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If so, why? Once more, Benedikt’s name came to mind.
Before Annalena could object to the dress, the designer did. She shook her head emphatically and requested that Ms Becker stop fingering the delicate fabric, so crisply that Annalena had to stifle a smile.
Then the woman turned to her. ‘Now, madam, if you’ll permit, we need to take your measurements. If you wouldn’t mind stripping to your underwear.’
Four sets of eyes scrutinised her and she felt a flicker of nerves. The last time she’d undressed before a stranger was when her grandmother had insisted she be fitted for her first bra, an experience she’d never wanted to repeat.
Annalena rose and reached for her shirt’s top button. ‘Thank you, Ms Becker, that will be all.’
‘But—’
‘I’ll call if you’re needed.’
By the time she’d finished unbuttoning, Ida had left, the door closing hard behind her.
‘Sensible decision,’ the designer said. ‘She obviously has no idea what suits you. Why she thought she could add anything useful I don’t know.’ She clicked her fingers and one of the assistants scurried forward with a tape measure. ‘Now, let’s begin.’
‘Hello?’
Her voice wasn’t as Benedikt had ever heard it. He was used to clipped words and a shadow of suspicion. But her voice was mellow, with a warm, husky edge that made the flesh at his nape tighten and his groin stir.
He frowned. ‘Annalena? Where are you?’
His staff had assured him she hadn’t left her rooms, but he’d tried the landline several times already, finally resorting to her mobile phone.
‘Where do you think, since you sent a stream of visitors to keep me out of mischief?’
She didn’t sound quite so languid now, but there was still something about her tone…
‘So you admit you’re a mischief-maker?’
To his surprise that elicited a gurgle of laughter, rich and velvety. He shifted in his office chair on the far side of the palace, horrified at how her casual laugh went straight to his gonads.
‘If only you knew. I was always the good girl. Serious, studious.’
Benedikt’s imagination took the idea and ran with it.
Instead of a dirndl or jeans and T-shirt, his mind supplied a fitted pencil skirt, high-collared shirt and heels. Her green eyes surveyed him over clear glasses with an invitation at odds with her buttoned-up clothes. And she was pouting, her plush mouth pure invitation.
She looked like an incredibly alluring librarian. He could imagine her descending a tall library ladder, book in hand, the tight fit of her skirt lovingly outlining her backside and slender legs. His fingers twitched as if to reach for her.
Benedikt cleared his throat. Since when did he have librarian fantasies?
Not librarian fantasies. Fantasies about Annalena. Remember last night’s dreams?
He adjusted his trousers where they’d grown tight.
She spoke again, saving him from the need to reply. ‘My grandmother demanded good behaviour. I had to be a role model.’
Benedikt rubbed his jaw and sank back in his chair. ‘I know how that feels.’
Even if he baulked at sharing real power, his father had been adamant Benedikt be the perfect crown prince because that reflected on him.
‘You too? Did you ever rebel?’
‘All the time. But not in public.’
From the moment he could choose for himself he’d spent most of his time outside Prinzenberg, returning only when necessary. It had made his father furious but he’d put up with it when he’d realised Benedikt’s growing business acumen led to sizeable profits. Profits he’d hoped to redirect to his own coffers.