Indiscretions by Elizabeth Adler Read Free Book Online Page B

say, and then you’ll be a star. Copies! That’s all they want. And the reassurance of everyone else knowing it’s good.” And that was the reason for this party, so that it would be printed in the glossies and the dailies and read about from eternal Rome to sunny Beverly Hills, from the palaces of the Middle East to the boulevards of Paris and even, eventually, to the rain-washed streets of London.
    India leaned quietly against a pillar of faux-malachite, sipping her champagne, staring somberly at the crowd. If these were your clients, then these were the people you had to deal with. This was the one thing that bothered her about the business. Catering to rich women’s whims was definitely not her strong point. But rich women were the ones who bought what you offered. It might be theirhusbands who were paying, but it was the women who must be wooed. A gusty sigh escaped her. It was, after all, damn it, still a man’s world. Rich women wanted to deal with men, they wanted a little extra attention.…
    “Is it that bad?”
    The sound of the voice close to her ear startled India and the champagne slopped from her glass over the sleeve of the man in the dark suit standing next to her.
    “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Oh, my God, now she’d probably ruined his suit and lost Paroli an important customer. India mopped futilely at the arm with a tiny cocktail napkin. It was very wet. “Oh, dear,” she said. Her apologetic brown eyes lifted from the sleeve and met his equally deep brown ones.
    “Snap,” said Aldo Montefiore.
    India’s gaze was puzzled; she was still concentrating on the damage she’d inflicted. Who would have thought one glass of champagne could be so wet!
    “Our eyes, I mean. They are the same color.”
    “Oh. Oh, I see.” India gazed at him with new interest. He didn’t seem in the least bit bothered about his jacket. He was smiling at her, and he was
quite
attractive. Dark hair, faintly curling after a firm brushing and still wet from the shower. He wore it long on the neck, and slightly shaggy. She liked that. And she liked his brown eyes with the curling lashes. And the smile was gentle, tentative even, as though he wasn’t quite sure what her reaction would be. Like her, he wasn’t too tall—five eight or nine maybe. In her high-heeled boots and with her new fluffy hair she seemed almost as tall as he; for once she didn’t have to gaze upward, and for some silly reason that pleased her. Gazing up at a man always gave him a feeling of mastery and her a feeling of being a child with a father. Here was someone with whom she felt equal. And she definitely liked that smile. Oh, goodness, he was talkingand she’d missed what he’d said, she’d been so engrossed in gazing at him.
    “It was my fault,” he repeated gently. “I shouldn’t have startled you like that.”
    “Not at all, I’m just sorry about your jacket. Oh, dear, look at it, it’s still so wet. I tell you what—come with me and I’ll get a towel from the kitchen.” India grinned at him, the brave scarlet of her lips as glossy as her sparkling eyes. “I can’t guarantee it’ll be good as new,” she announced, leading the way, “but it will be drier.”
    The kitchen was almost as busy as the showroom: relays of waiters picked up trays of hot hors d’oeuvres and harassed chefs maneuvered, grumbling, about the small area.
    “Wait here,” cried India, darting through the crush.
    Aldo leaned against the wall of the corridor out of the way of passing waiters. He had first spotted her parking the red Fiat on the corner and had followed her along the street to Paroli. If she hadn’t turned into the showroom he would have followed her to wherever she was going, but it was his good fortune that they had both apparently been going to the same place. He still didn’t know who she was, but she obviously knew Fabrizio pretty well, and she knew her way around the showrooms and offices. She must work here. If so, she probably hadn’t