo. Do you seriously think I’d waste long-distance charges on you?’ She was enjoying herself now. It was a long time since she had crossed swords with the invincible Ram, and that had been back in the day when she had worn pigtails and had wielded a lollipop like a deadly weapon.
‘Okay, let’s meet.’
Ram’s unexpected concession snapped her back to attention. ‘Where?’
‘L’Hirondelle.’
As it didn’t do to appear too keen, she groaned. ‘The stuffiest hotel in the world? I thought you might have changed by now.’
‘Changed how, exactly?’ Irony coloured Ram’s voice.
‘Oh, you know—ditched the pompous balloon in favour of a regular hot-air type favoured by most men—’
‘L’Hirondelle,’ Ram repeated. ‘Six o’clock. Think you can make it?’
So he remembered her time-keeping problems. ‘Can’t we meet at the club?’
‘Which club, Mia?’
She hadn’t missed the weariness in his voice. ‘You don’t know?’ she said, faking incredulous. Not to know the hottest club in town was akin to pariah-dom in Monte Carlo. Not that she would have known which club was hot that season had it not been for the girls she shared an apartment with. They were the type of pretty girls who kept their collective ears to the ground and knew everything worth knowing. Mia was the type of plain girl who had learned to develop acute hearing over the years. Wild? Yes, she’d been wild when Ram had left England, but in a driving too fast, riding too hard kind of way—the clubbing scene had never held any interest for her. Party girl she was not, but hopefully she could wing it. ‘The Columbus?’ She named the most popular club in the principality with the type of pity in her voice those in the know reserved for those not in the know—people like her.
‘You go there?’
Careless. As if Ram wouldn’t know the hottest place in town. ‘You’ve heard of it?’
‘Enough to know it won’t be open at six.’
Second careless mistake. Not even the bar would be open at that time, Mia realised, remembering too late what the girls had told her. Plus she had to face the embarrassing fact that Ram was only arranging to see her early on in the evening so he had the rest of the night left to do his thing. ‘I don’t finish work until six—can’t we make it later?’ Giving her time for a major fashion overhaul courtesy of the girls—plus she’d need a wax, pluck, polish, fake-bake—She’d settle for a miracle. She might not be Ram’s idea of a good-looking woman, but there was such a thing as pride.
‘Come over to the hotel straight from work, Mia,’ Ram said, ignoring her suggestion. ‘I’ll still be working on the car, so I’ll be ready for some fresh air by then.’
But she could still rescue something from the situation. The smell of hairspray filled the air here at the salon—and what little air was left to breathe was filled with the overwhelming floral scent-bomb of her employer’s signature perfume. In his own way, like Ram, Monsieur Michel was a stranger to restraint.
And now she could only wait.
It was such a long wait Mia began to wonder if Ram had gone to sleep. ‘Six o’clock at La Maison Rouge?’ she prompted.
‘La Maison Rouge?’ he drawled as if she’d pulled him from reading a book. ‘Isn’t that the glitzy hairdressing salon on the main drag?’
‘There’s no need to sound quite so surprised.’
‘I’m just surprised you’re working there. What happened to your career in interior design?’
‘Things…’ Mia grimaced as she glanced into the mirror. Who would want to employ an interior designer with cheeks the texture of a rotting beam? Okay, slight exaggeration, but with her scars she wasn’t going to risk it, whereas Monsieur Michel had dragged her in from the street saying she had the most fascinating ‘look’ he had ever seen—and she’d been too stunned by Monsieur’s lilac eyeshadow to argue.
‘Are you any good at what you do?’ Ram demanded, snapping Mia back to full attention.
‘I welcome clients into the salon, Ram. I book appointments. I call the clients by name—and I smile. Not much room for error there.’
‘As long as they don’t let you loose with a pair of hairdressing scissors.’
He was remembering the time she had chopped off the tail of his prize horse when she’d been a twelve-year-old grooming enthusiast. ‘See you here at six?’ She held her breath.
‘Maybe…’
Was that a smile in his voice? The line clicked and died before she could decide.
Well, she’d thrown her eyepatch into the ring, and now she just had to wait and see what fate had in store for her—though there was nothing to stop her helping fate along a little bit, Mia concluded as she placed a second call to girls with more fashion savvy than she would ever have.
Chapter Two
LIFE never failed to surprise Ram. Mia Spencer-Dayly turning up out of the blue took him right back to his days at boarding school in England when he’d been vastly attracted to the chaotic lifestyle of the Spencer-Daylys. As he’d been brought up by servants, a family home, however disorganised, had seemed like heaven to him, and when Tom had invited him back in the holidays Mia had always been the main attraction—constantly playing tricks on him, when everyone back home treated him like a god.
But there was a puzzle here. He and Tom had kept in touch, but Tom never mentioned his sister and he had never asked. He and Tom had always respected each other’s confidences, and though he had often wondered about Mia, he hadn’t wanted to pry into her life. Yet here she was in Monte Carlo, offering to be his co-driver—
Could he accept Mia’s offer?
And open Pandora’s box?
Mia was his best friend’s baby sister and therefore untouchable, but there had always been a spark between them. Back in the day that had manifested itself as constant taunting, teasing, bickering—but now…
Mia was all grown up. And he was experienced enough to know that if that same fire existed between them—and this telephone conversation seemed to suggest that it did—that persistent little spark could flare into an inferno—