Free Indiscretions by Elizabeth Adler Page A

didn’t drive you?”
    She hadn’t realized how tired she was until she settled back in her seat, wriggling her toes in the black boots. A glance at Aldo’s profile showed him concentrating on the still dense traffic. In the lights of passing cars he looked older, even a little sad. She liked his strong dark features with the prominent cheekbones and slightly battered nose. And the dark eyes so like her own. His hands on the wheel were square and firm with a scatter of dark silken hairs across the back. A tiny shiver of response fluttered along India’s spine as her gaze rested on his hands.
    Aldo shifted his attention from the traffic for an instant and glanced at the girl beside him. She was staring straight ahead, and her face looked pale under the streetlights. She was heart-touchingly pretty. India Haven had a quality that inspired tenderness in a man, and tenderness was exactly what he had been determined to avoid. But he couldn’t, he knew that now.
    “It’s left here.” Her charmingly accented voice broke his reverie and he swung the small car quickly to the left and around the corner, following her instructions and concentrating once more on the traffic.
    “Right at the next corner and we’re there,” said India. “It’s this building, right here.”
    The car purred to a smooth stop. “As smooth as a Rolls,” said India with an impish grin.
    “I’ve missed my vocation. I should have been a motor mechanic.”
    “Really?”
    Aldo smiled deprecatingly. “No, not really. But I love this little car, she’s become something of a passion with me.”
    A passion. India wondered about his passion. Shechanged the subject. “Tell me, Aldo Montefiore, what do you do?”
    “I manage the family estates. Not very well yet, but I’m learning. And what do you do?”
    “I assist Fabrizio. Not very well yet, but I’m learning.”
    His laugh was low and appreciative, and like his hands, it sent a little frisson through her. India felt herself relaxing; she was enjoying his company, enjoying the way he looked, the way he was. To hell with Marisa and the cousin, she decided suddenly, she was enjoying herself.
    Aldo glanced at the building where India Haven lived. Its stone façade looked forbidding and its vast double doors that would lead, as they all did, to a tiny courtyard were firmly shuttered against the night and intruders. Which were her rooms?
    “There”—she pointed them out to him—“On the first floor. Too big, really, for just one person and a bit bare yet, but I’m decorating them slowly in the best Paroli style. I hope we didn’t spill too much champagne on the carpet,” she added with a grin “—tomorrow it’s mine. It will enhance the faded marble grandeur of the Haven residence and add considerably to my warmth and comfort on the forthcoming cold winter nights. You can think of me wriggling my toes in its comforting luxury as the snow falls over Rome in January.”
    “I’ll remember to do that,” he replied, wondering if she was going to invite him up for a drink.
    “I hear you are a count,” India said suddenly. “The Conte di Montefiore.”
    “And I hear you’re Jenny Haven’s daughter.” Aldo’s smile was amiable, relaxed.
    India stiffened. So that was it. He knew who she was. Her spirits drooped suddenly. And, I suppose, she thought miserably, he thinks I’m another little rich girl, ripe for the picking. Another cousin Renata. Well, he’s mistaken. Jenny may have money, but she’s worked forevery cent of it. Her millions came from her own endeavors and there’s no way she’d be happy to see them expended on saving and restoring Italian palaces. You’ve got the wrong girl, Count Aldo.
    The slam of the door sounded angry, and Aldo’s face showed his surprise as he leapt after her.
    “Good night,” said India stiffly, “and thank you for driving me home. I really appreciated it.”
    “But, India, I want to see you again. Would you have dinner with me tomorrow