She wet the tip of her thumb with her tongue and smudged the charcoal line. Still...
She was drawn from her musing by a soft groan. Her blue eyes lifted inquiringly to the man who lounged against the far wall of the cabin. One leg was drawn up before him on the bed, where a pad of papers were propped.
He merely raised an eyebrow at her before returning to his attention to his sketching. Miriam chewed on her bottom lip as she watched his tanned hands with their long, tapered fingers and clipped nails move effortlessly across the paper. They were the hands of an artist except for the calluses. Capturing those graceful hands on paper seemed to elude her. Instead, looking down at her pad, it looked as though a daring spider scampered across the paper. She huffed a sigh.
No doubt Devlin's drawing of her would be masterful. Miriam had begun to suspect he had devised this game purely to win. She was finding herself increasingly distracted by the tanned masculinity radiating sin, his black hair mussed and tumbling over his forehead. His chest was bare, and again and again she found her eyes unwittingly drawn to the hard, muscular flesh and the two decidedly male nipples and tempting curls that tapered down over his ridged belly. Miriam had begun to further suspect that his attire, or lack of, was a deliberate ploy to out-nerve her. She took another deep breath, and was curious to see his eyes flicker to her bodice where her small breasts strained the rose damask gown.
His gaze returned to his sketch, and she glanced down at the modest handfuls squeezed together and pushed high by the constriction of her gown beneath the wispy lace fishu. For the first few days of her capture modesty had demanded she where a corset at all times. Until comfort prevailed.
Miriam fiddled with the lace fichu tucked modestly between her breasts. Again, those green eyes were drawn from the pad before him. Hmm...
Taking a deep breath, Miriam eased the fichu from around her shoulders and dropped it beside her on the wooden chest upon which she sat. At his narrowed gaze, she mumbled "It's quite warm". Her guilty blush only added veracity to her fib.
Miriam's sudden surge of competitiveness had nothing to do with the fact that her pirate refused to kiss her for more than three days now. Perhaps 'refused' was too strong a word. Devlin's demand of a kiss for every meal, bath and whatever else he determined arbitrarily, had abruptly ended. Not that Miriam should be complaining that she no longer had to withstand the shockingly bold kisses that made her feel feverish and unladylike. But it irked her down to the pink silk ribbons on her garters that Devlin no longer wanted to kiss her.
Sure, Miriam wasn't as pretty as her sister Carly. Both shared the silvery blonde hair and the Montague blue eyes. But Miriam was tall and willowy whereas Carly was all curvy and feminine and bountiful. Yet this hadn't seemed to stop Devlin from wanting to kiss her in the first place.
Miriam brushed the silky tips of blonde strands against her bottom lip as she gazed unseeingly at her drawing. She had dreamed of Devlin again last night. Just the thought of it made her toes curl. He had been kissing her neck and breasts, his breath warm against her skin. Which had swiftly turned to tender nibbles. Then honest sucking.
With a groan, she wiggled where she sat, trying to drag her attention back to her drawing. Nope, still a spider. Glancing up, she found herself pinned by a pair of devilish green eyes. And blushed.
"Miriam."
"Mmm...?"
"What were you thinking of?"
"Um. Nothing."
"Nothing." He repeated.
"That is what I said," she replied, nodding.
"Then how is it I don't believe you?"
"It is not something I can prove, Devlin."
"Or disprove."
"Well, that too."
"So if I were to hazard a guess, and I was right, would you tell me?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you seem to have a fascination with games and we have yet to complete the current one."
"You win."
"Pardon?"
"I declare your drawing to be the winner."
"But you haven't seen my drawing."
"None the less, a winner has been declared. Which leaves us free to begin a new game."
"But I want to see your drawing."
"Fine. Here." He tossed the pad to the end of the bed. She leaned forward with outstretched fingers. A strange noise made her look up, and she discovered his gaze fixed on her décolletage.
She sat back abruptly, holding his pad in front of her. He glanced up at the ceiling, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Are you well?" Miriam asked.
"Well enough. Were you thinking of me?"
"I --"
"Before you answer, I would recall that you are a terrible liar."
"I -- a lady never lies!"
"Perhaps 'liar' is too strong a word. Minor fabrications, then."
"Are you suggesting I fabricate?"
"On occasion. And are a shocking fabricator at that."
"When?"
"When what?" he drawled.
"When did I fabricate?"
