Chapter 1
I was sitting quietly in my apartment thinking about the dream job that had been tossed into my lap and really looking forward to it. I'd had interesting assignments before, but nothing like this.
Me, I'm Christopher Sly, private detective, six-feet-two-inches from bare tootsies to my sandy crewcut, with lots of muscle in between. Before I turned to detecting, I was an actor, an extra chiefly, doing stand-in work for the Tarzan movies, pulling oars as a galley slave, and so forth. But it was rough finding jobs, so I was also a stevedore, an oilfield worker, and a chauffeur for a nymphomaniac who had a jealous husband. It was the chauffeur job that decided me to get a position with a steadier income.
I thought of becoming a stud for underprivileged females, but I did the next best thing instead: I became a private detective. In a few instances, the difference was imperceptible, but for the most part the job was pretty dull and unromantic-until this latest job came along. From the brief description I'd had of it, it seemed I might be able to utilize my full talents.
The doorbell rang. I figured it was Dave Keller, the New York detective who'd offered me the job and pulled the strings necessary to get me in on it. I was wrong.
I opened my apartment door, and there was a girl standing there. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that she was a girl. Her body shouted GIRL from the top of her flaming red hair to the tips of her manicured toenails. I wasn't the least bit disappointed.
She flashed a friendly smile at me and said, "Are you Christopher Sly, the private detective?"
"I sure am," I said heartily. "Are you selling Girl Scout cookies? I'll take a gross."
The smile got broader and friendlier as she shook her flame-tressed head. "No," she said, "but you're close."
Not as close as I'd like to be, I thought. She was wearing a tight black dress that looked like it was painted on, and my keen bachelor eyes couldn't detect a sign of bra or panties.
"My name's Naomi Burke, Mr. Sly," she said. "May I come in?"
"Of course," I said, stepping back. "Come on in. By all means."
The means she used was delightful to watch. She walked in, but it was more than a walk. It was poetry, it was music, it was a way of life. She moved on highheeled shoes into the room, her woman's flesh fore and aft jiggling provocatively.
I closed the door and turned as she sat down on the couch and crossed her legs so that the skirt pulled up above the knees. She had nice legs, and nice everything else, too, that I could see. She was a solidly constructed girl. She followed the general pattern girls generally follow, but she was special and very generous in a couple of places.
"You're staring," she said, pleased.
"Yes," I admitted.
"They are good, aren't they?" She took a deep breath that threatened to rip the fabric of her dress. "I've had a lot of compliments on them. I suppose you're wondering why I came to see you?"
"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind," I told her. "It's been much too busy with other thoughts. The important thing is that you're here. Would you care for a drink?"
"I'd like that," she said. "Scotch on the rocks?"
"Scotch on the rocks," I said and went to the bar to get it.
I got out the booze, the glasses and the ice cubes but I wasn't really paying a great deal of attention to what I was doing. Naomi Burke had gotten up from the couch-exposing lots of white leg and thigh in the process-and was walking slowly about the room, peering at pictures and things. Once, when she bent over to inspect the record on the phonograph, the dress stretched across her nicely rounded bottom, and I almost dropped my glass.
Fortunately, Scotch on the Rocks is a drink that doesn't take much concentration to prepare, and I finally got two glasses ready and took them to to her. I was almost afraid to find out what it was she wanted. People who come to a private detective usually are in some sort of trouble, and maybe I'd find out this luscious creature was married and had five kids and the fact that she didn't wear panties meant that she merely didn't like to wear panties.
She took the drink from my hand, and her fingers brushed mine and lingered in what seemed a caress. It sent hot and cold goosepimples chasing up and down my spine.
"Thank you, Mr. Sly," she said.
"You're welcome, Miss Burke," I said. "It is Miss Burke, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said. "But you can call me Naomi."
I breathed a sigh of relief. That took care of a husband and five kids that could easily louse up a nice healthy seduction.
"And you can call me Chris," I said graciously, backing her up toward the couch.
She sat down, and the dress pulled up over her legs. She didn't bother pulling it down. I wondered if she were a real redhead. I sat down beside her, very close, our legs and thighs touching. I could feel the heat of her body through the thin dress, and my temperature started a skyward climb. She was a complex of feminine curves from top to bottom and back up again, and from my viewpoint the sight was breathtaking.
She sipped at her drink, and her lips came away from the glass, moist, sensuous, inviting.
"I'm one of the girls you're supposed to guard," she said.
I stared at her, not comprehending at first. Then the light dawned, and I said, "One of the starlets at Majestic Studios."
