His movement – a habit perhaps? – to strum along wood caused a brief and highly unfortunate mental image to assault her mind’s eye. For a man that didn’t play instruments, metaphorically or otherwise, he had the hands of a pianist and she pictured them playing down her spine for a moment. Horrid choice as she felt her cheeks heat as if she’d run into the wind.

“I play by my rules.” She retorted, the lame quip doing little to hold her ground. She was well aware how forward she had been, could even be ashamed, but he had caught her so off guard with his own gift. There was no way he believed it appropriate to send her jewelry, not so soon. The fact she was wearing them now as if he had staked some claim was beside the point completely.

It was very hard to play at this game when his step forward left her just below his chin, forcing her to tip her head to meet his eyes if she intended to hold her ground. “You mistake my meaning.” She offered casually before taking one smaller sip of the sherry before placing it on the sideboard rather closer to his questing hand than necessary.  “I never said ‘offended.’” Shocked was accurate right along with delighted or, in his words, expectant. “Unless you would like to hear me lie in the name of delicate surrender and whatnot.” She neither beaten nor delicate at the moment; she felt like fire given flesh with him so close. "No, Mister Selwyn, intrigued is the word you need."

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