Undercover Bachelor. Rebecca Winters

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