Praise Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN Copyright

Welcome to the second book of Rebecca Winters’ brand-new trilogy, LOVE UNDERCOVER.

An award-winning author, Rebecca Winters writes romances that pack an emotional punch you won’t forget! And her new miniseries is no exception.

Meet Annabelle, Gerard and Diana. Annabelle and Gerard are private investigators. Diana is their hardworking assistant Each of them is about to face a rather different assignment—falling in lovel

Their mission was marriage!

Diana Rawlins had turned up at the hospital with amnesia and a baby in her arms! She didn’t remember how either of them had happened. Her husband, Cal, was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery—especially as that seemed to be the only way he could save his marriage!

Rebecca Winters, a mother of four, is a graduate of the University of Utah. She has won the National Readers’ Choice Award, the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award and been named Utah Writer of the Year.

What others have said about Rebecca Winters:

Of Undercover Husband*

“Once again Rebecca Winters delivers a topnotch reading experience as she expertly adds a little suspense to a wonderful romance...”

—Romantic Times

[*Linked to LOVE UNDERCOVER trilogy]

Of Second-Best Wife

“A rare gem with a stand-out premise, memorable characters, and an emotionally gripping story of forbidden love.”

—Romantic Times

Of Three Little Miracles

“Featuring splendid characters and heart-tugging scenes, Ms. Winters spins a delightful tale in which love conquers all.”

—Romantic Times

“The first lady of Utah romance novels.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Winters weaves a magic spell that is unforgettable.”

—Affair de Coeur

Undercover Bachelor
Rebecca Winters

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

“ARE you saying it was a man on your tour of France last year who made you pregnant?”

Whitney Lawrence tried to hide her shock in front of her half sister Christine who was trying to keep Greg, her little five-month-old son, quiet by giving him another bottle.

They’d met for a quick lunch at a crowded downtown Salt Lake restaurant near the law firm where Whitney worked.

Up until this second, Christine had patently refused to tell the family who Greg’s father was. But all along Whitney had suspected it was one of the boys on Christine’s same tour bus, or a French boy she’d met in Paris or Nice. One moreover who didn’t have a clue he was now the father of the adorable little baby Christine was feeding right now.

After a long interval Christine nodded. “He was wonderful to me, Whitney, and so good-looking. When he told me he loved me, I was so happy, I—I couldn’t help myself.”

Bile rose in Whitney’s throat. “Did he force you?”

“No. It wasn’t like that. Just the opposite in fact.” She tossed her head back to reveal tear-stained cheeks. “When he confided to me that he was separated from his wife who’d been seeing another man for a long time, I—I didn’t feel as guilty about getting close to him.

“He said their marriage had been over for ages, and the only reason he hadn’t divorced her yet was because he was waiting until their four-year-old daughter was a little older and could handle it.”

At that revelation Whitney’s hand froze around the extra baby blanket before she pulled it from the diaper bag to give Christine. There seemed to be a slight draft where they were sitting. Greg needed a little more protection.

“Toward the end of the tour he thanked me for listening to him and admitted that he was falling in love with me. But he apologized for saying anything because he knew I was too young for him.

“I told him I loved him, too, and I kissed him to prove it. One thing led to another, and you know what happened. The day before I had to fly home we planned to shop and spend some time alone together. But he wasn’t feeling well so I volunteered to pick up a toy he’d ordered ahead of time for his daughter.”

“Did you end up paying for that, too?” Whitney was heartsick for her.

“No. He gave me an envelope of money. When I returned with the package, he was feeling better. We made love again, but that was the last time. He never called or wrote me after I got back to Salt Lake.

“That’s when I realized I’d been used. I vowed never to tell anyone. But then I found out I was expecting Greg.” Her voice broke. She lifted the baby to her shoulder to burp him.

Whitney was proud of Christine, who had turned into a wonderful mother. But it had to be an overwhelming job without a husband’s support.

“Oh, honey—” she murmured compassionately. To a naive, foolish eighteen-year-old teenager seeing the world for the first time, an attractive man’s exclusive interest meant love at first sight, no matter what fairy tales he told. It all went with the territory. And some unscrupulous male had preyed on that knowledge.

