“Not quite yet. I’m here because I need your passport.”
At the mention of the word, she blanched. Finally he’d broken through her incredible sangfroid.
“My passport?” Her voice sounded a little higher than normal. He was starting to enjoy this.
“That’s right. I hated bothering you when I knew you were asleep. I tried calling you on the phone first, but you must have been dead to the world.
“There’s been a security problem here at the hotel which is a fairly common occurrence during the day when people are out sight-seeing. Someone’s camera was stolen.
“The police always check passports first. It’s a routine formality. I’ll bring yours right back so you won’t have to deal with it.”
Her lusterous violet eyes looked at him with such innocence, he had a hard time remembering she was the enemy. “I promised my grandmother I wouldn’t let my passport out of my possession. Can the police come to my room instead?”
He’d been expecting any excuse except that one. She was a real pro.
“I don’t see why that can’t be arranged. I’ll phone the front desk and explain the situation. Someone should be up here shortly.”
“Thank you. Like I said before, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She smiled shyly. “I’m looking forward to tonight. Dinner and dancing on the Seine. Do you dance, Hank?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do the chaperones ever dance with their students?”
“Everyone joins in. The teachers, the driver, even the tour guide.”
“Would you consider dancing with me?”
Gerard had to suppress another groan. Getting that close to her would not be a good idea no matter what game she was playing. “Of course. But I might not have the opportunity.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I know a dozen boys at least who’ve made it clear they would like to get to know you better.”
“But I’m not allowed to dance with them.”
“That’s right. You promised your grandmother. Won’t she mind you dancing with a man old enough to be your father?”
She eyed him provocatively. “You know you don’t look that old. I’ve heard what the girls have been saying about you behind your back. They’re jealous you’re my chaperone. There isn’t one of them who wouldn’t love to dance with you.”
“Thank you, Whitney. That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time. I’ll look forward to a dance with you. Now I need to go. Don’t open your door until the police officer identifies himself. All right?”
“I’ll never be as foolish again.”
“Good. I’ll see you down in the lobby in forty-five minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
He shut her door before returning to his room to make a call to the contact who’d been following her. He learned that she’d gone out to Malmaison with Mr. Bowen. Nothing untoward had happened. It had been a simple sight-seeing adventure. They’d talked to no one.
Gerard filed the information away, then explained the present situation. The agent said he would go to Whitney’s room immediately, then report to Gerard.
While he waited, he phoned Yuri in New York to ask him a favor. By the time they’d hung up, Roman’s brother had promised to be at the same hotel in Geneva when the tour arrived there.
During their conversation, they caught up on personal and family news, then devised a solid plan to check out Donald Bowen. It went without saying Gerard longed to see his good friend again.
No sooner had they said goodbye than he heard a knock on his door. The Interpol agent had disguised himself as a local gendarme. Gerard invited him inside.
“What did her passport say?”
“It’s all here.” Once he’d handed over the piece of paper, he left. Gerard scanned the man’s notes.
“Surname, Lawrence. Given name, Whitney. Nationality, American. Date of birth, November 6, 1972.”
She was twenty-six!
Here he’d been agonizing because he’d thought she was a teenager. She’d put him through hell!
“Sex, female. Place of birth, Utah, U.S.A. Date of Issue, April 29, 1998. Authority Passport Agency, San Francisco.”
Except for finding out that she had lied to everyone about her age, especially to him, and that she had spent a couple of hours with Bowen, Gerard had learned nothing new. Roman would have to provide him the big answers. In the meantime, there was the rest of the evening to get through.
A dance to get through. Hell.
CHAPTER SIX
WHITNEY stood in the middle of her hotel room, still shaking from the close call.
If Mr. Smith hadn’t agreed to let the gendarme come to her room to check her passport, her whole scheme to bring him down would have gone up in smoke. The gendarme wasn’t concerned with her age, just that she was who she said she was.
No matter how well something was planned, you had to prepare for emergencies. Who would have guessed there would be a theft in the hotel her first day in Paris?
It had been a good wake-up call. She needed to step up her own agenda before something untoward occurred over which she might have no control.
That’s why she’d pushed the idea of dancing with Mr. Smith. If she heated things up between them tonight, he would make his move faster.
Before leaving Salt Lake, she had imagined their confrontation coming toward the end of the tour. But because of the passport incident, she realized time wasn’t on her side. The sooner he tried to take her to bed, the sooner she would have her evidence. But none of it could happen without her help.
Tonight she needed to dazzle him. Unfortunately she couldn’t change her hairstyle without giving herself away. Not only did she have nothing in her teenage wardrobe to make a statement, she couldn’t resort to makeup. The only thing left to do was flirt more openly. With less than a half hour before she had to be downstairs wearing her hidden microphone, there was no time to lose.
After spending a hot afternoon at Malmaison, the shower felt good. The only reason she’d decided to go with Mr. Bowen in the first place was so she could get away from Mr. Smith for a little while.
