Undercover Bachelor

“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.”