Barbara's mind was a whirl of names. Los Alamos, Oak Ridge, Cape Canaveral-that was the sort of place Lance meant!
"We'd better be going," he said, fanning bills across the discreetly reversed check on the platter. "I have a feeling that Pietro's is about to be invaded by the minions of the law!"
Her mind reeling with thoughts of international intrigue, Barbara hardly noticed which direction Lance was driving them. Before she knew it, he had arrived at his apartment building.
"I hope you'll be coming up for a drink," he said. It came out more as a command than a wish.
"Well, I really shouldn't," Barbara said. "But since we're already here, I guess it's all right."
"That's the girl."
Once inside his penthouse, Barbara was intoxicated by the beauty of the place. The view was marvelous, and she stopped by the window almost hypnotized by the bright lights of the city. Lance left her there and then returned some time later dressed in a plush robe.
"Here," he said. "I thought you might like to get comfortable."
Lance held out a robe-a woman's robe, and just her size-to Barbara. She thought things had gone too far, but when she saw the gleam of insistence in Lance's eyes, she couldn't find the courage to resist.
After a few drinks, Barbara found herself feeling a bit more comfortable in Lance's presence. They sat close together on the couch talking like old friends. Then Lance hit a switch on a side table and dimmed the lights in the room. Finishing off his glass of gin, he reached out and grabbed Barbara, pulling her to him.
She loved their first kiss. Never before had a man been so bold with her. And never before had she felt so totally swept away by a man. When he moved his hand up to caress her breasts, she made no move to stop him. In fact, she encouraged him to reach inside and touch her flesh.
Lance massaged her nipples for a while as he kissed her deeply. Then he tore his lips from hers and began frantically untying the sash on her robe. He wanted to see her naked. He wanted her body revealed to him so he could run his hands all over it, so he could kiss her everywhere, so he could devour her with his eyes, his touch, his throbbing penis.
Lance slipped off the couch and dropped to his knees beside her. After removing the robe she wore, he began running his hands up and down, from her knees to her neck, pausing to stroke her large breasts, smooth his palms across her belly, or grind the heel of his hand into the puffy mound of her vagina.
When he figured Barbara was aroused sufficiently, he decided it was time to carry her into his bedroom. Running his strong arms underneath her, he picked her up. Barbara was amazed at how easy it was for Lance to support her while he ran into the bedroom. He seemed so strong to her, so powerful.
Tossing Barbara down onto his circular bed, Lance proceeded to shed his robe. Barbara watched him, eagerly anticipating the sight of his penis. She was rewarded momentarily with a glimpse of the biggest cock she had ever seen. When Lance caught her staring at it, he stood at the foot of the bed with his hands on his hips, smiling, letting Barbara have a good look.
"You like that, eh?" Lance said.
"Oh, Lance, it's so big," she said excitedly. "I've never… seen one so… big." Not that Barbara had been with a lot of men. However, Lance's size still amazed her.
"Well, don't worry, honey. I'll go nice and slow."
When Lance joined her on the bed, he embraced her, pressing her down against the mattress. While kissing her neck and shoulders, he pressed his hips into her thighs, letting the heat from his hard penis seep into her body.
Barbara looked at the ceiling to see that it was covered with mirrors. She could see herself underneath Lance's body. She could see his buttocks clenching as he began moving his hips back and forth. And she could see that she was enjoying herself. Smiling at her reflection, she returned to the task at hand.
Barbara extended her hand tentatively down toward Lance's penis. She gently scraped her fingernails into the flesh of his rib cage, his smooth lower back, his hairy thighs. Then she dropped her hand down and gripped the shaft of his prick. She held it tightly, thrilled by the way it filled her hand.
"That's it, honey," Lance said softly. "You don't have to be afraid. Just relax. That's the way."
Back and forth, Barbara stroked her fist. On the down stroke she felt her hand pressing into the soft, wrinkled flesh of his scrotum. At the height of the upstroke, she surrounded the shiny head of his penis.
"Oh, yeah," he grunted. "That's good, baby. But now I've got something else for us to do."
Lance pressed Barbara down onto her back and then spread her legs apart. He could tell her vagina was ready by the way it glistened from an excess of lubricant. Holding his penis in his hand, he aimed it toward the entrance of her pussy. He lowered his hips, and slowly he slipped his manhood inside her.
It felt so good to Barbara that she thought she would burst with delight. Lance's penis filled her so full. She abandoned herself to the wonderful feelings coursing through her body, responding to his fevered strokes passionately.
Higher and higher she drifted until a cascade of bright lights and rippling spasms enveloped her. She could feel Lance's semen smoldering in the depths of her vagina, and it felt tremendously satisfying.
Lance made her feel so good that for the rest of the evening she didn't think about the blueprints or foreign agents for a moment.
CHAPTER SIX
Spy! Spy! Spy! The word traveled through the Courier building with the rapidity of a brush fire leaping across the prairie. Everyone whom Barbara encountered that Monday morning was carrying a copy of the early edition. Her own paper was already dog-eared from having been read and reread.
"Soviet Agent Apprehended!" the banner shrieked, and under Lance Shelby's byline the story was dramatically revealed. The city police, acting on a tip from "your reporter," had placed Alexei Litvinov under arrest. An alerted FBI had already taken over custody of the suspected spy, and it was intimated that charges of espionage would be leveled against him. Definite proof of Litvinov's illicit activities, Lance wrote, had been placed in the hands of the federal authorities.
Although the nature of the proof was not described, Barbara guessed that this must pertain to the compromising photograph in Lance's possession.
He certainly left no doubt in anyone's mind as to who should be credited with the arrest, she thought with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.
References to "your reporter" were sprinkled liberally throughout the article. Even though it was Barbara who had been instrumental in the agent's identification, no mention was made of her participation. Actually, she felt rather relieved that her name had not appeared in the newspaper account. Melinda regarded Lance as her own special property-and Whit might not have understood, either.
In any event, the date had supplied the answer to a point which Barbara had found perplexing. Greg's theory that the blueprints were at one time secreted aboard the Albatross explained why the houseboat was being searched. But Lance Shelby's apartment had also been ransacked. Now she realized that while Alexei Litvinov would have given a great deal to gain possession of the blue prints, his primary concern undoubtedly was to unearth the telltale photograph. No wonder "Mr. Smith" had gone to such desperate lengths in his attempts to buy the Albatross!
Melinda's pointed comment about the unopened mail brought her sharply back to earth. What a relief, Barbara thought, reaching for the letter opener, to have all the riddles solved. Well-all but one. There was still no clue as to the person who had purloined the vital documents. But that was a matter for the FBI. Now maybe Whit could redecorate his houseboat in peace-and she could concentrate on her job!