Undercover Bachelor

by Rebecca Winters

  How else could she explain these feelings? He’d knocked the foundation out from under her, even when she’d believed the worst about him.

  White-hot heat enveloped her body when she thought about how she’d responded to his lovemaking. One touch of his hand, one kiss had turned her into a wanton, uninhibited woman who’d clung to him, practically begging him to continue that mindless ecstasy and never stop.

  Somehow she was going to have to feign indifference when they were alone, yet keep the same studentteacher relationship with him when they were in public.

  She hurriedly got ready for bed, but sleep was impossible because she knew Hank was on the other side of the hotel room wall separating them. Her body still writhed with unassuaged longings. If he hadn’t discovered that minirecorder when he did...

  Whitney sat up in bed abruptly, her heart racing out of rhythm. The fantasies had to stop. That’s all they were. Creations of her imagination which had no basis in reality.

  Hank Smith—that was the name she’d better stick to—had come on this tour because it was his job. If Mr. Bowen had picked on one of the other female students to seduce, Hank would have intervened on that poor teen’s behalf instead of Whitney’s.

  In that particular instance, he would have treated Whitney like he treated Jeff and Roger. Whitney would never have known the kind of incredible intimacy they’d shared over the last few days. What hurt most was to realize his lovemaking had been part of a day’s work, nothing more.

  She needed to get that into her head. Above all, she couldn’t let on that what had transpired between them had affected her in any way whatsoever.

  The best thing for her to do was concentrate on Mr. Bowen and set him up for the kill. Discovering the father of Christine’s baby was the sole reason she’d come on this tour in the first place. Now that she knew his identity, she could lay the trap she’d been planning and use Hank, rather than the local police, for backup.

  Tomorrow, while they drove to Dijon, she would make herself available to Mr. Bowen and follow his lead, wherever it took her. The thought of him touching her, let alone kissing her, made her cringe in revulsion, but at some point she was going to have to allow him those liberties or her plan would fail.

  On a groan she turned over on her stomach, determined to empty her mind of everything and get some sleep before her alarm went off.

  But as she would come to find out in the nights ahead, she had little control over her thoughts. Right now all that consumed her was the man next door.

  Who was he really? He’d referred to an office. Did he work in Salt Lake? Was it true about his being free? Was he divorced, or a widower? Or did he have a wife? A man as attractive as he was would have been claimed by a beautiful, desirable woman a long time ago.

  If he was married, how did she stand to let her husband go off on undercover assignments, never knowing what he did when he was away from her, never knowing if and when he became physically involved with another woman as part of his latest assignment.

  Whitney could never abide such an arrangement. She knew herself far too well. If a man like Hank Smith were her husband, she wouldn’t be able to share him. Not for any reason or under any circumstances.

  All worked up again, she buried her face in the pillow. Right now she’d sell her soul to know if he was thinking thoughts about her, and more particularly, if those thoughts made it difficult for him to sleep...

  CHAPTER NINE

  “HANK SMITH, as I live and breathe! Imagine bumping into you here of all places.”

  Keeping one eye trained on Whitney who was standing by the railing with Jeff and Roger taking pictures, Gerard had been lounging with the other teachers in their group aboard the steamer that cruised Lake Geneva when he heard Yuri’s distinctive voice call out to him in impeccable French.

  Removing his sunglasses, Gerard levered himself from the deck chair and gave his good friend a bear hug. Yuri reciprocated in kind. They grinned at each other, sending nonverbal messages. It had been too long since they’d last seen each other.

  Rather than choose the hotel restaurant in Geneva where Donald Bowen could excuse himself and walk out on everyone when he chose, Gerard and Yuri had decided ahead of time that the boat would be the best place for a reunion and introductions.

  No one could go anywhere until it made its first scheduled stop around the lake at Lausanne, a city the students were going to explore. But that wouldn’t be for another half hour at least. Enough time for Yuri to make a judgment about Bowen’s ethnic background.

