Undercover Bachelor

“Thanks, Jeff. I might have to take you up on that.” She smiled into his eyes.

“No problem.”

“Have you guys met Mr. Smith yet?”

“Yeah. He’s awesome.”

“I like him a lot better than my own teacher,” Roger stated.

“I’m glad you said that because my teacher in Park Valley was an old battle-ax.”

“Battle-ax?” Jeff laughed

Uh-oh. Whitney realized that wasn’t a word today’s teenager used. “That’s what my dad called her when he had her for French.”

Before her father had died of a stroke and her mother had married Christine’s father, Whitney adored listening to her dad’s amusing tales about his school days. She would always miss him.

“Your French teacher used to teach your dad?” Roger demanded incredulously.

That part was a lie, but Whitney nodded without any compunction. The guys thought it was hilarious and both of them laughed. While she waited for them to calm down, the teachers filed in the room toward the tables, carrying stacks of manila-colored packets.

There were eight adults, but Whitney saw only one person—a man with dark blond, fairly short-cropped hair and a bronzed complexion who had to be at least six feet three inches of hard muscle.

He was dressed in a silky-looking gray suit with a charcoal-colored shirt open at the neck, very sophisticated and cosmopolitan. Sporting an expensive-looking gold watch, he didn’t look like any teacher she’d ever had.

Strong and fit, he moved with unconscious male grace, like someone who was used to being in the out-of-doors rather than a schoolroom. Probably closer to forty than thirty, his bone structure was reminiscent of western European ancestry.

The square jaw with its hint of five o’clock shadow and his straight nose kept him from being handsome in the accepted sense, yet his features made him much more interesting. He exuded confidence and an unconscious masculine appeal that called to everything feminine in her.

Whitney couldn’t remember the last time a man had made this kind of an impact on her. No woman young or old could remain immune to such unquestioned masculinity.

If he affects you this way, can you imagine how devastating his sex appeal had been to Christine? A seventeen-going-on-eighteen-year-old girl alone in Europe on the verge of womanhood?

Whitney’s instincts had been right all along. Christine’s French teacher, Mr. Bowen, was the father of her baby! Greg’s fine baby hair was the same dark blond color.

The guys were talking again, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying because a comment her sister had made at lunch that day came back to haunt her.

He’s so good-looking, and we grew close on the trip. When he finally told me he loved me, I—I couldn’t help myself.

In an effort to get a grip on her emotions, Whitney leaned over and retied her shoelaces. She didn’t need to go on the tour for answers. The man she’d been damning to hell since learning that the liar had taken advantage of Christine, had already entered the room, looking larger than life.

“Hey, Whitney?” There was a tap on her shoulder.

“Yes, Jeff?” Expelling the breath she’d been holding, she slowly stood up and turned around to see what he wanted. Looking past the smooth faces of the two teens, she received her second shock of the evening.

A pair of light gray eyes dotted with translucent green flecks held her gaze, trapping her as surely as if she’d been physically caught in a vise of some kind.

Christine had spent three years in a French class looking into those eyes? No wonder she’d never stood a chance.

For a lightning moment the world spun out of control. Sometimes in her dreams Whitney felt herself falling. That was the sensation she was experiencing now.

“Bonsoir, Whitney. Je m’appelle Monsieur Smith C’est un grand plaisir.” His deep male voice spoke in flawless French. She felt its resonance to her bones.

CHAPTER TWO

MONSIEUR SMITH?

Whitney shook her head in confusion, feeling out of breath. “Wait a minute. You’re not Mr. Bowen?” Her voice had a definite squeaking quality to it.

The crinkles around his startlingly beautiful eyes deepened as he broke into an apologetic smile that made her insides melt. “Not the last time I looked. I’m sorry. Every student wants to be with him. I hope you won’t mind putting up with me.”

She blinked, trying to make sense out of everything. She’d been so positive he was Mr. Bowen!

With the greatest effort of will, she broke eye contact with him and shifted her gaze to another male teacher standing at the next table.

