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“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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