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
