Undercover Bachelor

by Rebecca Winters

  “But that’s abs—being unreasonable.” She amended what she was about to say as they both filed into the hallway. The woman was livid. “Surely she can’t expect your chaperone to keep you company every minute of the trip!”

  “Hank said he would enjoy taking care of me, and told me not to worry about anything.” On a burst of inspiration she decided to add one more tiny lie. “He admitted that with me around, it might keep older women from bothering him when we’re out in public.” Especially if they saw him touch her like he’d done in the auditorium earlier.

  Whitney was still trembling from the feel of his hand on her back. More and more she understood why Christine had become enamoured of him. Maybe because they were half sisters, it explained why both of them were attracted to the same kind of sensuous man.

  “He sort of reminds you of Arnold Schwarzenegger, only he’s much more attractive, don’t you think, Ms. Ashton?”

  A teenager could go into ecstasy over a man and no one would think anything of it. But the female French teacher had to maintain her decorum no matter how much she wanted to put Whitney in her place. The other woman appeared tied up in little knots and wasn’t saying anything.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Maybe you’re not into movies, or else you’re too old to enjoy the kind he plays in. Not my grandmother, of course. She was always a movie lover and can tell you the name of every single movie star who has ever been in show business.”

  On that note Whitney figured she’d done enough damage for one night. “Well, I’ve got to go. My ride will be out front waiting for me. See you on Sunday. Thanks again for being so nice to me. Good night.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “MR. SMITH?”

  Whitney ran up to him at the gate, pretending to be out of breath. But one look at him in khakis that molded his powerful thighs, and a pale blue knit shirt outlining his well-defined chest, and her breathlessness became real.

  “S-sorry I’m late. My friend’s car wouldn’t start. At the last second I had to call for a taxi.”

  “I thought your grandmother was here.”

  “No. She suffers from severe arthritis and doesn’t go out unless she can help it.”

  “That’s too bad. I was hoping to meet her.”

  “There was no time, but she’s planning to get a friend to drive her to Salt Lake at the end of the tour. She’ll be there in her wheelchair, the first one to greet me off the plane and thank you for taking such good care of me.”

  Along with the lies, Whitney had once again delayed her arrival on purpose. For one thing, she hadn’t wanted Mr. Smith to get a look at her passport when the person at the airline counter asked to see it. For another, she preferred to avoid any unnecessary conversation with Jeff and Roger while they stood in line to check their bags for the flight.

  Last but not least, she knew Mr. Smith would watch for her no matter how late it got. It was part of his job as chaperone. The more ways she could contrive to keep them together without outside interference, the more proof she would be able to gather for her plan to expose him.

  “As long as you got here,” he murmured, yet he didn’t sound angry or put out. Most teachers would have been furious by now. She wondered if his good nature was part of the facade to win over his unsuspecting victims.

  “Come on, Whitney. They’re going to close the doors on us.” For no accountable reason the use of her first name sent a curious shiver down her spine. Without asking permission, he reached for her shoulder bag so she would only have to carry her camera case.

  The perfect gentleman.

  Christine had said that the man who’d made love to her had been wonderful. Whitney hated to admit it, but so far she had to agree with her sister.

  Together they hurried onto the plane. He led her to two vacant seats at the back near the rest room and relieved her of her camera so she could sit down. From her vantage point the chartered DC-10 looked packed to the brim. Like the proverbial sardines.

  “The bulk of the students coming on the tour loaded in Los Angeles.” He read her mind with uncanny accuracy. “I’m afraid you lost your wmdow seat by the wing. When the attendant thought you weren’t coming, he gave it to another student. We’ll have to sit here for the duration of the flight to Paris.”

  Nothing could have suited her more perfectly. At the rear of the plane no one would notice them. She could monopolize his time until he let down his guard and began showing his hand.

  “You shouldn’t have given up your seat to wait for me, Mr. Smith. I didn’t expect preferential treatment on the plane. Nothing bad is going to happen to me here. At the meeting the other night, I only meant that I wanted to sit by you on the bus.”

  “Don’t worry about it. While you fasten your seat belt, I’m going forward and let the boys know all is well.”

  While Whitney did his bidding, she drew pleasure from watching his striking, well-honed physique as he made his way up the aisle. To her chagrin, she found she had trouble concentrating on anything else but him. She was beginning to feel like the starry-eyed teenager she was impersonating.

  But as soon as he was out of sight, she remembered that this man had taken advantage of her sister and had given her a baby. The recollection jerked Whitney back to the purpose of her mission and she renewed her vow to make him face up to his responsibilities.

  “Ms. Lawrence?”

  Deep in thought, it barely impinged on her consciousness that someone had called her name.

  “Whitney Lawrence?”

  She turned her head toward the aisle to find Mr. Bowen, Christine’s French teacher, addressing her. He must have just boarded the plane himself.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Donald Bowen, one of the French teachers going on your tour.”

  “Yes, I know who you are.”

  He gave her a pleasant smile. “I heard from the STI people that you wanted to join my group but were turned down. I’m sorry you were told that.”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Bowen. I was assigned to Mr. Smith. Everything’s fine.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ve made arrangements for you to be with us. If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you where my students are sitting. I have three girls who would love a fourth to even things up.”