She nodded. "I thought we mighter-get acquainted," she said, "before some of the other girls get at you."
"It sounds like a great idea," I enthused. "Ever since you rang my doorbell I've been dying to know you better."
I'm a great believer in the direct approach. I took her glass gently from her hand and placed it with my glass on the coffee table. Suddenly, I felt her hand on my leg, and I looked up to see her leaning toward me, her face tilted expectantly, her red lips slightly parted. Apparently, Naomi believed in the direct approach, too.
I put my arms around her, and she slithered into the embrace with quiet enthusiasm. I covered her lips with my own and held her close to me. Her body molded against mine, and through the thin material of the dress I could practically feel the flesh underneath. But practically was rapidly not becoming what I had in mind. Her lips were working feverishly against mine, her body was squirming excitedly against me. She made soft moaning animal sounds. I forced her back onto the couch, and my hands moved across her, along the heaving breasts, the trembling hips, the expectant thighs.
"Chris, Chris, Chris," she said, and then fervently worked her lips and tongue and breasts and her entire body against me.
It was too much for a human male to bear. I got up, scooped her into my arms and headed for the bedroom. Her arms clung to my neck, frantically as though I might let her go. Little danger of that. It was obvious to both of us the way she was affecting me. She nibbled at my ear, and the heady perfume of her hair filled my nostrils. Where my fingers were touching her bare flesh, her skin seemed hot. The animal excitment that throbbed through her seemed to pass across to me, and I found myself trembling as I took her into the darkened bedroom and gently placed her on the bed.
She kicked off her shoes and quickly unzipped and wriggled out of her dress and threw that beside the bed. She held out her arms then and pulled me beside her.
"Chris," she murmured. "Oh, Chris, touch me, kiss me, do anything you want, anything but please don't stop."
I wasn't planning on stopping. In fact, I was just starting. And Naomi was helping.
With frantic desperation her fingers fumbled at my shirt, pulling it from my trousers, and then they moved to the belt. In seconds, there was no barrier between us, and our bodies drew together, her naked breasts flattening against my chest, her hips holding against mine.
Our mouths closed about each other, the tongues thrusting eagerly. I moved my hands along the length of her beautiful body, across the silky mounds of her female flesh where they lingered, and then moved on. I touched and stroked and caressed her, and she began to moan and tremble and shudder.
"Chris," she moaned. "Chris."
And we made love. Beautiful, violent love. Our bodies meshed, and her nails raked my back, and her teeth were like needles of fire burning into my shoulder. Her breathing became faster and rougher, matching mine, as her movement increased its delightful tempo, and she cried out in an animal excitement composed of sounds rather than words. I closed my eyes and buried my face in the pillow and held on, tossed by waves of emotion. She let out a moan that was low and deep and there was a sudden contraction of muscles and a sexual explosion, and then it was over and we were lying quietly together, limp and sweat-soaked, our hearts pounding, our breathing sighs of relief and happiness.
We lay unmoving for a few minutes, resting, eyes closed. Then, she murmured, "Chris, you were wonderful."
I pushed myself up on one elbow and smiled down at her. "You were pretty swell yourself," I said.
It was an understatement. I'd never before been with a woman filled with such wild animal excitement. She was breathing deeply, and small beads of perspiration stood on her heaving bosom. I bent to kiss her on the cheek, a passionate but gentle kiss that somehow seemed so anitclimactical that we both had to laugh. She pulled me back down to her and held me tight and purred like a contented kitten.
"I never want to let you go," she said in a happy whisper. "Never."
"That might be a little inconvenient," I said, smiling.
But I thought about Dave Keller, who was coming to visit me and tell me about my new job. I was glad he hadn't arrived so far, but sooner or later-and probably sooner, damn it!-he would be ringing my doorbell, and a job is a job. I recalled that Naomi had volunteered the information that she was one of the bodies I was supposed to guard. It would be nice being near Naomi and getting paid for it. It could turn into a beautiful friendship.
"We'd better get dressed," I suggested reluctantly. "I'm expecting company."
She pouted. "A girl?"
I laughed. "No, not a girl. By the way, how did you know I was assigned to guard you."
"Word gets around," she said, with a smirk that was supposed to suggest mystery. "Some of the girls were talking about it and wondering what you were like. They thought you might be a male Charlotte Rice." She made a wry face, and at my puzzled look, she explained. "Our chaperone, a little grey-haired lady who's very strict but who goes to bed early and sleeps like a log."
Her hand slipped along my leg. "But I can see you're different."