  “Eh bien, mes amis,” Gerard provided the introductions in French. “This is Dr. Antoine LeCler, an old ski buddy of mine from way back when I lived in Europe. He’s originally from Charleroi, and is now a professor of languages in Geneva. Hey, Don? You remember my telling you about my friend?”

  Bowen, taken completely by surprise, hesitated before saying, “But of course.”

  Gerard couldn’t have been happier with the situation.

  “Antoine? Don here studied in Charleroi for a time. You both have the same accent.”

  Everyone agreed and soon Yuri and Bowen were plied with the kinds of questions only Francophiles who lived and breathed everything French would ask.

  Yuri played his role like a pro, drawing everyone into the conversation, forcing Bowen to respond when it was obvious to Gerard that the other man didn’t want this kind of attention.

  Each teacher exchanged French anecdotes, telling funny personal experiences. Even Fran Ashton shed her hostility toward Gerard long enough to enter in.

  Yuri, who could do amazing language imitations, had a way about him that invited secret confessions and laughter. The only person who didn’t appear caught up in their lively discussion was Bowen. This prompted Yuri to go for the jugular, making it impossible for Bowen to avoid his share of the unwanted limelight.

  Donning his sunglasses once more, Gerard searched the crowds of students for Whitney who had moved out of his line of vision. Since that illuminating scene in his hotel room night before last, she’d left him alone while she mingled more and more with Bowen’s students to allow their target easier access to her. As a result, she rarely gave Gerard the time of day.

  Not once during an unguarded moment had he caught her looking at him with that hint of longing. When their eyes did meet, she regarded him head-on, the way she did everyone else, giving away nothing of her thoughts.

  By her seeming disinterest, the desire that had engulfed them from the beginning might never have been. But Gerard couldn’t fathom that all those feelings and emotions had been pretense on her part. Before he went to bed tonight, he was going to catch her unaware and elicit the response he’d been waiting for. Living for.

  “Eh bien, mon ami.” Yuri spoke loud enough to Gerard so everyone could hear. “What are the chances of you visiting my summer language camp at Clarens? That’s where I’m headed this morning.”

  “Much as I would like that, I can’t leave my students.”

  “I’ll watch them.” Bowen jumped in on cue ahead of the others. He’d seen the perfect opportunity to get Whitney to himself and didn’t waste a moment. Now that he didn’t feel Gerard was trying to thwart him, Bowen was showing a more magnanimous spirit.

  “You’re sure?”

  The other man shrugged. “Three more students is nothing. It isn’t every day you meet up with an old friend.”

  “Thanks, Don. I owe you.”

  “Forget it. It’s my pleasure. Take the whole day off. We’ll see you back at the hotel tonight for the polka fest.”

  Gerard smiled. “Fantastique. Excuse me a moment while I go find my students and tell them of the change in plans.” He motioned to Yuri. “Come with me, Antoine. I’ll introduce you. They’ll be impressed to meet an old ski bum who turned out to be a scholar of such high repute.”

  “Be careful, mon ami. Don’t forget I know stories about you that could ruin your reputation.”

  Yuri’s remark left everyone chuckling as Ge
rard motioned to his good friend to follow him up the stairs to the next deck.

  As soon as they were out of sight of the others Yuri whispered, “He’s from one of the old Eastern Block countries, like Romania. No question about it.”

  “Then everything fits,” Gerard murmured. “There’s a faction from that area of the continent working for an emerging Arab nation. Undoubtedly some military secrets stolen from the Americans are being funneled through that shop in Paris. They’re using a Moroccan cover. Bowen has been their go-between for six years, and uses one of his students every time to make the final contact.”

  “If you’d stayed with Interpol, Monsieur Bowen’s cover would have been blown five years sooner. But luckily for me and Roman, you gave all that up and came back to Utah to live.”

  “Amen to that, Yuri. I have no interest in doing anything more than staying home and continuing the undercover work I like best.”