She certainly wouldn’t have accompanied the other teacher if she hadn’t thought some of his students would tag along. But at the last minute, everyone pleaded fatigue and no one wanted to leave the hotel.
Mr. Bowen had looked so disappointed, she didn’t have the heart to disappointment him. As it turned out, she wasn’t sorry for the experience. The home Napoleon had built for the wife he’d cast aside came as a charming surprise. With Mr. Bowen acting as her personal guide, French history came alive.
There was only one problem she could foresee. Being an avid Francophile, he obviously lived for these tours, even thrived on them. Several times as they’d been walking through Josephine’s apartment, he’d mentioned taking Whitney on some other side trips throughout the tour because he knew how much she would appreciate them.
She’d been vague in her response, not wanting to hurt his feelings, but there was no way she would place herself in this kind of situation again. Even though he was married, she had the feeling he was lonely and craved companionship with someone who would enjoy these unique travel experiences.
Too bad his wife never came along, but she probably didn’t share his love of the French language or its culture. It was little wonder he gravitated to his students, especially to someone like Whitney who’d been willing to listen to him. She supposed she had only herself to blame for unintentionally flattering him with her attention.
On the bus, when she’d impulsively decided to make Mr. Smith jealous, she’d turned to Mr. Bowen, never realizing how vulnerable he was.
It had been a bad idea, but not unsalvageable.
If she could bring Mr. Smith to his knees right away, she would be leaving the tour before she had to worry about coming up with reasons why she couldn’t accompany Christine’s former French teacher on any more out-of-the way sight-seeing
trips.
In fact it was entirely possible that within a week, she’d be back at the law firm, content in the knowledge that she’d found her sister’s lover and had forced him to deal with the son he’d fathered.
“May I have the last dance, mademoiselle?”
Whitney had been expecting the invitation all evening, but it was the wrong male voice addressing her in the balmy night air.
After finishing her dinner with Roger and Jeff who’d given up on her and had asked some other girls to dance, she had excused herself to wander over to the boat railing in the hope that Mr. Smith would follow her. That had been close to an hour ago.
Caught up in conversation with a couple of other teachers throughout their meal, she’d still felt his narrowed gaze on her from time to time. He knew exactly where she was at any given moment and could have asked her to dance at any time. Now it was too late.
The monuments of Paris, more beautifully lighted than a Christmas tree, provided a breathtaking backdrop. A band played Petit Fleur in the background. Everyone had been dancing for a long time. The setting was perfect for seduction.
But not with Mr. Bowen!
She turned around. “How nice of you to ask me, but I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. A slight case of dizziness. I think jet lag has finally caught up with me. We’ll be docking in a moment and all I can think about is getting to bed.”
“We did too much today. I feel responsible. How can I help?”
“Would you mind asking Mr. Smith to come over for a minute?”
“I’m right here, Whitney. What’s wrong?”
He appeared as if out of thin air. In a dark blue dress shirt and chinos, he looked incredibly sexy and European. Her heart pounded outrageously. It wouldn’t surprise her if both men could hear it.
Since boarding the bateau mouche, she’d hardly been able to take her eyes off her chaperone. The striking combination of tanned skin and dark blond hair, plus his tall, hard-muscled physique, had drawn her gaze over and over again. Many of the females on board were having the same problem.
“I’m afraid her jet lag has turned into something a little more serious. Since you were otherwise engaged, I was just about to arrange for a ride when we dock.”
“I’m feeling under the weather myself. If you’ll make sure Roger and Jeff get back on the bus safely with you, I’ll accompany her in a taxi to the hotel. Let’s walk to the gate so we can be the first ones off the boat, all right, Whitney?”
“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Smith.” Thank you.
Without waiting for the other man’s response, she felt Mr. Smith’s hand grasp her elbow and guide her along the promenade deck toward the exit.
Though the man holding on to her was the evil one of the piece, she was happy to get away from Mr. Bowen. Another irony.
He’d been nothing but kind and solicitous the entire trip, but he was starting to act possessive. The idea of having to dance with him had sounded slightly repulsive to her.
Within five minutes, the boat pulled up to the dock and they were ensconced in a taxi, away from the others.
“I’m sorry if you’re not feeling well, Mr. Smith. Is that why you didn’t ask me to dance?”
In the confines of the back seat, her left leg lay against his hard thigh. The heat generated between them started a slow burn through the rest of her sensitized body.
“I feel fine. The reason I didn’t ask you to dance was because you had already turned everyone else down. To have accepted my invitation would have created unnecessary gossip.”
“You’re right. T-thank you for rescuing me.”
“It’s obvious that Mr. Bowen has developed a slight crush on you. I take it you don’t reciprocate his feelings.”
“Hardly.”
“Then you shouldn’t have been so affectionate with him on the bus earlier.”
So he had noticed. She felt another stab of guilt for her impulsive mistake.
