Maharaja's Mistress

When would she learn not to fall for it? Mia wondered as Ram’s lips curved with amusement. ‘Who else would dance with me?’ he said.

Judging by the envious glances she was attracting—every woman in the club?

‘What are you thinking?’ Ram demanded when she fell quiet at the thought of so much top-class competition.

Right this moment? No ego-stroking required. But she had an ace up her sleeve. ‘I was just wondering if you can tango, actually.’

‘Don’t push me,’ Ram warned.

She would never learn. At a signal from Ram to the DJ the music changed again.

The tango might be the one thing Mia had learned at her starchy all-girls school that came in useful now, but she hadn’t factored into her thinking Ram’s advanced technique. ‘Is there anything you can’t do?’ she demanded as he bent her low over his arm before yanking her into intimate contact with every hot-wired contour of his body.

She might have known Ram would dance the tango like a gaucho—all brutal control and persuasive seduction, while she had no option but to wrap herself around him—those were simply the demands of the dance.

A circle soon cleared around them. They moved as if they were joined at the hip, staring at each other, intent and unblinking, as if they would find the meaning of life hidden in each other’s eyes. Ram understood the workings of her body better than she did, Mia discovered, and she wasn’t the only one to have noticed this. A blur of hungry female eyes only proved that Ram could turn any club steamy. He had set this one on fire the moment he had arrived—and now it was a raging inferno.

And fun. The humour in Ram’s stare made the moment theirs—even if everyone else was swept up in an erotic haze. Outwardly, they were putting on a show to scandalise, but this was really an intensely private and fun-filled moment—though Mia suspected that neither she nor Ram could have guessed quite how well they would move together, or what a blaze of lust-filled heat they could create.

When the music ended everyone applauded as they returned to their seats. ‘Wow,’ she exclaimed as the electricity between them subsided. ‘Where did you learn to dance like that?’

‘I could ask the same question of you,’ he said.

‘I’m afraid my answer would bore you.’

‘Try me.’

Mia pulled a face. ‘At school. You?’

‘The school of life,’ Ram confessed, shooting her his very best bad-boy smile.

‘Savage.’

‘Bluestocking.’

‘Scoundrel.’

‘Prig.’

She started laughing as they traded insults. It was a long time since she had felt this good.

‘They’re playing your song,’ Ram pointed out.

‘You did fix this,’ she accused him as ‘My Girl’ blasted out over the speakers, but then as Ram threw her a sexy grin she had a moment of doubt. Didn’t this just prove the lengths he would go to to soften her up and send her home? Maybe Tom had asked Ram to work his magic and persuade her to return to England.

And was she going to worry about that now? Or was she going to have some fun?

No contest, Mia decided as Ram pulled her to her feet. Just for tonight she was going to forget everything and let herself go.

Chapter Seven

WHEN they left the club the subject of Ram’s boat was playing on Mia’s mind. She had told the girls she would never go anywhere near it, but they would be so delighted if she could tell them all about it—and Ram was playing into her hands. He had chosen to walk back via the harbour, but he could turn up any one of the little side streets at any time. She had to come right out and ask him: Please may I see your yacht? It wouldn’t hurt to play the cute little kid sister one more time.

But as it turned out she was somewhat snippier. ‘I might as well know what I’m missing,’ she said offhandedly. ‘Seeing as your yacht is supposed to be the biggest, flashiest and most vulgar yacht in the harbour.’

‘So many compliments,’ Ram exclaimed, putting his hand on his heart. ‘I hardly know how to deal with them.’ Fortunately, he was grinning.

‘Come on, show me.’ Linking arms, she urged him along.

‘So who gave you all this info?’

‘Didn’t you?’ she said, acting bemused.

‘Me?’