According to the pennant, he was Mr. Bowen. But how could he be?

The slender man with dark eyes and hard cheekbones, probably late forties, had a pale, tired-looking face and darkish hair receding at the forehead and temples. He stood a little under six feet tall. His off-white shirt and dark trousers had no particular style.

To Whitney he epitomized the typical burnt-out teacher who was slowly being worn down by stress. She couldn’t imagine why he would want to herd a bunch of kids around Europe when he already did it at home nine months out of the year.

However, there was no accounting for taste. According to Christine, Mr. Bowen was dynamite in the classroom and everyone adored him, but under no circumstances could Whitney imagine him setting any girl’s heart on fire. Not like...

As if a lodestone were pulling her inexorably toward its magnetic field, Whitney’s gaze swerved back to the man whose mere presence had quickened her pulse.

Christine had never mentioned anything about a Mr. Smith being on her tour. But naturally, she wouldn’t have. Not when she’d wanted to keep the nature of her relationship with him a secret from everyone.

A flood of heat swept through Whitney’s body because the man in question had caught her practically devouring him with her eyes. It certainly wasn’t the kind of stare a female student should be giving her male teacher no matter how attractive he was. Christine had probably given him the same stare!

On the other hand, he was the teacher! He had no business sending any young female student that frank, unmistakable look of male appreciation. His eyes had literally illuminated as they’d traveled over her.

If that was the way he’d looked at Christine the first time she’d ever seen him, it was no mystery why her poor sister had thought herself in love.

The man made you feel like Helen of Troy!

Putting two and two together, Whitney had the strongest suspicion she was looking at the father of Christine’s baby. It all fit . . . the looks, the charisma. His charm...

Was he the culprit?

If so, the cad could have any female he wanted, young or old, and he knew it! His conquests must be legion.

She wondered just how many unsuspecting teenage girls had become involved with him after hearing about his marital problems and his poor little four-year-old daughter.

How many girls had become pregnant as a result of carrying out his phony little errands and trying to comfort him in his agony?

Oh, Mr. Smith, the way you were looking at me just now tells me you’re the man I’m searching for.

You play a very dangerous game, but for once you’ve met someone who knows the score. Before I’m through with you, you’re going to be extremely sorry you picked me for your next victim.

As soon as Gerard realized he’d been staring at this feminine addition to his tour group, he recognized his mistake and shifted his gaze to the boys who were obviously enthralled by her presence.

He hoped to heaven he was wrong, but it seemed Ms. Lawrence was as aware of him as he was of her. That was all he needed.

How was he supposed to do a job when he had to get through the next ten days chaperoning a high school girl whose French lilac-colored eyes beckoned, whose womanly figure reminded him of a modern-day Aphrodite?

She wasn’t wearing anything different than the other teenagers in the room. In fact she’d done absolutely nothing to draw attention to herself. But while she had leaned over to tie her shoes, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off the mold of her fully curved body, or her long, shapely legs.

The truth was, in the past he’d never been attracted to tall women. He’d liked them short, dark and petite. His late wife had only stood as high as his heart.

This girl-woman, he cursed under his breath, had to be at least five-eight, five-nine. Most blondes, even ash-blondes like her, usually had fine skin coloring that required a certain amount of makeup so they wouldn’t look washed out.

She didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup because with that flawless young skin, she didn’t need to. The faint flush which had appeared while he’d been drinking his fill of her only added natural color to her classic features. He’d never seen a female with such perfectly shaped eyebrows or lips.

Ms. Lawrence was more woman than he’d met in years. How could she only be eighteen?

It was common knowledge that girls her age often matured faster than boys. But somehow he hadn’t expected a teenager in his group to make him think thoughts he had no business thinking by simply looking at her.

The first order of business was to get himself under control. Since Annabelle had spurned him, he hadn’t actively pursued another relationship. That’s what was wrong with him. If he could be this easily distracted by a girl who was young enough to be his daughter, then he’d been without a woman too long.

