Flora froze. How did her sister know? ‘I haven’t been frolicking,’ she said, hating how unconvincing she sounded. Alex looked up at her words and his mouth curved wickedly.
‘I beg to differ,’ he said, too quietly for Minerva to hear, and Flora’s whole body began to simmer in response.
‘Look,’ she said hurriedly, wanting to get Minerva off the phone, everything else replied to and Alex back here, on the bed, while she was still allowed to want that. ‘You are going to have to speak in words of one syllable. What are you talking about?’
Her sister huffed. ‘Who is handling your PR for the Lexy Chapman campaign? I hope you know how humiliating it is for me that you didn’t even ask me to pitch.’
Her what? ‘Merva, there isn’t a campaign.’
Disbelieving silence. ‘You expect me to believe that the most stylish woman in Britain was photographed in your scarf by a complete coincidence?’
‘I know you too well to expect anything, but yes. That’s what happened. Goodness, Merva, as if I would ever not ask you in the highly unlikely event I was going to run a campaign. My inbox is full, my social media is insane, I have voicemails from scary influential people I don’t dare call back and I’m terrified even thinking about logging onto my shop because I don’t have enough stock to fulfil half a dozen orders.’ She could hear her voice rising and took a deep breath. ‘Come on, even I know enough not to launch a campaign like that.’
Minerva was silent for a moment and Flora could picture her as if they were in the same room, the gleam of excitement in her eyes, the satisfaction on her cat-like face. Her sister loved a challenge—and she always won. ‘I need you,’ she added.
‘I know you do,’ but Minerva’s voice wasn’t smug. She sounded businesslike. ‘Leave everything to me. I’ll take care of it all. Right. I need to know who has left you a message and why, all your social-media account details and you need to forward me every email. Oh, and let me know your current stock list. You won’t be able to supply everyone so let’s make sure you only focus on the people who matter. When are you back?’
‘The day after tomorrow.’ Too soon.
‘Christmas Eve? The timing is really off. We’ll lose all momentum over the holidays.’
‘Yes, well, next time I inadvertently sell a scarf to a style icon I’ll make sure she only wears it at a more convenient time.’
‘Luckily...’ it was as if she hadn’t spoken ‘...I am a genius and I can fix this. Right, I want all that information in the next half-hour. Do not speak to a single journalist without my say-so, do not promise as much as a scrap of fabric to anyone—and, Flora? Keep your phone on.’ Minerva rang off.
‘Goodbye, Flora. It was nice speaking to you. The kids send their love,’ Flora muttered as she put the phone down, her head spinning. ‘Alex, it’s okay. Minerva is going to save the world armed with a few Tweets and her contact list.’
‘Thank goodness.’ He pushed the chair back. ‘There are some hysterical women out there—and some even more hysterical men who think they will never have sex again if they don’t produce one of your scarves on Christmas morning. No pressure.’
She flopped back onto the bed, her phone clutched in her hand. ‘I just need to get all this information to Minerva and then we can head into Innsbruck—if you still want to go, that is?’
‘We could.’ His voice was silky; that particular tone was the one that always made her blood heat up, her body ache. ‘Or we could use our time far more productively.’
Flora propped herself up on one arm and looked at him from under her lashes. ‘Productive sounds good. What do you have in mind?’
He picked up the scarf and twisted it into a slim rope, pulling it taut between his hands before looking back at her, a gleam in his eye. ‘Such a versatile material. I’m sure we’ll think of something.’
‘HERE YOU ARE. I was beginning to think you’d got yourself stranded in a ski lodge again.’ Alex allowed the hotel door to swing closed behind him and leaned against the wall, watching her appreciatively. ‘Room in there for a little one?’
‘It’s not that sort of bath,’ Flora told him, slipping a little further into the bubbles so that all he could see was her hair piled into a messy knot on the top of her head. Little tendrils had escaped and were curling in the heat; his hands itched with the need to touch them.
‘What other sort is there?’ It was hard to make conversation knowing that she was naked and wet. Totally exposed and yet completely veiled. Whose idea was it to put a bath in the middle of the bedroom? Probably Lola’s. If he weren’t so angry with his ex-designer’s lack of professionalism he would track her down and offer her a bonus. It was genius. That was it; every building he designed from now on would have a bath in the middle of a room. Even if it was supposed to be an office. Or a shopping centre.
Flora moved and the water lapped against the side of the bath, the sound another tantalising reminder of her undressed state. ‘This is a ball-preparation bath. It involves all kinds of depilation, exfoliating, filing and moisturising.’
‘Sounds serious.’ He took a step closer to her, then another. Each step unveiled a little bit more, the tilt of her face, rosy from the hot water, her long neck a delicate blush pink. Then bubbles, clothing the rest of her, although if he craned his neck and looked really hard there were a few intriguing gaps in the white suds revealing hints of interesting things.
‘It is. Deadly serious. Did you find everything you wanted at the Christmas markets?’
‘Yep. Eventually. I had a long hard morning on the slopes first. Gustav was desolated that you missed your last day’s lessons. He had a particularly challenging slope ready for you. So what have you been doing while I was skiing and shopping?’
‘Ugh.’ The sigh was long and heartfelt. ‘I have spent most of the day sat at my laptop video-calling Minerva. Although you’ll never guess what she was wearing...’
Alex’s mouth curved into a slow smile. He knew Minerva. ‘Last Christmas’s skirt.’
‘And a scarf I gave her a couple of years ago in her hair. Nice to know my presents suddenly have value. Not that I should complain. She has sorted everything. Although she’s set up a couple of interviews for next week.’ She sounded apprehensive. ‘Face to face and photos, which is not good news after all the Kaffee and Kuchen I’ve had—especially the Kuchen.’
‘Don’t forget your dad’s five-course Christmas dinner,’ Alex reminded her helpfully and laughed as she groaned.
‘Don’t—you know how upset he gets if we skip anything—and he thinks that seconds is the only real way of gauging a dish’s success. But I am really grateful. She’s taken over the social media and created waiting lists, replied to all the emails and soothed every fashion editor’s ruffled feathers. Her poor staff, two days before Christmas, and she pulled a three-line whip. I almost feel guilty that I’m luxuriating in this bath—and then I remember that this too is work.’ She sank a little further into the steaming water with a small purr of pleasure.
‘How much is she charging you?’
‘That’s the best bit. It’s my Christmas present. She’s keeping the exorbitantly expensive scented candles she had bought me, which are far more her bag anyway, and is giving me her staff’s toil instead, nicely wrapped with a big bow on top.’
Alex bit back a smile. ‘How very generous of her, although a cynical person would point out that it’s not doing her any harm. You’re the one in demand. She’s