Ram might well seem confused seeing as it was the girls who had talked of nothing else but Ram’s fabulous yacht, warning Mia she mustn’t return to the apartment without a truckload of insider information. And for once the girls hadn’t been exaggerating. Ram’s vessel—modestly named The Star of Ramprakesh, was indeed a floating city rather than a mere billionaire’s plaything. A helicopter and several small speedboats were comfortably housed on one of its many decks. She had seen many of these gleaming white super-yachts berthed in Monte Carlo, but never one to compare with Ram’s waterborne palace. It was more the size of a commercial cruise liner than a boat in private ownership. Spectacular? The two of them were dwarfed by it. She felt like an ant—an ant rapidly being consumed by curiosity. ‘Can we go on board?’

Ram drew back his head in mock-shock as he grinned down at her. ‘Minimal Mia craving a hit of high living? Whatever next?’

‘You can stop raising your eyebrows right now, rich boy. Just take me on board.’

She was still on a high from their unexpected rapport at the club, and nothing felt too far out of reach for her now—not even Ram.

Except she should have known better, Mia concluded, feeling the first stirrings of unease as Ram escorted her onboard with the words, ‘Welcome to Ramprakesh…’

But when had she ever played it safe? ‘So, show me round,’ she prompted, surprised at how many crew there were to salute Ram—and how many attendants greeted him with a bow. ‘There has to be more to this floating caravan of yours than a dance floor beneath the stars, a ballroom-sized saloon…and a swimming pool?’ Mia’s eyes widened as she stared in disbelief at the full-sized pool.

‘I have to get my exercise somewhere,’ Ram explained tongue in cheek. ‘And don’t forget the cinema, the badminton court, and the practice tee.’

‘Show off.’

‘Champagne?’

‘Oh, I think so.’ She felt light-headed—dizzy with excitement. It was all so…magical. And was there any better time to throw caution to the wind than when you knew you were completely safe?

Didn’t she always avoid the reality of a situation if her fantasies could create something more appealing?

Shaking off the warning voice, Mia gazed around. There was no doubt that Ram was the supreme ruler of this floating city.

Correct. Nice to see you caught up eventually. Who would know if you disappeared here?

A shiver that warned of change shot down Mia’s spine as Ram finished talking to one of the stewards. But Ram would never take advantage of her—and how often did a chance like this come around? She’d asked to come here. Ram had hardly forced her.

And so she was going to chill out and enjoy it. It wouldn’t be long before Ram would be sailing out of her life for good—and before he did she wanted to make the most of their time together.

‘Ready to see some more?’ he said.

‘You bet.’

Ram led her across the wide expanse of deck with its comfortable seating areas and occasional tables, and in through some impressive doors into an opulently decorated saloon—which was quite a bit larger than the apartment she shared with the girls. And while she stood gaping Ram opened the glass roof over their heads with a flick of a controller.

‘As man toys go, I have to say, that is impressive.’

‘Do you like it?’ Ram gestured around. ‘I had it installed recently. Why don’t you give me your professional opinion of the décor, Mia?’

This suggestion both surprised and flattered her. It had been so long since anyone had asked her opinion about design—but then she hadn’t exactly broadcast the fact that interior design was her passion after the accident; there had seemed so little

point. And while Ram seemed to be asking her a simple question she hadn’t missed the hint of challenge in his eyes.

‘Okay…’

She looked around. The saloon, as she knew the large drawing room on board a yacht this size was known, was superbly presented, but when she tried to marry up the grandiose décor with Ram’s ultra-modern sliding-roof design she hit a wall. Did she like it? Truthfully? It was all a bit old-fashioned for Ram. On the other hand, she didn’t want to rock the boat, so to speak, by insulting his in-house designers. She settled for a mealy-mouthed: ‘I honestly don’t think I could have done a better job for you, Ram.’

‘No quirky twists? I’m disappointed in you, Mia…’

And now she felt a pang of regret and wished she had been braver. It was her off-the-wall ideas that had set her apart, she had been told at college. ‘Maybe I’d have capitalised on the light a little more—toned down the background to throw the artwork forward—adjusted the lights—’