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—