The Banana Republic store was close by, which was good, because even in the short trek from the parking lot Sofia noticed something. Alexander was causing a stir.

Sure, his attire must have been part of it. In modern times, it took a secure man to walk around in a puffy shirt, tight breeches, and knee-high boots--at least anywhere other than a riding stable. Still, the ladies' gazes didn't just settle upon his clothing, but wandered back up to his face, often accompanied by a happy sigh or a none-too-subtle whisper to their girlfriends.

"I'm a bit obvious in these clothes, eh?" Alexander gave her a modest smile. "Thank you for helping me something more suitable."

"Oh, of course," she said, somewhat distracted by her own reaction to the stares and whispers. It was, unmistakably, sheer jealousy. The kind that made her want to grab his hand, wrap her arm around his waist, or otherwise mark him as hers as they strode through the shopping mall crowd. Maybe she could tattoo him. Or get him a tee that said "I'm Sofia's" from one of the custom shirt vendors. And yet he wasn't. Not at all.

Panic nibbled its way toward her brainstem.

She steered him into the Banana Republic and towards the men's section. His keen eyes seemed to take everything in: the items for sale, the people, their behavior as they looked through the clothes. "Shoppers try on clothing right here, in public?"

"Men might change shirts out here, but women usually use a dressing room for changing clothes." She pointed toward the curtained area.

He nodded, and she could almost see the gears turning in his head as he looked for the differences from his time and assimilated them. Smart men had always been her Achilles' heel.

Down to business. Clothes, Sofia. Clothes. "Hmm, maybe this," she said, holding up a cerulean polo shirt. "Yes, the color sets off your eyes."

"You're noticing my eyes, are you?"

D'oh. "If we're going to get you new clothes," she stammered, "they should be ones that look good on you."

"Is that so?"

With his gaze locked on hers, he began to tug his long-sleeved shirt from the waistband of his breeches and roll it up his body.

Was that sweat beading in the small of her back as he exposed more of his manly torso? Yes, definitely sweat. He was going to strip off his shirt right here in the middle of the store. She should direct him to the dressing rooms for her own sanity. But it was just a shirt, right? Oh, sweet cheese...

Her mouth went wet at the sight of his rippling muscles. She found herself leaning against a rack of men's dress shirts, her knees threatening to wobble.