The room burst into boisterous applause.
She was incredible.
Jag swallowed, and in the action regained his center, or perhaps more accurately, recentered with her.
In the lighting and humidity, she was big-eyed and dewy and hopeful—a princess the world could love—and she had completely stolen the spotlight from both himself and his father.
He couldn’t think of another woman in the world who could have done it better.
He was ready to have her to himself.
Fortunately, one of the perks of being a prince was leaving when you wanted to.
Lifting Rita’s arm while the applause died down, Jag announced, “We are sorry to say farewell, my friends, but after two weeks of electric mania, an exhilarating race and this wonderful party, I am afraid I must whisk my bride away.”
The room let out a collective sigh of disappointment, and Jag had to stop himself from smiling. His father did not have a chance against Rita.
It was slow going, making their way out in an endless parade of additional waves and farewells, but he and his newly revealed princess made their way through the red-carpeted main entrance of the botanical gardens to the driveway where the valet waited for them, holding open the door of the Ferrari.
Rita sucked in an audible breath, a bright smile coming to her face. “You had a fresh set of rubber put on,” she said, cheeks darkening.
He laughed. Only Rita would comment on tires. But beneath the words, there was a trill of real excitement, and he knew he’d made the right choice.
“After you, Princess.” He had not intended to draw the word out, to make it into a sensual caress, bold and telling when uttered while staring into her eyes.
Her lips parted and then closed again as she swallowed, rapt and otherwise frozen.
And then she blinked, as if snapping out of a spell, and licked her lips with a fleeting frown that disappeared as soon as her eyes returned to the car. Her gaze cleared and she took a deep breath, smiling before she slid into the passenger seat.
Taking the keys from the valet as he walked around the front, he got into the driver’s seat beside her.
“You’re driving?” she asked, surprised.
He sighed, drawing out the sound though he felt no real irritation. She could question the obvious as much as she wanted, so long as she never stopped being her open and honest self with him. “Did you think I was going to ride in the back?”
“I’ve just never seen you drive before,” she pushed, and he laughed.
“Well, then, you’re in for a treat. I hope you like to go fast.”
Lighting up like a star in the sky, she answered, though she didn’t have to. “Do I ever.”
Laughter extending, Jag shook his head as he turned the system on.
He loved it when she spoke like a character from a film.
And then they were off, her squealing in delight the whole way.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOMEWOMENLOVEDexpensive gifts. Some women loved cuddly things. Rita loved cars.
Jag raced through the streets of Hayat City at unconscionable speeds, dashing past unbothered police officers and through lights that were somehow always miraculously green. Rita’s heart thundered and her body felt skin-tinglingly alive.
The man could drive.
He drove fearlessly and with purpose, and it was everything she could do not to stare at his profile at the wheel.
The car, the man—it was nearly too much.