crackled to life whenever he was near. Along with his confidence in his own abilities, and the fact that he clearly desired her too, he was the perfect candidate if she wanted to take a lover.
A pang of guilt seized her. Neither Charlotte nor Wolff knew she was a princess, however. Would they treat her any differently if they knew?
Charlotte’s advice would probably remain the same, even if she discovered her secret. She fully believed in a woman taking control of her own pleasure, whatever her station in life.
But Anya doubted Wolff would see her in the same light, as a potential bed partner, if he knew her background. He’d probably balk at deflowering an aristocratic virgin, no matter how willing that virgin was. It was shamefully dishonest not to tell him, but she’d come to a decision; she wanted him.
“Do you think a man can sleep with a woman without feeling anything for her other than physical attraction?” she asked.
Charlotte met her eyes. “Honestly? Yes, I do. For many men it’s just scratching an itch with the nearest available body. Women, on the other hand, need their mind made love to, not just their limbs.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “One of my theories is that men love with their eyes, while we women love with all of our senses. We like to have our brains stimulated by clever conversation and witty repartee. We like to hear a man’s laugh, to have our stomach tighten when we catch a whiff of his cologne, to feel the prickles of his jaw.” She gave a laughing sigh. “Men, in general, just need a pair of breasts shoved in their face and they’re raring to go.”
Anya chuckled and glanced down at her own exposed décolletage. “In that case, I’d say I’m perfectly attired for a successful seduction.”
Charlotte stood and caught Anya’s hands in her own. “Bravo! It’s your decision, my darling. Do whatever makes you happy.” She pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I must be getting home. The girls will be wondering where I am. Good luck with whatever you decide.”
Chapter 21.
Anya heard Wolff’s return an hour or so later, and the tempo of her pulse increased. She heard the door to the adjacent suite open and close, and waited an extra half hour to give him time to get dressed for the evening. Then she slipped on her shoes, collected her mask, and made her way along the hall to his chamber, excitement warring with nerves in her chest.
He opened the door—clearly expecting Mickey because his gaze swiftly readjusted downward about eight inches to her face. And then his eyes swept the rest of her, and Anya held her breath. His chocolate-brown gaze seemed to devour every inch of her, and her skin heated in response.
He smiled, a lazy smile that caused his cheek to crease into that almost-but-not-quite dimple, and her heart gave an irregular kick. He was so full of vitality, so ludicrously handsome, that she felt momentarily dizzy. The stark black and white of his formal evening clothes made him look both commanding and slightly wicked. Like Lucifer on his best behavior.
“You look exquisite, Miss Brown.”
Anya dropped him a pert little curtsey. “Why, thank you. Charlotte came and gave me some help to get ready. We both approve of your choice.”
She peered around his body, trying to sneak a glimpse of his rooms, but he placed both hands on the doorframe and leaned forward, denying her entry to what he obviously considered his private, inner sanctum.
The move only increased her desire to see it.
He leaned close enough for her to catch a faint whiff of cologne and warm skin, but she ignored the traitorous clenching of her stomach.
“I take it, from your outfit, that you’ve decided to lend me your assistance this evening.”
“That’s what I wish to discuss with you.” Anya ducked neatly beneath his outstretched arm and slipped past him into his room. He turned with a muttered curse, and she bit back a smile.
“So this is the lair of the big bad Wolff,” she teased. “I must confess, I’ve wanted to see it.” She studied the red leather-topped desk and overstuffed armchairs with a chuckle of delight. “Hmm. Rather disappointing. I was sure there’d be more ravished virgins and piles of human bones.”
He crossed his arms and sent her a look that was part amused, part exasperated.
“Make yourself at home,” he said dryly. He prowled toward her and she took a retreating step