  Yuri darted him a shrewd glance. “Haven’t you left something out?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on. “Fess up. Roman’s been telling me about a very fetching eighteen-year-old high school student named Whitney Lawrence you’ve gotten involved with. Shame on you, Comradsky.”

  Gerard groaned. “That information was classified.”

  “So was Roman’s bogus marriage to Brittany when he was working undercover as her husband to catch the man stalking her. But that didn’t stop you from leaving out one very important detail when you let that bomb drop on me that he was getting married...”

  “I’ve already repented of that particular sin. Besides they’re very happily married now.”

  “They are, thank God. But I haven’t quite forgiven you yet for jumping the gun and telling me they were legally married when they weren’t! So tell me about this forbidden infant goddess who has brought you to your knees. I never thought I’d see the day.” He rubbed his hands, relishing the moment. “Roman is expecting a detailed report.”

  “She’s not an infant, Comrade. She’s a twenty-six-year-old attorney.”

  “But you didn’t know that at the beginning, you old reprobate.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” he half growled. “There she is now, by the railing. The one in the print skirt and blouse with the—”

  “Blond hair and long legs that go on forever?” Yuri interrupted. “I see her.” He whistled. “No wonder you found yourself in so much trouble.” Yuri’s voice trailed as Gerard turned swiftly away and started across the promenade deck to the place where she was standing with the guys.

  “Whitney? Jeff? Roger?”

  All three turned around. “Hi, Hank. What’s up?” Roger asked.

  Gerard noticed with increasing frustration that Whitney remained silent, her regard impersonal.

  “I’d like you three to meet a very old, close friend of mine, Dr. Antoine LeCler. We did a lot of skiing together in Europe years ago.”

  Everyone said hello and shook hands.

  “Antoine has invited me to spend some time with him today, so Mr. Bowen has offered to show you guys around Lausanne with his students if that’s okay.”

  “Sure.” Jeff spoke up, nudging Roger because both boys were excited about the idea of being around Whitney without Gerard breathing down their necks.

  “Is that all right with you, Whitney?” he prodded because she still hadn’t said anything. Instead, those violet eyes were studying Yuri, probably trying to figure out where he fit into the scheme of things. Suddenly she switched her enigmatic gaze to Gerard.

  “Of course.”

  Her mouth was so enticing, Gerard had a hard time keeping his eyes level with hers. To his chagrin, she didn’t appear to have any problem facing him. Hell.

  “Then I’ll see you back at the hotel in Geneva for dinner.”

  “Enjoy yourself, Hank. We’ll watch out for Whitney,” Jeff assured him. “Nice to have met you, Dr. LeCler.”

  Yuri shook everyone’s hand. “The pleasure was all mine. Thanks for letting me steal my old buddy away for the day. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Be good and don’t spend too much money,” Gerard flung them a final warning. As he turned away, he thought he saw Whitney shiver. Since the heat was fairly intense on this beautiful summer day, he suspected she was dreading the thought of spending any time with Bowen, no matter how anxious she was to expose him.

  Gratified that she’d shed a little of that sangfroid, enough to show some adverse reaction to his imminent departure because she thought she was going to be on her own with Bowen, Gerard descended to the lower deck with Yuri in a better frame of mind than he’d experienced in several days.

  “So, Comradsky—it looks like we’re coming in to dock. Wish we could spend some real time together.”

  Gerard clapped him on the shoulder. “In four days this case will be wound up. If I can, I’ll stop in New York on my way home.”

  “I’m counting on it Something tells me that when you get back to Salt Lake with Ms. Lawrence, I won’t be able to pry you away for a weekend, let alone a holiday.”

  His jaw hardened. “I’m not sure she’s interested.”

  “Then you must be blind.”

  “How so?”

  Yuri stared at him through veiled eyes. “The tension between you two could light up a city. You have the same kind of chemistry I felt around Roman and Brittany when they were both pretending that they weren’t emotionally involved with each other. You can try to hide it all you want, but the vibes are there.”

