Page 62 of Fierce

I couldn’t complain too much about anything, though, when I was embarking with Hemi on another walking tour of Paris. Well, what was supposed to be a walking tour, except that we passed the shop windows of Chantal Thomass before we’d even made it five blocks. I couldn’t resist a peek, and Hemi saw me do it.

He stopped. “Pretty, eh.”

“Yes,” I said. “It is.”

I wasn’t even talking about the window displays. I was just looking at the building. Three sets of curving windows rose in perfect harmony against a pale gray background, were edged by extravagantly thick curlicues of white plaster trim as elaborate as the frosting on a wedding cake. In Paris, it seemed, even the buildings looked good enough to eat.

Hemi, though, had already moved past that. He had hold of my hand and was tugging me inside. “Perfect.”

“We’re supposed to be looking at art,” I protested, attempting to shore up my rapidly weakening resolve. “And churches.”

“I will be looking at art. At beautiful things, anyway. And you could call it research.”

“You going into the ladies’ lingerie business?” I was still giving it my best effort. “Girls’ stuff is pretty different from boys’.”

“It is, eh. Good to know.” He was already prowling the rooms of the chocolate-box shop with its tall, ornate pier-glass mirrors set against pink walls, the inevitable pink armchairs and crystal chandeliers, pulling items off shelves and racks as a frighteningly chic brunette saleswoman glided forward to meet us.

“The lady requires a fitting room, please,” Hemi said, handing her an armful of garments.

She took one look at the cut of his suit and his hair and was already moving to comply. “Certainly, monsieur. If madame would come this way?”

When Hemi followed me through the door, though, and shut the pink velvet curtain behind him, I balked.

“No,”I hissed. “What’s she going to think?”

“That I want to help you choose?” He sat down on a pale-pink bench, looking much too big, too dark, and too fierce to be anything but incongruous against the quilted pink walls, with an expression on his face that I was sure was supposed to be innocent and didn’t fool me one bit. “What? Would you rather I sit in the middle of the shop and have you model for me out there? I’d love seeing you walk out to me in your undies, having you turn for me so I can see the back, but you may get a bit embarrassed, I’m thinking. I’ve noticed you do tend to get embarrassed over certain…acts, so I’m just guessing. But I’m thinking I’m right.”

I had my hands on my hips now. “You are so…And anyway, if you’re in here, she’s going to think…”

“Yeh?” he asked softly. “What’s she going to think?”

“That I’m giving you a—” I stopped, because he had that smile starting around his eyes. He didn’t tease, and he didn’t banter? I had news for him. He did both.

“Yeh,” he said. “She may. What d’you reckon? If I spend enough…”

I went for sass. Whatever he said, I could tell he liked it. But I kept my voice down. “No. Absolutely not. Anyway, unfortunately for you, I don’t even know how. I’ve seen videos, of course, but I’m thinking there’s some technique involved, and alas…” I raised my shoulders in an extravagant shrug. “I’ve never had a teacher, have I? And we have all this art to look at and everything, so oh, well.” I sighed. “Maybe I can find somebody else to show me sometime.” And all right, I threw that one in there just to see what he would do. I could tease, too.

What it did, in fact, was make him lose the casual expression. “No, you won’t. You’re not finding anybody else to show you. That’s going to be me.”

I had to smile a little inside. He was so easy. “Is it? I’ll see if I can remember that. Well, if you want to watch…” I shrugged, pulled my sweater, another waist-length one, plain black this time, over my head with a little extra wriggle that wasn’t strictly necessary, then hung it on a hook before turning my back to Hemi and unzipping my short red plaid skirt and letting it drop to the floor. And then I bent over, took off my boots, and shimmied my black tights down my legs.

Yes, I was stripping for Hemi, and I was enjoying it, too. There was apparently a lot of bad girl hiding inside me, and it had only taken one incredible night to bring it out. Who knew?

I tossed the tights onto the chair with the skirt, then peeped over my shoulder at him. “Sure I need to do this? I have underwear already. And it’s nice, don’t you think?”

He shifted on his bench, not looking quite as comfortable as he had been. “Bloody hell.”

“Mm. You like them?” Hot pink, cut high on the cheeks in a style that I privately thought was even sexier than a thong. “See? I’m all good. Don’t need a sugar daddy to buy me sexy French lingerie or anything.”

“Except that I can tell it came from Target. You forget—I’m a professional.” He’d recovered, was holding up a padded hanger with a bra clipped to it that my hands longed to touch, all lace and trimming and gorgeousness. He waggled it at me much too temptingly. “No? Not interested?”

“Well, maybe just to please you.” I turned to face him, unfastened the back clasp of my bra, then dropped it down my arms and handed it to him, so I was standing in just my underwear. “Do you want to be in charge of this?”

I could see him swallow, and the power surged through me just a little bit more. “Yeh,” he said. “I do.”

He sat on his bench for more than half an hour and watched me try on bras, made me walk around the little room with them on “so I can see the line,” and answered the look I shot him with a blandness that didn’t fool me one bit. And, in the end, we chose two. The one I found most irresistible, a pale blue delicately trimmed with lace, intricately embroidered with flowers in the same color. And his favorite, a pink balconette style with an overlay of black floral lace in a bandeau across the front, which I had to admit was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen. And, he informed me, we’d be buying six matching thongs, three for each bra.

“Six?”I hadn’t been able to resist looking at the discreet tag safety-pinned to the waist strip, and had gasped. “Forty euros apiece? And no, I can’t try it on. If you try it on, you have to buy it.”

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