“He didn’t even mention the word protection, did he?”

The moment the question was out, her sister’s pretty features hardened. Whitney knew she’d hit a nerve. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I wish I hadn’t brought it up. Promise me you won’t say one word of this to Mom or Dad.”

“I promise.”

Whitney knew better than to press the issue. She wouldn’t get anything more out of her sister. In fact it was a miracle she’d revealed this much.

Sitting back in the chair, Whitney toyed with her burrito, unable to eat it. Either a male teacher, the driver, or the tour guide was Greg’s father.

The more she thought about it, the more she figured it was probably Christine’s French teacher, Mr. Bowen. After taking French from him for three years, she’d talked their mom and Whitney’s stepfather into letting her go on one of the student trips to France he organized twice a year. She’d been so crazy about him, she’d even nominated him for teacher of the year.

What was the saying? These kinds of situations generally happened to people you knew well?

The fiend was still running around loose with his students. No telling how many other willing teenage girls he’d talked into bed.

As Whitney sat there eyeing Christine and her precious baby, her attorney’s mind conceived the idea to nail that lothario for seducing her young, vulnerable sister. He’d left her pregnant, alone, and would never have to pay a penny of child support.

A stolen moment of pleasure for the jerk had changed the entire course of Christine’s life! He didn’t care that she had a reputation to preserve. Greg, at least, deserved to be given his father’s name.

If nothing else, Whitney would find out who he was and make sure he got fired to prevent him from ever using his job to exploit other female victims again.

Already she had a plan in mind to expose him. She couldn’t wait to get back to the office and put things into motion.

“Tell you what, Christine. After I get home from work this evening, I’ll come over to the house. You can get out with your friends, maybe go to a movie. I’ll tend my cute little nephew. I love to bathe and feed him. What do you say?”

The suggestion seemed to brighten Christine’s spirits. “That would be wonderful. I’m so thankful I have you and the family. I’d never make it through otherwise.”

“You’re not only going to make it through, you and Greg are going to have a wonderful life. I swear it.”

“Comrade? Phil said you wanted to see me.”

“I’m glad you got the message, Comrade. Come on in and shut the door. Someone from Interpol has been anxious to reach you.”

Gerard Roche sat down in the chair opposite Roman’s desk. “So what’s new, boss? They hound me all the time to go back and work for them again. I always tell them I’m not interested. I like the skiing here just fine.”

Roman smiled. “Amen to that. Besides, I’ve gotten used to my best PI solving the toughest cases. I refuse to lose you. If Yuri thought you were going back to Europe to work for Interpol again, I’m afraid you would have to answer to him, as well.”

The mention of Roman’s elder brother Yuri brought a grin to Gerard’s face. Roman and Yuri Lufka, short for Lufkilovich, denoting their Russian ancestry, were two of Gerard’s best friends.

There was nothing Gerard loved more than getting out on the ski slopes with both brothers who were not only great sportsmen, but phenomenal linguists. Together they managed to slaughter Russian, German, French and a few Slavic dialects at once, much to the amusement of their friends and colleagues. Yuri and his family flew to Salt Lake from New York every month for business and pleasure.

Between all of them, plus the other PI’s and Gerard’s parents who resided in Alta, a mountain town thirty minutes from Salt Lake, Gerard’s life was full. If he moved out of the country, the opportunities to visit the people he loved would vanish.

No way would he ever live in Europe again The avalanche that had claimed his wife’s life in Switzerland years ago had brought an end to many dreams. He had no desire to go back.

“I’ve just finished tying up the loose ends on the Burrow’s case and am ready to take on a new one, Roman. How about a witness protection assignment in the mountains where I can trade off with one of the guys and still get in some serious rock climbing?”

“When that case arises, you’ll be the first one to hear about it.”

Gerard stretched his long legs out in front of him. “In other words, you’ve got something on the docket I’m not going to like.”

Roman’s gaze scrutinized him. “I’m not sure. You don’t have to take it.”