  “I wish I could believe you.”

  “After you’ve caught Bowen, you’ll be able to see more clearly.”

  “That day can’t come soon enough.” He turned to Yuri. “Thanks for being there for me.”

  Yuri flashed him a white smile, reminding Gerard of Roman. “What are friends for? Shall we go? Everyone’s debarking.”

  Gerard nodded and the two men moved toward the gangplank. “What’s your plan?”

  “I phoned ahead to the hotel over there. They have a rental car waiting for me to drive back to Geneva. My flight home leaves in an hour and a half. I guess you have your work cut out following Bowen around.”

  “That’s right. No telling what he has in mind now that he thinks he’s got Whitney to himself for the whole day,” Gerard ground out, his gaze focused on the back of the woman who had brought him alive in a way he’d never experienced before.

  He and Yuri stepped off the boat behind everyone else and waited until the tour group had rounded a corner before Gerard took leave of his good friend and started after them.

  For the next six hours he followed every move Bowen made with the students through shops, restaurants, churches and parks, but he didn’t see him pull anything out of the ordinary to get Whitney alone.

  Gerard figured that with the other teachers and students around, Bowen’s hands were pretty much tied for the day. Of course that wouldn’t prevent him from making private plans with Whitney, plans Gerard would hear about later when he took Whitney aside.

  By five o’clock, the group boarded the train headed back to Geneva. Gerard took a taxi from the station to the hotel so he could reach his room ahead of Whitney. With hers straight across the hall from his, he could leave his door slightly ajar and listen to any conversation that might ensue.

  He waited five minutes before he heard Jeff’s and Roger’s familiar voices in the hall, Whitney’s among them. It didn’t appear Bowen was with them since his room was one floor up.

  As soon as all was quiet, Gerard gave Whitney a few more minutes, then he slipped across the hall and tapped on her door.

  “Who is it?”

  Pleased that she had learned not to open her door to anyone before calling out, he said, “It’s Hank. I need to talk to you.”

  Just the sound of his low, male voice made Whitney quiver with excitement. Aside from the fact that she needed to talk to him about Mr. Bowen, she craved his company. Being apart from him for a whole day had shown her une
quivocally how much he’d come to mean to her, how much she wanted and needed him in her life. It was frightening how one man had transformed her world forever.

  But she was quite sure he didn’t feel the same way about her. He had a job to do, and when it was done, she feared she would never see him again.

  Right now she needed time to compose herself before she let him in. The way she was feeling, she wanted to fling herself into his arms and never let go.

  Instead, she pressed herself against the door. “Couldn’t we talk on the phone just as easily? I—I need to shower.”

  “Let me in, Whitney.”

  She blinked. He sounded so intense, she wouldn’t put it past him to enter her room anyway.

  With shaky hands she undid the lock. He swept inside and shoved the door closed with his foot, bringing the faint scent of the soap he used with him.

  She felt his penetrating gaze envelope her in one all-encompassing glance, sending a wave of heat over her body. While she looked her worst in the limp blouse and skirt she’d been wearing all day, he sported a navy polo shirt and khakis, and had never appeared more attractive. His appeal hit her like a physical force.

  “Tell me what went on with Bowen today. I tailed you everywhere, so I know he didn’t try to separate you from the others.”

  Her eyes widened. “You followed us?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But your friend—”

  “My friend was helping me with this case. By now he’s back in New York with his family.”

  Whitney studied his rugged features. “He’s not a professor of languages.”

  “No, though he’s a master of half a dozen. What plans does Bowen have for you?”

  Whitney lowered her eyes. It was just as she thought. All he cared about was the case.

  “Several things actually. Since tomorrow is a free morning, he wanted to take me to a resort on the French side of the lake for breakfast He said something about renting a car.”

  “Did you say you would go?”

  She lifted her eyes to his once more, noting how much greener they’d suddenly become.