Indiscretions Read Online Free PDF Page B

concepts of style. And her driving ambition. Paris knew she had talent. She knew her capacity for solid hard work. She believed in herself infinitely. All she needed now was someone else to believe in her as much as she believed in herself.
    Amadeo was aware of her light breath on his cheek as together they leaned over the table while she placed the sketches in front of him. They were clever, there was no doubt about it. And original—sometimes too much so. His expert eye calculated the retail possibilities of such a line … risky but exciting. “You might get the smart, younger boutiques to take some of these. Those on the Place des Victoires, for instance, or one or two in LesHalles. You should make up samples and take them round,
cara
. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to try them.”
    Paris’s deep, dark blue eyes widened in horror. “Oh, but it’s a
couture
line. I must do the
whole
collection. Don’t you see, Amadeo, it all goes together, the colors, the fabrics, the entire feeling.”
    Amadeo flung back his head and laughed. “You want to start at the top, then, Paris Haven?”
    His eyes mocked her and to her horror Paris felt herself blush.
Merde
, she thought angrily, I haven’t blushed in years, why am I now? People have laughed at me before. She turned away moodily.
    “Why not?”
    Her voice trembled slightly and he could see the delicate curves of her profile. Her full, voluptuous mouth belied the slenderness of her body, giving more than a hint of sexuality to her face. He’d indulge her, he decided, glancing at his watch. He had the time and she was intriguing.
    “Why not?” repeated Paris turning to face him. “Where else is there to start?”
    This time Amadeo hid the smile. It was obvious that Jenny Haven’s daughter had a lot to learn.
    “A good attitude,
cara
,” he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders and leading her back toward the luxurious sleigh-bed sofa. “Come and sit here and let us discuss it together. Tell me how I can help.”
    Paris felt the weight of tension and anxiety lift from her like a cloud dispersed by the wind. He
had
liked the designs, then, he must have done. Why else would he want to know how he could help? She refilled his glass generously with whiskey and topped up her Campari, straight this time with just a thin green sliver of lime floating in its rosy pinkness. She sipped it slowly, enjoying its slightly bitter taste.
    “You see, Amadeo,” she began, “I know I can be asuccess. I worked for three years in major couture houses. I did everything. I stitched, I did fittings, I learned how to plan out a pattern, I was taught how to cut by a master, I even provided sketches for three of the last collections. My designs
sold
, Amadeo, they were a success! But of course there was no acknowledgment that they were my designs. I couldn’t bear the rigid attitude of the couture houses any longer. I needed to be on my own, to develop my own style. And now I feel that I have.”
    Amadeo took her hand and held it lightly in his. Her skin was soft, the fingers long and slender, and he stroked the hand lightly. Paris’s voice had a passion born of her eagerness. Just watching her mouth as she talked, the cushiony curve of her underlip, stirred his excitement.
    “Go on, little one, tell me all,” he murmured, bringing her hand to his lips.
    Paris scarcely felt his light kiss. She was carried away by her own words, by her own desires. She had Amadeo Vitrazzi here now and he was listening to her, she
must
convince him
now
.
    “Youth has its own kind of elegance, Amadeo. It demands clothes with more freedom of expression, pieces that can be flung together and yet look like a whole. That’s the concept I based my collection on, and that’s why it must all be seen together. It can’t be taken from boutique to boutique in a suitcase and shown across a counter. My clothes would look like hell seen like that. They need young, moving bodies inside, they are meant to be