“All I tried to do was show him some attention so the others wouldn’t think I had developed a crush on you. Except for you, no one else realizes I’ve made certain promises to my grandmother. I—I’m afraid my presence is just causing you a lot of trouble. It might be better if I make a reservation and fly back to Salt Lake tomorrow.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” he muttered. “Are you still feeling ill?”
“No. I made that up to discourage Mr. Bowen.”
“I thought so. You still want to dance?”
“Do you?” she cried out softly, her body trembling in anticipation and fear of the moment when his arms would close around her.
“It’s been a long time for me, but I think I can still remember a few moves. You can’t be in Paris and not enjoy something of its nightlife, not even at your tender age.”
She swallowed hard. “Do you know a nice place?”
“The Pavillon is around the corner from our hotel. It’s an upper-class establishment, so you won’t have to be concerned I’m taking you to an endroit your grandmother wouldn’t approve of.”
The more time she spent in his company, the more Whitney wished he weren’t the man who had seduced her sister. So far he’d been the perfect chaperone who’d never once crossed the invisible lines of decency. He came off as a pretty perfect man!
Except for tonight.
Tonight, instead of taking her directly to the hotel, he was going to make her wish come true and dance with her. Strictly speaking, he shouldn’t be doing this, at least not with one of his female students.
“If you don’t feel right about this, Whitney, just say the word and I’ll have the chauffeur drive us to the hotel.”
“I’m quiet because I’ve been thinking how wonderful you are to be this nice to me.”
“You’re easy to be nice to.”
“Am I dressed all right to go there?”
His head swiveled around. In the semidarkness she felt his penetrating gaze. “Your skirt and blouse look lovely.”
He was a master of understatement, yet the sexual tension emanating from him seemed explosive.
Her mouth went dry. “You don’t dress like the other teachers.”
“Don’t you approve?” His voice grated.
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“Then I’ll take it as one.”
Whitney was desperately trying to imagine her sister having this kind of conversation with him. Even now Christine was a young nineteen. Somehow Whitney couldn’t see either of them together on an intellectual or emotional level, and certainly not in the throes of great passion.
Because you don’t want to see?
“We’ve arrived.”
He levered himself from the seat, then helped her out. As in the library auditorium last week, he urged her forward with his hand on the back of her waist. Her body hadn’t forgotten his touch and seemed almost embarrassingly eager for the contact.
The crowded dance bar featured a live band that played ballades rather than rock. She looked around at the older, well-dressed crowd, excited and nervous to be here with him.
They were shown to a table where he ordered a glass of white wine for both them. “To help us sleep later,” was all he said by way of explanation.
Wondering if he meant that before the night was over they would end up in bed together, she was afraid to look at him just then.
This is what you wanted, Whitney. Why the hesitation?
Suddenly she felt a strong male hand grasp hers and pull her up from the chair. She lifted her stunned gaze to his.
“You wanted to dance? Let’s not waste any time.”
Slowly he drew her toward him. She went into his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Within seconds she felt the length of his hard male body, from his shoes to his cheek with its trace of five o’clock shadow.
Dear God. A fire enveloped her that went on forever, yet never consumed.
Their bodies were a perfect fit. As she looped her arms around his neck, his hands moved d
own her back with growing urgency, possessive and exploring. The sensation left her breathless.
Whitney had known physical desire before. But this cataclysm of excitement went beyond the bounds of anything she’d ever experienced because she could sense his overpowering desire for her, too.
With every movement, their bodies throbbed with wanting. It was agony because they were on a dance floor, fully clothed, in sight of other people. Their closeness wasn’t enough. They both wanted and needed much more.
So many feelings were erupting, vying for supremecy, she was in danger of forgetting why she’d come on the tour. For a few minutes, she’d forgotten that this man was wicked, that he had behaved in exactly the same manner with Christine.
This might be a new and sacred experience for Whitney, but she was simply another teenage conquest to this flawed teacher who exploited younger women for pleasure.
What greater proof did she need than to remember that a little over a year ago, he’d seduced her sister with just as much passion as he was showing Whitney right now?
She’d wanted to nail the person who’d caused her sister such grief. Tonight was her chance! He was barely holding on to his control as it was. All she needed to do was one more thing, and she could name the place and minute of his demise.
“Hank?” she whispered, brushing her lips against the cords of his neck while her breath came in shallow pants. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it if you don’t kiss me. I’m aching for you.”
“You must be reading my mind,” he murmured into her hair. “Let’s get out of here.”
His hand slid to hers. He drew her to the table where he placed a number of large bills next to their untouched drinks, then he led her out of the bar to a waiting taxi.
Once inside, he pulled her onto his lap with shocking swiftness. She heard him say something to the chauffeur, then he caught her face between his hands.
“I know you’re only eighteen, Whitney, but so help me, I want you, and I know you want me. If it’s a crime, then so be it.”
He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own, urging her lips apart with a refined savagery that thrilled every inch of her being, yet frightened her.
Undercover Bachelor Page 8