“Now you’re intriguing me.”

“Interpol has had its eye on a man suspected of being a plant for a foreign government, probably eastern Europe, but they’re not sure. The name he’s currently using is Donald Bowen. The man has a wife and child. They’re still checking on the status of his wife.

“For the last seven years he’s been posing as a French teacher at a high school here in Salt Lake. During that period, he’s been part of a group of teachers taking their students to France and Switzerland in the spring, summer.

“It’s believed that during these trips, he acts as a go-between for an agent selling classified American military secrets to a Middle Eastern government. Unfortunately he has eluded Interpol’s best efforts.

“Though you’re a civilian now, they’d like your cooperation and are willing to pay for your time to help catch him in the act. They’ll supply all the backup you need. It would mean traveling to France and Switzerland in June.”

Roman eyed Gerard soberly. “If the memory of your wife, Simone, still hurts too much, then forget I said anything.”

“It’s all right, Roman. I let go of her a long time ago. Otherwise I wouldn’t have enjoyed female company since then, particularly Annabelle’s—when she would let me.”

At that remark, both of them chuckled. Gerard had liked Annabelle Forrester, another PI with the firm, more than any woman since Simone.

It had been the now-very-married Annabelle who, when she’d first come to work for Roman, had found out Gerard had been christened Eric-Gerard because of his German father and French-Swiss mother. At that point in time Annabelle had insisted that everyone stop calling him Eric and start referring to him as Gerard. She thought his French name sounded much more exciting and romantic.

Soon Diana, Roman’s private secretary, was calling him Gerard. What started out as a joke became the status quo as one PI after another followed suit. Roman finally made the decision that everyone call him Gerard so there would be no more confusion.

Not only did Gerard find Annabelle highly amusing, she was smart and adorable, but a little too elusive at times. Or maybe he used that as an excuse because he hadn’t been ready to make another commitment that could end in tragedy.

All the same, it was a bitter pill to swallow when Rand Dunbarton, Annabelle’s ex-fiancé and client, had moved to Salt Lake from Phoenix and had ended up marrying her. He was a lucky man and Gerard envied him.

“My problem is, I haven’t been to Switzerland since the accident.”

Roman folded his arms. “The trip will definitely stir up memories. For that reason I’m not pushing you on this one.”

Gerard was pensive. “Maybe it’s time to face my ghosts.”

“Only if you want to. Interpol will probably pay any fee you ask within reason to obtain your help. I’m told they’ve looked at other private detectives in the area, but naturally you’re their first choice because of your excellent work record with them, not to mention your fluency in French and German and your knowledge of Europe.”

“Spare me the litany,” Gerard interjected. “Even I have to admit I’m a natural for the assignment.”

“You are. No one else on this staff or any other would begin to qualify.”

“Tell me what my cover would be.”

“A divorced high school French teacher.”

“You must be joking. A sort of glorified Kindergarten Cop?”

That drew another chuckle out of Roman. “According to Brittany, and I quote, you bear ‘a superficial resemblence to Arnold Schwarzenegger, only you’re much better looking.’”

Gerard’s brows lifted. “Your beautiful wife said that about me?”

“She did.”

“Were you jealous?”

Again, the two men shared a quiet laugh.

“Interpol has decided that only a teacher on the same tour can monitor this guy’s movements day and night without suspicion. He uses a local company called STI, Student Teacher International.

“This agency flies a busload of Utah teachers and students to Paris where they connect with their European tour guide. Your job would be to help chaperone the students and get chummy with Bowen at the same time.”

Gerard sat forward. “I’ve gone undercover in hundreds of ways, but I don’t like the idea of using kids to get the job done.”

“Your target has no such compunction. That’s one of the reasons why Interpol wants to get the goods on this traitor so they can put him away permanently.”

“When is all this going to happen?”

“The tour leaves June fifth from Salt Lake International Airport on a special charter flying to Paris. You’ll be gone ten days for a tour of Eastern France and Switzerland.”

“I assume Interpol has done all the paperwork?”

“Take a look.” Roman pulled a passport out of an envelope sitting on the desk and handed it to him.

