her feet and stood. Without a word, he took her hand and led her through the doorway into her bedroom.
Anya went, unresisting. Who would have thought, when he’d propositioned her back at Charlotte’s, that he would end up being her first lover in truth? She had no misgivings. He was the perfect man to relieve her of her unwanted virginity. He was gentle, despite his size, honorable, despite his reputation.
No lamp had been lit. The four upright posts of the bed loomed out of the darkness. He turned her by the shoulders so her back was to him.
“This dress is very fetching, but I’d prefer to see you out of it.”
His fingers were swift and sure as he unbuttoned her as efficiently as any lady’s maid. The bodice of the dress was boned to act as a corset too, so when she peeled it off her arms and let it fall to the floor in a puff of teal, she was left in only her silk chemise and drawers.
The cool air on her skin was a thrilling contrast to the warmth of his breath on her shoulder, and a wonderful confusion swirled in her belly, the promise of secret delights. She shivered, but not from cold.
She was no longer an ice princess, untouched by earthly desires. Anya could feel herself warming, melting like the fictional Snegurochka. The problems with that were obvious; she couldn’t afford to care for Wolff any more than she already did. Even now, she was dangerously attracted to him, not just physically, but emotionally too. She respected him, trusted him. He was a good man, fiercely loyal to those he loved, dedicated to his work for Bow Street and to making his business a success. He was strong enough, and cynical enough, to protect her from men like Vasili.
But their brief liaison couldn’t possibly last. They were like two ships blown together by a freak storm. They would part company soon enough. But at least for tonight, they could enjoy each other’s company to the utmost.
The heat of his chest warmed her back through the thin silk of her chemise. He slid his hands to her hips and tugged her back against him, soft against hard, and she marveled at the difference in their size. He was huge, hot and muscled, but she felt nothing but worshipped as he bent and kissed her neck, her jaw, the sensitive hollow behind her ear. She tilted her head to grant him better access, a wordless demand.
“Do you like that, Miss Brown?” he teased with a low laugh. “You’ll like this more.”
He shaped her waist then slid his hands upward to cup her breasts. Anya gasped. They seemed to swell into his palms, heavy and aching as he squeezed them gently through the silk. He brushed his fingers over the sensitive peaks, and she moaned in delight at the strange, wonderful abrasion.
She turned in his arms and ran her hands greedily over his skin, exploring the contours of his chest. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her fingertips, and he sucked in a breath as she skated her fingers over his flat male nipples. Filled with a devilish impulse, she leaned into him and flicked her tongue over one. His fingers tightened in her hair.
“Wicked girl.” He peppered hot kisses over her face—her cheek, the corner of her eye, then found her mouth again and kissed her long and deep. “Two can play at that game.”
In a lightning move, he lifted her chemise over her head and lowered her to the bed. Anya gasped at the feel of his chest bare against hers. He kissed his way down her throat then rubbed his lightly stubbled jaw over the soft skin of her breasts, creating a shiver-inducing friction that had her squirming in delight.
He trailed his tongue in a lazy, ever-decreasing circle around one rosy peak, and when he captured it between his lips, she gave a soft, startled cry of wonder. All sensible thoughts fled. His hand slid over her hip, bunching the silk of her drawers, and despite her excitement, she stiffened.
He lifted his head and caught her gaze. “Relax. Let yourself get accustomed to my touch.”
His voice, deepened by desire, made her shiver. Still holding her gaze, he stroked his palm over her stomach, then lower still, between her legs, petting her through the silk. To her mortification, she felt dampness there, the evidence of her desire. She put her hand down to try to shield