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I took the pile from her, frowning as I stared down at the tiny fabric she considered would pass for underwear. “Um…there’s a mistake. I don’t wear briefs. Or thongs.”
“You are in France. Men do not wear…” She yanked open the curtain and let her eyes trail over my body. “—boxers. You will wear these.”
Then she yanked the curtain closed and walked away. Well, I couldn’t keep wearing the underwear I had on. I didn’t even want to know how many days it had been since I’d had a change of clothes. It was best not to think about it.
I set the pile down and weeded through them until I found something that was passable as underwear. Stepping into it, I cringed at the feel of the fabric cutting off just below my butt cheeks. It was…weird. I kept pulling and bending, trying to make sure they would be comfortable enough before putting on the pants. I checked out my reflection in the mirror, turning and looking at my ass. They actually looked pretty good on me. It was amazing at how defined my ass was now. And my package…I let out a low whistle and gave my cock a good tug, impressed with how big it looked in this particular pair of underwear.
“Not bad at all.”
I clapped my hands together as I whistled, grabbing the pants and stepping into them. They were cool for certain, but made me look like a pretentious jerk. I grabbed the blue button-down next and pulled it on. I had a feeling it was supposed to be tucked in, but I couldn’t go that far. I left it hanging out, then pulled on the linen jacket. I didn’t look half bad. I would definitely blend in a lot better now than how I showed up. But there was no way I could drive my motorcycle like this. The linen would get all wrinkled.
I jerked open the curtain to find the sales clerk waiting for me. I spun three hundred and sixty degrees, holding my hands out wide. “Huh? What do you think?” I asked with a wide grin on my face.
She slowly perused my body, her eyes wandering over me appreciatively. “Much better.”
She nodded to the floor. “And those.”
At my feet were a pair of…”You want me to wear loafers?”
“It goes with the outfit.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Lady, I don’t wear loafers.”
She pushed off the wall, stalking toward me slowly. A thin expanse of her belly showed as she raised her arms and wrapped them around my neck. Her lips were just a scant inch from my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
“You look so decadent right now. This is the final step to blending in, to making the outfit look just…right,” she said just before she nipped my ear with her teeth. I shivered again as she stepped back and batted her eyes at me.
How could I argue with that? I mean, I absolutely hated loafers. No man in his right mind would wear them, especially if there was the possibility he would have to run from someone. But she said they would make the outfit complete, and who was I to argue with her?
I slid my foot inside the first one, cringing at how they made me feel. I tried to imagine running from a baddie in these. They’d probably give me blisters or fall off my feet. But she said I should wear them. I slid my other foot in the second shoe and grinned at her.
“So? How do I look?”
She cocked her head to the side as she walked forward, running her fingers down the front of my suit. “You kept the shirt untucked.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t do it.”
Her fingers played with the skin just below my collarbone. “I like it,” she whispered. “There’s just one final touch.”
She winked at me as she turned and walked away. I swallowed hard, wondering what she could possibly want to add to the outfit.
“I’m not wearing any gold jewelry!” I shouted. I looked at myself in the mirror one last time and sighed. “I do look really good.” I could never wear something like this around OPS. I would get the shit beat out of me. And since I was in another country…
I picked up my old clothes and shoved them in a bag resting on the counter. After double-checking my stash of money, I tucked it into my pocket, making sure it couldn’t easily be snatched.
Sliding my hand into my pocket, I casually strolled out of the dressing room and around the corner where the sales clerk was waiting for me. The way she stood, swaying ever-so-slightly from side to side, had me ready to pounce. I had never been with a French woman before, but I could imagine just how erotic it could be.
She pulled a hat out from behind her back and held it out to me. It looked like some kind of straw fedora. Not exactly what I pictured Indiana Jones wearing, but it was pretty cool.
“It’s called a Panama.” She lifted it, gently setting it on my head. “There, it’s perfect.”
I caught my reflection in the mirror behind her and studied myself. It did look good on me. I slid my finger and thumb along the brim of the hat, feeling every bit the part of 007. Yeah, I could get used to this.
“Will that be cash or charge?” she asked, walking behind the counter.
“Cash.” I pulled out the wad of cash and watched as her eyes widened. She probably thought I was rich, that I walked around with this as my spending money. In fact, it was everything I had to my name. Well, to this fake persona I was living. Back at home, I still had a bank account with a fairly decent amount of money in it. Not that I could touch it. The government would be on me in a flash.
I counted out the money for her, hoping I got it right. I wasn’t used to paying in foreign currency. She handed me my change, then walked around the corner with a coquettish grin on her face.