They stared at each other. “I was their first choice? Hell, I was their only choice!”

“That’s because you’re the best,” his friend said with convincing sincerity.

Gerard didn’t have to peer inside to know his own picture had been put there along with all the false identification. Deciding to get this over with, he opened the cover and saw his image staring up at him. Hank Smith, age thirty-eight, male from Utah, issued by the San Francisco office.

“Hank Smith? I wonder which idiot came up with that one?”

“Hank suits you, and there are more Smiths living in Utah than any other name. It all makes sense.” Roman winked. “According to the rest of the documentation, you’re a French teacher from St. George, Utah, who decided too late to sign up your own students. You’re willing to take any other teacher’s overflow and will pay full price for the opportunity so you’ll know how to organize for next year’s tour.”

“High school kids, huh?”

Roman flashed him a wry smile. “From what I understand, foreign language students are the better, more well-behaved bunch, but I have no doubts it will still be a challenge.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Gerard bit out

“There’s a meeting next Wednesday night at the Salt Lake Library downtown where the students and teachers get acquainted. Then there will be a final meeting a week from Wednesday night at the same place to go over last-minute instructions and give out tickets. It’s all in here.” Roman handed him the thick envelope.

“That next meeting is only four days from now.”

“I won’t assign you anything else to give you time to prepare.”

“I don’t know, Roman.”

“If you can’t make a decision yet, then don’t. I’m still giving you the time off. Go rock climbing for a couple of days. That’ll clear your head. Call me when you know what you want to do. I’ll deliver the message to Interpol, whatever it is.”

“Thanks, Roman. I’ll think about it.”

“Next, please. Your name?”

“Whitney Lawrence. Union High School.”

“I don’t see... Oh, yes. You’re one of the students wishing to travel with Mr. Bowen, but he’s full. We’ve assigned you to Mr. Smith’s group.”

“But I have to be with Mr. Bowen! One of my friends was on tour with him last year and loved him. That’s the only reason I signed up.”

That was the whole point of the situation in which Whitney had purposely placed herself.

“Everyone wants to be with Mr. Bowen because he’s such a popular French teacher. But you signed up too late. His students were already organizing for the trip last fall. Fortunately, Mr. Smith has room. He’s a fine French teacher, too. Don’t worry,” she said when Whitney made a long face. “You’ll all be on the same bus together.”

“Oh. Okay,” Whitney sighed out loud dramatically, hoping her reaction was that of a typical teen. Inwardly, she felt instant relief at the news.

“Everyone is meeting in the room at the far end of the hall. Here’s your name tag. Put it on so you’ll be recognized.”

“Thanks.”

Whitney took the tag and pinned it to the vest she wore over her short-sleeved blouse. Wearing sneakers, white socks and thigh-length cutoffs, her outfit resembled those of every teenage girl lined up in the hall of the library.

With her hair falling to her shoulders, the top portion caught near the crown with a clip, her hairdo blended with all the other hairdos which were more or less the same. Minus any makeup and blessed with her mother’s young skin, Whitney prayed she looked the eighteen years she was purporting to be. Only her passport would betray her, and she wasn’t letting it out of her possession for any reason.

She’d deliberately waited until this last meeting to show up, wanting to keep as low a profile as possible.

Everyone at the Sharp and Rowe law firm would be shocked to see their newest attorney, who had just passed the Utah bar, passing herself off as a teenager. But no one could know she was on a mission to expose the man responsible for getting Christine pregnant.

Of course it was possible her plan wouldn’t work. But better she use the vacation time coming to her since studying for the bar to try and track down the culprit, than stay at home brooding over her sister’s pain.

It wasn’t fair that a man got off scot-free in a situation like this. It happened all the time, all over the world, but that didn’t make it right. If she could carry out this tricky scheme for her sister’s sake and discover his identity, it was possible the father might suffer an attack of conscience and help pay child support. If nothing else, Whitney felt it would have been well worth the subterfuge for that much satisfaction.