Maybe he’d better concentrate on returning Fran Ashton’s interest since they were going to be on the same tour bus. Except that the vivacious thirty-year-old French teacher from Rosemont High had come on too strong to him at the last meeting, letting him know she was single and available. He was afraid the attraction was all on her part.

Nothing about this assignment was going the way he had planned it, and the tour hadn’t even started yet.

“If you’ve recovered from your disappointment, Whitney, we’ll go into the auditorium and watch a film which will explain about the items in your packets.”

Once more their gazes met, but dark lashes partially concealed the expression in hers. “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“No apology necessary. You and the guys can call me Hank. I don’t like standing on formality.”

She’d averted her eyes, obviously still upset that she couldn’t be in Mr. Bowen’s group. Apparently Gerard’s target was so popular with his students, even kids from around the state had heard of him.

Normally her show of disappointment wouldn’t have fazed him. But there was nothing normal about this situation, certainly not this awareness of her or the fact that one of the teachers was suspected of passing information to a foreign government.

Much as Gerard wished Whitney Lawrence had been assigned to any other teacher than himself, he had to admit he was glad she didn’t make up part of Donald Bowen’s group.

The man who came off acting like he was every student’s best friend, was wanted by Interpol and considered dangerous. When Gerard got the goods on him, Donald Bowen would spend the rest of his life in prison. The popular French teacher with the perfect cover to camouflage his double life was about to take his last trip to Europe.

“We’ll hurry inside and save seats,” Jeff volunteered. “Come on, Whitney.”

For another unguarded moment Gerard received the full impact of her gaze which was appraising him in open female interest once more. It seemed that because she had caught him doing the same thing to her moments earlier, she felt she’d been given the green light to keep flirting. Her aggression shouldn’t have surprised him. Teenagers these days had few inhibitions.

“You guys go ahead,” he heard her say in a slightly husky voice he found far too attractive. “I need to ask Hank a couple of questions first.”

Disappointment marred the boys’ features as they lingered a moment longer, then walked away disgruntled.

“What’s on your mind, Whitney?”

She bit softly against her lower lip where he could see her small, even white teeth. It angered him that every part of her beautiful face and body appealed to him this strongly, even the flowery scent of what could be her shampoo or perfume.

“My grandmother asked me to talk to you, but I didn’t want Roger or Jeff to overhear me.”

“Your grandmother?”

“Yes. She raised me. Anyway, I know this is going to sound conceited, but I can’t go anywhere without guys bothering me.”

Gerard could believe it. He had half a mind to call her grandmother and tell her Whitney had the kind of looks and sex appeal that shouldn’t be let loose anywhere around males, particularly not in Europe. The inviting glances she’d been giving him had been duly noted. Any man without scruples, be he young or old, would consider her fair game.

“Jeff and Roger are really nice and I like them, but I had hoped there would be another girl in our group to sit with on the bus. Since there isn’t, do you mind if I sit with you? Even in the movie? That way I’ll have you to protect me.”

He had to think fast. “I’m sure I can arrange with one of the other teachers for a female student to be your companion around Europe.”

“Please don’t do that!” she cried out softly. In an instant, her whole demeanor had changed. Her panic appeared real.

“Why not?”

“Because it won’t work. Everyone has a friend already, and they’ve chosen their groups. I know what girls are like. I joined the tour too late and they won’t want to include me. Besides, other girls always accuse me of trying to take away their boyfriends, even when I don’t do anything! They’re mean to me. It ruins e-everything.”

In his gut he knew she was speaking the truth. The girls who had chosen to go to Europe would have made certain they had a friend for the trip. They most definitely wouldn’t want to compete with a young woman who looked like Whitney.

“How is it you signed up to travel alone?”

Her gorgeous violet-blue eyes suddenly glistened with tears. “At the last minute, my best friend got sick and couldn’t come. I live with my grandmother, and when she heard that Leslie was ill, she wanted me to cancel, but I’ve been waiting for this trip forever.

“I earned all the money myself and graduated with a four point average. Because of that she finally said I could go on the tour if I promised to stay by my teacher the whole time. She doesn’t trust boys my age at all.”