  This was a development she hadn’t counted on. But according to Christine, Mr. Bowen was a good friend to his students as well as a terrific teacher. Obviously he was trying to be nice because he’d just heard that Whitney had asked to be part of his group and had been turned down.

  On the heels of that thought came another one. Maybe Mr. Bowen had observed her chaperone on other trips. Maybe he knew about Mr. Smith’s proclivity for teenage girls and was trying to protect her.

  If that were true, then she appreciated what he was attempting to do for her. But if she changed her seat now, she’d lose a singular opportunity to get close to the man who’d compromised her sister. Fourteen hours was a long time to be closeted together, so to speak. Anything could happen. That was exactly what she was hoping for.

  “Thank you for thinking of me, but I’d better wait and discuss this with Mr. Smith.”

  “Discuss what?”

  The deep, familiar male voice could only belong to one man. His tone of voice charged the air. Whitney’s head whipped around to see Mr. Smith standing in the aisle, topping Mr. Bowen by several inches. With those fascinating gray-green eyes, he cast both of them a shrewd regard.

  “Mr. Bowen was just telling me I should go forward and sit with the girls in his group, but the plane’s ready to take off and I think it’s too late to make changes now.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  She felt her heart begin to thud. Mr. Smith doesn’t want me to move. My plan is working.

  Her chaperone had been careful at the gate not to peruse her too intimately, but more than ever she sensed the strong physical chemistry between them. Certainly she would never forget the look of male desire she’d seen in his eyes the other n
ight. She could still remember his hand on the back of her waist It had felt natural. It had felt right.

  She switched her glance to the other teacher. “Maybe on the flight home we can come up with other arrangements. Is that all right with you, Mr. Bowen?”

  A fatherly expression dominated his features. “Of course. I just wanted you to know you don’t have to feel left out.”

  He was certainly living up to the qualities Christine had described in glowing terms.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Bowen.”

  “You’re entirely welcome. If you like, when we arrive in Paris we can switch things around on the bus so you won’t have to be alone.”

  “You’re very kind to care.”

  “Not at all. See you when we land. Bon voyage.”

  Though it was his last instinct, Gerard gave the other man a friendly nod—as if their prior conversation in the library foyer had never taken place—and sat down next to Whitney.

  After returning to his seat and discovering that Donald Bowen had all but salivated over his young student, several things struck him forcefully.

  The man would not rest until he’d managed to get to know Whitney a great deal better.

  Even more clear to Gerard was Ms. Lawrence’s intractability during what he imagined should have been a rather uncomfortable moment for her. Showing surprising backbone by not letting Donald Bowen manipulate her, Gerard saw a side to her nature that didn’t correspond to his image of a fluffy-minded, immature teenager.

  She handled the other man so well, it was getting more and more difficult to think of her as anything but a woman. One who, moreover, possessed a mystifying knowledge of how to treat the male of the species.

  The impression that he was dealing with an equal intensified during takeoff when she didn’t refer to the incident or act in the least nervous about the long flight ahead of them. The opposite of a chatty teen, once they’d achieved cruising speed, she took advantage of the time to read a magazine.

  She’d made a promise to be good and leave him alone. It seemed she was determined to keep her word. What troubled Gerard was his inability to concentrate on the only reason for taking this trip in the first place.

  He shouldn’t have been pleased that Whitney had thwarted Donald Bowen’s efforts to influence her. If anything, Gerard should have welcomed a chance to sit by the other man and get inside his head during the flight Throughout the long trip over the ocean, he might have been able to pick up on the odd piece of information while the two of them conversed.

  But chances were, the other man would use most of the time to sleep. Under those conditions, nothing of real significance would be revealed. Once they landed in Paris, it would be a different matter and Gerard would have his work cut out watching and waiting until his target made a mistake.

  For that reason Gerard had let Whitney dictate where she would sit on the plane. At least that was what he’d been telling himself.

  As a result he now found himself seated next to her, a captive audience. Though their legs and arms didn’t touch, he could feel her warmth, smell her perfume. Whenever she moved in her seat or let out a sigh, he was painfully aware of her physical proximity.

  She was dressed in typical teenage garb of jeans and tailored blouse, yet he found himself envisioning her in a black evening dress. All that shiny abundance of ash-blond hair cried out for such a foil.

  From the corner of his eye he could see her long, shapely legs and imagine them encased in the sheerest black hose. He could imagine too many things...

  Alarmed at how much and how readily she occupied his thoughts, he realized that if he kept this up, his ability to get the proof he needed on Donald Bowen could be in serious jeopardy.

  Gerard couldn’t think of a more appropriate time than now to check in with Roman and keep him posted.

  He pulled out his cell phone and punched in the office number, knowing it was Sunday, but hoping Roman might be in anyway. Phil answered, letting him know he was the only one around. Gerard told him not to bother Roman who needed to spend time alone with his wife. He said he’d call at the house later, then he clicked off.