Her family believed she was taking off to Mexico with a couple of friends she’d met while going to law school. If she couldn’t find Greg’s biological father, Whitney didn’t want to tell her family what she’d done. But if she was successful, that would be a different story.

Therefore, instead of sending the occasional postcard home which would give away a European location, she intended to make a couple of phone calls to the family so they wouldn’t become suspicious or worry. Christine had promised to go by Whitney’s apartment every day to check the mail and water the plants.

John Warren, a fellow attorney who’d been one of her study partners through college and had passed the bar at the same time as she had, was the only person who knew her plans.

When he heard what had happened to Christine and listened to Whitney’s idea to catch the teacher responsible, John applauded her plan, but he didn’t buy the teacher theory. Rather he tended to believe that the tour guide or the driver had been the one to charm her sister into bed.

To Whitney’s surprise, she discovered that John didn’t like or trust European men. Apparently he’d had a cousin who’d gone to Europe on a music tour and had gotten involved with some Austrian tour guide in Vienna who had only been playing around. It ruined her life for a long time.

Happy to help Whitney even the score, he volunteered to subpoena STI’s records on some pretext to obtain the names of the tour guide and bus driver on Christine’s tour.

Armed with the necessary information, Whitney had been able to request a tour that included the same teacher, driver and tour guide who’d been on Christine’s trip. It was leaving June fifth.

That day was almost here, Whitney mused as she stepped inside the doors of one of the library meeting rooms. At a glance it seemed forty or so students were standing in separate lines before tables placed around the room.

Pennants in different colors with teachers’ names had been mounted alphabetically on the walls above each table: Ms. Ashton, Mr. LeCheminant, Mrs. Donetti, Mr. Hart, Mr. Grimshaw, Mr. Smith, Mr. Bowen and Mr. Sorenson.

The teachers hadn’t come in yet.

Whitney was probably the last student to arrive and took her place behind a couple of boys talking animatedly about how much spending money they were taking with them.

On their tags she saw that the one named Jeff from Ephriam High was her height, five feet nine. The other named Roger from Dixie High was maybe an inch taller with a more robust build. Both had dark brown hair and they were cute.

As soon as they saw her, they stopped talking and just stared.

“Hi, guys.”

“Hi!” they said in unison, their faces breaking into huge smiles. “Are you one of Mr. Smith’s students?”

“No. I had planned to go with Mr. Bowen’s group, but I signed up too late, so they put me with Mr. Smith.”

“The same thing happened to us.” They spoke in unison again and the three of them laughed congenially.

“Where’s Union High?”

“Up in Park Valley. Box Elder County.”

“How many years of French have you taken, Whitney?” Jeff asked.

“Two.” Junior high seemed an awfully long time ago. “How about you?”

“Six years for me.”

“Me, too,” Roger chimed in.

“Wow. You guys must be good.”

“Of course.” Jeff grinned.

Roger said, “My French teacher goes over to France every summer, but she doesn’t want to take kids around, so she called STI and they assigned me to Mr. Smith who teaches in St. George.”

“We thought we were the only ones going with him. Looks like we thought wrong.” They grinned as if they’d just won the lottery.

Had she ever been this young and immature?

“I was afraid there would only be girls on the tour,” Whitney murmured, deciding she’d better start doing her share of flirting. That’s what teenage girls did all the time. Shamekssly. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

“This is already turning out to be a great trip and we haven’t even left yet,” Roger enthused.

“Since the three of us will have rooms by each other and eat meals together, we can help you out with your French in case you have any problems.”

“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.”

“De rien, Monsieur Bowen. From all I hear, it’s well deserved.”

He cocked his dark head. “Your accent. You sound like you’ve spent time in Geneva.”

“Lausanne, actually, but you were close.” Gerard took the greatest of pleasure in correcting the other man. “I’ve been trying to place yours. You must have been in Belgium. There are certain sounds you make I’ve only heard in Charleroi.”

After a brief silence, “You have an amazing ear. It’s true I studied French there for a time.”

“Not so amazing,” Gerard denied. “I did a lot of skiing in Europe when I was much younger. One of my friends came from Charleroi. You sound very much like him when you talk. I’m surprised you don’t plan a side trip to Belgium with your students.”