Gerard stifled a groan. This was a complication he would never have anticipated.

“A friend of my cousin’s went on the trip with Mr. Bowen last year. She said he was so nice, I assumed he would take care of me. But I signed up too late to get in his group. You don’t mind if I sit with you, do you, Mr. Smith? I’ll be good and leave you alone. I promise.”

The tremor in her voice brought out an unbidden, protective instinct in him he hadn’t felt since long before Simone’s death. It put him at odds with his initial appraisal of her and the situation. “I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Thanks so much,” she whispered.

Right now those moist, ingenuous, lavender-blue orbs were looking at him with an expression akin to gratitude, nothing else.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe he’d just imagined that she’d been sending out signals earlier. To be honest, he didn’t know what to believe, but he felt it would be cruel to disregard her request when she’d worked so hard all year for this trip.

“You’re welcome. Let’s go next door so you won’t miss hearing the instructions.”

By tacit agreement they walked toward the exit. As if to prove she wouldn’t be a nuisance, she didn’t say another word and simply followed him from the other side of the tables. By the time they’d entered the small, semidark auditorium down the hall, the film had already started.

“Hank?” a female voice called out. He looked to his right and saw Fran Ashton who was sitting with her group. She patted the aisle seat next to her. She’d been waiting for him. If he sat by her now, she would assume the attraction was mutual.

Oddly enough, the clear message in her eyes irritated him even more than it had the other night. Deciding that now would be the time to let her know any interest he had in her was purely professional, he placed a hand at the back of Whitney’s waist to guide her in Fran’s direction.

He’d made the physical gesture without thinking, but when he felt the younger woman tremble in reaction to his touch, he realized his mistake and just as quickly removed it.

“Miss Ashton?” he murmured quietly so as not to disturb the others around them. “The auditorium is full. Do you mind if one of my students sits with you?”

The other woman looked chagrined, but she couldn’t very well refuse his request. “No.”

“Thank you.”

To his relief Whitney brushed past him to sit down without protest. In the process, he felt the imprint of her voluptuous body. Though the contact was accidental, it ignited sensations he hadn’t felt for a long time.

Dry-mouthed, he leaned over enough to murmur, “I’ll see you in front of the Global Airlines’ counter on Sunday morning. Six-thirty a.m. sharp.”

“I can’t wait. Thanks again,” she said softly. Her lips came dangerously close to his cheek where he felt her breath. Their intimate exchange quickened his pulse.

Needing some air, he left the auditorium in a few swift strides. It was his job to stay until after the film to answer his group’s questions, but for the moment he craved a little privacy.

What in the hell was he was going to do with Whitney Lawrence for the next ten days? He’d all but promised her she could sit by him throughout the tour.

Roman’s comment about this assignment being a challenge had turned out to be much more prophetic than either of them knew.

“Hank? Wait up!”

He heard his name called and turned around to discover Donald Bowen on his heels.

Gerard had been using ingenious ways to get to know his target better. It pleased him that the other man was the one to seek him out. Gerard was making progress.

“Hey, Don.” Whether the other man liked the abbreviation or not, Gerard had decided to go with it.

Donald flashed him an easy smile. “You weren’t leaving, were you?”

“No. I just wanted to get a drink. How about you?”

“Actually I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Sandy McGinnis, the woman STI sent over tonight, just informed me that you have a student named Whitney Lawrence from Union High who wanted to be assigned to my group. Apparently she was disappointed when she found out mine was full.”

“I had no idea,” Gerard lied, wondering where this conversation was going.

“Was it the tall blonde you brought in late? The one who sat down next to Fran?”

Like every other male on the premises, Donald Bowen had noticed Ms. Lawrence, too. “She’s the one,” Gerard murmured, his senses suddenly on full alert.

“When Sandy assigned her to you, she didn’t realize that you only had boys in your group. She shouldn’t have put a female student with you.

