It was on the tip of her tongue to reveal the brilliant way in which Greg had plotted the circumstances surrounding the theft of the blueprints. Just in time, she restrained the impulse. The slightest hint to a newsman of Lance's capabilities would have him burrowing for details. And the last thing Greg or the Navy wanted right now was more publicity!
'Besides,' she substituted hastily, 'why shouldn't he remember you? You're one of the best-known reporters on the West Coast. How about sharing the secret of your success and telling me how you reached such lofty heights?'
Lance considered. 'Persistence. Determination. Luck, once in a while. My family had practically no money. I resolved to make up for it-be the richest kid on the block, as well as the smartest. You have to be tops if you want to get rich in the newspaper business. After working hours were over, I used to go out and make contacts. Pretty soon I had friends and informants in every walk of life, and leads to the big stories started trickling in. I made them pay off.'
Barbara nodded, thinking that this driving determination explained a great deal about Lance Shelby. Vanity accounted for only a small part of his personality. A heaping portion of ruthlessness also figured in his outlook on life. Where his goals were concerned, nothing had been allowed to stand in the way.
'Well, you accomplished your aim,' she conceded. 'I doubt if many of the other kids on your block drive around in Italian sports cars, or fly to the Orient on routine assignments.'
Lance disposed of the last succulent morsel of lobster. 'My assignments are never routine,' he corrected.
'Allow me to rephrase my statement,' said Barbara humbly. 'Lance Shelby flies to the Orient only on the most unique assignments. All right?' She smiled, and set down her coffee cup. 'Tell me about Hong Kong. Isn't it situated a bit too close to Red China for comfort?'
Lance gave her a keen look. 'So you're a geography student, as well as a Society writer? No, I can't say that I ever felt uncomfortable in the Crown Colony. The British keep it well policed.'
A flurry of activity at a nearby table captured their attention. Someone's wine glass had overturned, and a waiter moved quickly to blot up the red stain which snaked across the snowy linen cloth.
Barbara's first glance at the scene of the mishap had been casual; her second was frankly incredulous. 'Lance,' she whispered, 'the man at the corner table-he's the Mr. Smith I was telling you about!'
In a natural manner, as if merely wishing to summon the waiter, Lance swiveled. 'Smith, nothing!' he said gleefully. 'That's Alexei Litvinov!'
While Barbara was puzzling over this unrevealing piece of information, Lance rose unobtrusively and made his way to a phone booth.
'I've had the goods on Alexei for months, but he's always managed to elude me,' the reporter said, returning by a route which kept his back to the unsuspecting foreigner.
'But-who is he?' Barbara whispered eagerly.
'Read the Courier tomorrow morning and find out,' Lance teased. Amused by her crestfallen expression, he relented. 'Comrade Litvinov,' he informed her sotto voce, 'is one of those men who are popularly known on television dramas as espionage agents. Uncle Sam knows all about the little games he plays. The State Department refused him a visa when he applied for entry to this country last year.'
'Then how did he get in? What's he doing here? And how,' Barbara asked, 'did you come to know him?'
'You sound like a pal of mine who does interviews on radio. Never lets the interviewee get a word in edgewise,' Lance chided. 'We don't have an iron curtain around America. Anyone with a reasonable amount of determination and intelligence can evade the border patrol and slip in illegally. I ran across Litvinov in Paris a couple of years back. At that time, he was a strike agitator-he and men like him stirred up all sorts of trouble for the French. They promoted a strike which literally crippled the country's transportation for six weeks.'
Barbara's eyes widened. 'Is that his mission in the United States?'
'My dear child,' Lance said patronizingly, 'Comrade Litvinov is a very versatile fellow. One never knows from day to day what dirty work he'll stick his pudgy little finger into next.' He paused. 'I can tell you this, though-I have a file in my safe-deposit box which contains a picture of him. It was snapped in a place which not even loyal American citizens are allowed to enter-unless the highly specialized nature of their work takes them there.'
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.'