“They refuse to visit that part of Europe. All they really want to do is buy things in Paris and Switzerland. They don’t care about the stained-glass windows of the Saint-Chappelle, or the Roman ruins around Lake Geneva.”

Evidently the man had decided to make small talk in the hope Gerard would forget how adamant he’d been about trading Ms. Lawrence for his own nefarious purposes.

“All American students are the same. Spoiled and shockingly carefree.”

“You’re right about that,” Donald muttered without humor.

“I’m afraid I was the same at their age. Where did you grow up?”

“Washington State. Bellevue. And you?”

So many lies, Monsieur Bowen. How do you keep track of them?

“Right here in Salt Lake. But I spent all my free time at our cabin in Alta, skiing and rock climbing.”

“My wife’s family is from Salt Lake, Orem, to be precise. Between responsibilities at home and my profession, there hasn’t been much time for sports the last few years.”

“I was married once myself, so I understand how the commitment cuts down on your free time. It’s ideal you can take these trips to keep up your French.”

“That’s why I go.”

“I’d like to keep my French current, as well. It’s a an excellent way to stay in touch with the students and use the language. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get that drink before the show ends.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve enjoyed our chat, Don. Fortunately we’re going to have lots of time during the tour to do more of the same.”

The other man nodded. “If I don’t see you again tonight, we’ll meet at the airport.”

“Are you one of Mr. Smith’s students?”

The film had ended and everyone was getting out of their seats. “Yes, ma’am,” Whitney said on purpose to make herself sound as young as possible.

She’d been expecting Ms. Ashton to say something because it was perfectly clear that the French teacher was more than a little interested in Mr. Smith and wanted to give Whitney a piece of her mind for temporarily thwarting her plans.

What was equally obvious to Whitney was his indifference to Ms. Ashton. Whitney actually felt sorry for the other woman who must have come on several tours hoping for a relationship with him. Too bad she hadn’t caught on that he preferred defenseless teenage girls who couldn’t help succumbing to his charm.

The appraisal he’d given Whitney in the other room earlier provided proof that she’d been chosen for his next conquest. Things couldn’t be working out better.

Slowly she would allow him to believe that she’d fallen into his hands like a ripe plum. Near the end of the tour, when he thought he could maneuver her into his bedroom as he’d done Christine, she’d have all the documentation she needed to expose him.

As far as Whitney was concerned, this would be his last trip with STI since she intended to monopolize and seduce him until she could bring him up on charges of attempting to compromise her. Then they’d have a talk about Christine and Greg.

“Why didn’t you sit with the rest of his group?” Ms. Ashton questioned a little too sharply.

The woman has claws. Whitney decided it was time to unsheathe a set of her own.

“Hank was helping me with a problem that made us late.” Taking a calculated risk she added, “I told him I hated disturbing everyone, but he said you wouldn’t mind, that you were the motherly type, always willing to help out one more. I hope it’s all right.”

No woman wanted to be thought of as a motherly type by the man she fantasized about. The left-handed compliment could even be construed as cruel. But Whitney couldn’t afford to waste any time. With a limit of ten days, she needed to stake out her territory now, thereby eliminating any possible complications down the road.

“Don’t you think you should show him the proper respect and call him Mr. Smith?”

Uh-oh. “I tried to be polite, but he told me everyone calls him Hank and he expects me to use it.”

A deadly silence followed. Whitney didn’t dare look in the other woman’s direction. Instead she stood up, ready to leave the auditorium.

The other woman also got to her feet. “He’s a very busy teacher with a lot of responsibilities. You should be careful not to monopolize his time.”

“I would never do that.” Whitney spoke over her shoulder. “But my grandmother has already made arrangements for him to sit next to me throughout the tour because my best friend had to cancel at the last minute and I’m all alone.”

“I’m sure we can find a girl for you to pal around with.”

“If you did that, I wouldn’t be able to come on the tour. My grandmother says I have to stick with my teacher or I can’t go at all.”

“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 night. 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.”

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