“My group is made up of three girls and three guys. I’ve already talked to Mike Sargeant, one of my boys. He’ll be happy to trade. If you want, I’ll talk to your student after the film and tell her she’s been switched to me.”

Donald Bowen never did anything without a hidden agenda. Already briefed on the man’s history, Gerard couldn’t figure out why Whitney’s name had even come up, or how she fit into his schemes. The welfare of one student would be the last thing a foreign agent would care about.

Unless he used his female students in some capacity to help pass along information without their knowing it.

But Donald Bowen already had several of his own female students signed up for the tour. Why would he be concerned over what an unknown student from a different part of the state did or didn’t do, especially when the other three girls were available?

As Gerard pondered that question, the thought briefly entered his head that Ms. Lawrence might be an accomplice coming on the scene to help him out. But he as quickly dismissed the absurd notion.

Though Whitney Lawrence could be taken for a full-grown adult, she was only a high school senior. When and where would she have been recruited by Donald Bowen to help him do his dirty work? It didn’t make sense.

The more he thought about it, the only reason he could account for the agent’s interest in Ms. Lawrence was the fact that despite her young years, she was easily one of the most attractive women Gerard had ever seen or met in his life.

If that were true for him, it would hold equally true for Donald Bowen who was a man and had eyes in his head. On or off the job, he probably went through women as a matter of course. He wouldn’t worry about compromising a few willing female students in the process.

One lustful glance at Ms. Lawrence and Donald Bowen had decided to manipulate the situation to his advantage in order to assuage his desires on the tour.

To Gerard’s shock, he felt a distinct distaste at the thought of the other man exploiting her for any reason.

“It’s okay, Don. I’m taking her under my wing so you won’t have to worry about it.”

The man’s smile faded. “Look, Gerard,” he said in a confiding tone. “You don’t understand because you haven’t been a chaperone before. Her parents could cause a lot of trouble if they find out she’s the only girl in the company of a bunch of guys. You can’t guard them all the hours of the day and night, if you catch my drift.”

Catch my drift?

That was a rather obsolete idiom a foreign agent might have learned twenty years ago, but it didn’t fly with Gerard. The man’s hair and bone structure put him in mind of an Eastern block type. Yuri would know his nationality at a glance. Maybe Gerard could arrange for his good friend to fly to Geneva to verify his theory.

“Her grandmother is her guardian and she’ll feel fine about it when she finds out I’m taking personal charge of her.”

“Then you’re asking for a different kind of trouble.” All pretense had fled.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on.” His dark eyes narrowed. “The boys in my group have already been discussing her. One of them said she looks good enough to eat.”

That was no news to Gerard.

“How do you think it’s going to go over when they notice you baby-sitting her the whole time? It might look innocent to you, but that’s how gossip starts.”

The man was trying intimidation tactics on him. For some reason, it really upset him that Gerard wouldn’t play ball where Whitney Lawrence was concerned.

“To be honest, I’m more worried about Fran Ashton,” Gerard commented, pretending to misunderstand. He lowered his voice in the same confiding manner as Donald. “She’s been sending out signals since last week. But nice as she is, I’m involved with someone else. Chaperoning Ms. Lawrence on the tour is going to take care of a potential problem for me. You know how it is when the attraction is only one-sided.”

The other man pondered Gerard’s explanation, then shrugged in a fashion untypical of an American, as if he’d suddenly realized he’d been showing his hand too strongly.

“It happens, mon ami. But to be safe, I suggest you trade the girl off with me from time to time so no one draws too many erroneous conclusions. We’ve never had a problem on the tour. I’d hate for gossip to ruin future trips.”

“Believe me, so would I, particularly since I plan to bring my own group of students next year. I appreciate the word of warning, Don. Let’s just play this one by ear and see what happens, shall we? I know I’m looking forward to picking up on the tricks you use to shepherd these kids around and still keep them happy. Your legend precedes you.”

On the surface the tension had appeared to ease, but Gerard knew Donald Bowen was smoldering with frustration beneath that calm facade.

“Thank you for le compliment, Monsieur Smith.”