  Aware that Whitney didn’t seem to be reading the magazine article any longer, he turned to her. “Would you like to phone your grandmother and tell her you’re all right?”

  For an instant, their gazes collided. The natural light in the cabin intensified the amazing lavender-blue hue of her irises fringed by dark lashes. A man could get lost in them.

  After a moment’s hesitation she looked away and shook her head. “An offer like that is very tempting, but I’m watching every penny and can’t afford to be beholden to you. I’ll send her some postcards from Paris as soon as we get to our hotel. Thank you again anyway, Mr. Smith.”

  If he’d asked Jeff or Roger, they would have taken him up on his offer. But he had to remember he was dealing with Whitney Lawrence. There was nothing predictable about her. Among her many qualities he could add manners and class. Her grandmother had raised her well.

  He put his phone away. “Call me Hank. Every time you say Mr. Smith, I feel a year older.”

  “Ms. Ashton warned me that it wasn’t fitting for me to be that casual with you.”

  The quiet admission made him grimace. “What else did she say to you?” It might be wise to hear the rest. He began to suspect that Fran and Donald had been collaborating against him to further their own ends.

  “It wasn’t that important.”

  Ms. Lawrence was a lady, too. As far as Gerard could tell, there was absolutely nothing wrong with her except for the fact that she was an untouchable eighteen-year-old.

  “I’d really like to know, Whitney. After all, I’m your chaperone for this trip. If you want to get the most out of the tour, then we can’t afford to have any misunderstandings between us.”

  Her hands tightened on the magazine, proof that the experience with Fran hadn’t been particularly pleasant.

  “She said something about not monopolizing your time. I—I think she likes you a lot and must have talked to Mr. Bowen about it.”

  Good Lord. Whitney Lawrence was nobody’s fool. How did she manage to acquire so much wisdom in her few short years?

  “It’s probably why he asked me to sit with his group.” She went on talking. “I’m afraid I’ve made things awkward for you. When we get to France, I’ll sit with whomever you teachers decide. Just don’t let my grandmother know.”

  The tremor in her voice found an answering chord in him. It was ludicrous that a sweet, intelligent, young woman like Whitney had been made the focal point of a lot of ugliness. He’d be damned if he would allow it to continue.

  “I offered to let you sit with me throughout the bus tour. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No,” she asserted with enough emotion to satisfy him that she was telling the truth. “I just didn’t want to be a nuisance to you, Mr. Smith.”

  I wish you were a nuisance. I could deal with that...

  “I doubt you’ve ever been a problem to anybody, Whitney. But I will get upset if you don’t start calling me Hank.”

  “If you want, I’ll call you Hank when we’re alone like this.”

  I wonder how affable you would be if you ever found yourself really alone with a man twice your age . . .

  When Gerard realized how far his thoughts had wandered, he raked a hand through his hair in self-disgust. “That sounds the perfect compromise. What are you reading that has captured your attention for so long?”

  “Oh, the magazine has an interesting article on the Élysées Palace in Paris. Apparently some rarely seen rooms are going to be opened up to the public during June. Naturally it’s not on our itinerary. It’s too bad we’re only going to be in Paris a few days. There’s so much to see and so little time to do everything.”

  Gerard shouldn’t have been surprised that she was knowledgeable about the less frequented landmarks of the famous French capital. He wondered about her ability to converse in French.


  “Parlez-vous Français, mademoiselle?”

  “Pas comme vous, monsieur,” she responded with a typical American accent.

  Her answer delighted him. He couldn’t prevent the chuckle that escaped. When she turned to look at him, the corners of her exquisitely sculpted mouth were on the verge of a smile.

  “Is my French that bad?”

  “Not at all. It was your answer that amused me.”

  “Why?”

  “The usual response to ‘Do you speak French?”’ is, ‘A little bit.’ But you came back with, ‘Not like you do, sir.’ No one has ever made that particular remark to me before.”

  He chuckled again, unable to help himself. She was like a breath of fresh air in more ways than one.

  “I said it on purpose so you would understand my French is awful. That’s one of the reasons I’m so happy I’m going to be sitting by you on the tour. I can listen to you speak and try to imitate you. You’ll be my living language laboratory. I’m afraid I didn’t use the language lab at our school as often as I should have.”

  “A lab helps, but there’s no substitute for living in Europe and becoming immersed in the language.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Germany, Austria, France, Switzerland, Belgium.”

  “You were very fortunate. I always wanted to see Switzerland.”

  “Any particular reason?” To his surprise, the reminder of another life with Simone no longer brought him pain, only a treasured memory.

  “When I was younger, I inherited a miniature wooden Swiss village for Christmas. There were lots of little chalets, churches, buildings and barns. Inside I found tiny people dressed in native costume, plus cows with cow bells, and St. Bernard dogs carrying little barrels you could fill with juice. One of the churches contained a music box. It played a Swiss mountain tune.

  “The village was designed to scale from a town on Lake Geneva called Montreux. It was so adorable, I fell in love with it on sight and played with it every day. My friends thought I was mean because I wouldn’t let them touch it, but I was afraid one of them might damage it.