"Hey, that tickles!" I said, rolling over on the bed.
She got up. "May I use your shower?"
"Be my guest," I said gallantly. "In fact, I may even join you."
In fact, I'd be out of my mind if I didn't. She was standing nude beside the bed like some Greek Goddess just arisen from the sea, the tiny droplets of sweat beading her body and making it glisten even in the dim light of the bedroom.
"I wish you would," she said. "I get awfully lonely taking a shower by myself. Besides, you can scrub my back, if you like."
"I like," I told her. "I haven't done a good deed all day."
"That's what you think," she grinned. "This way to the bathroom?"
"Uh-huh." I got up. "I'll get us some fresh towels."
I went to the linen cupboard to get some towels, and I heard the water running in the shower. When I got into the bathroom, Naomi was already in the shower stall and enough of her body showed through the obscure glass to make it seem very provocative.
I opened the shower door and said, "How is it?"
"Ooooh, wonderful," she cooed. The water came in many streams from the shower head and made rivulets along her shoulders, along her breasts and down her stomach. "Come on in."
I went in and closed the shower door behind me. It was slightly crowded in there, but I wasn't about to complain. Naomi had seized a bar of soap and was proceeding to make lather all over my body with it. All over, but she seemed to be specializing in certain areas.
"I like my men clean and healthy," she said. "And from the looks of things, you seem to be both." She moved her hands across my chest in a very distracting fashion, and then thrust the soap into my hand. "Your turn."
I took the soap and started soaping her shoulders and her breasts and along her stomach.
"Mmmm," she murmured, eyes closed, "that feels so good."
"Yes," I said, a bit hoarsely.
When I was through with the front of her, she turned and I lathered her back and her firm womanly buttocks. And then suddenly, I found myself breathing more rapidly and losing interest in cleanliness.
"I have the feeling," Naomi said seriously, "that you are an emotional young man, Christopher Sly." She turned slowly. "I like that-, but there are times when you should relax."
"It's hard when you're around," I told her.
She nodded, pleased. "I can tell. Maybe we should do something about that."
"Maybe we should," I agreed, but she was already in the process of doing something about it.
I leaned back in the shower stall, eyes closed, not listening to the sound of the water pelting us or the gurgle of the water going down the drain, aware only of the intense pleasure throbbing through my body. Naomi was in incredible girl, and very talented in many ways.
After awhile, she rose to her feet. "There," she said. "It's amazing how a warm shower will relax a person."
"Isn't it, though," I admitted, grinning at her.
I was about to grab her and kiss her in a brotherly fashion on the forehead, when the telephone began ringing. I grabbed a towel and walked swiftly out of the bathroom and into the living room, were the phone was.
"Is this you, Sly?" a male voice wanted to know. I admitted it.
"This is Dave Keller. Sorry I'm. late. I was delayed. Are you alone?"
"Yes," I lied.
I looked up to see Naomi standing in the doorway watching me, a towel held loosely and somewhat unnecessarily in front of her. No man could be alone with Naomi around; no man would want to be. She could just be in the room, doing nothing, and it would be very exciting. I turned my attention back to the phone.
"I'd like to come over now and talk to you about the job I mentioned earlier."
"Sure," I said. "Any time."
He hesitated. "There's a good deal more than I told you about it."
"I thought there might be," I said. "When will you be here?"
"A half hour okay?"
"Fine," I said. "See you in a half hour."
I hung up and looked to see Naomi pouting prettify, "Was that your girl friend?" she asked, in a heaven-help-you-if-it-is tone.
I laughed. "I don't have a girl friends. In fact, I don't even like girls. The only reason you appeal to me is because you look like a boy!"
Nothing could have been further from the truth. She was holding the towel to her in such a way that it was practically useless as a covering, and the cloth had become wet and clinging and had pasted to her lush, rounded body.
"Lady," I said seriously, "if you keep looking at me like that, we're going to try for some sort of record tonight."
Her smile got wider, and she dropped the towel and held out her arms.
"Hey, I've got company coming. Business-type company. Even a private detective's got to eat," and at her grin, "Don't you have to get to bed early?"
It was incredible. Nothing I said seemed to have fewer than two meanings, so I decided to give up on the light approach. I went to her and took her shoulders in my hands and looked into her green eyes. Her skin was still warm and not entirely from the warm shower.
"I could stay in the bedroom," she said, "until your visitor left. I promise I won't listen."
"There'll be other times," I said. "At least, I hope there'll be other times."
She nodded. "Lots of them. You'll be living right in the same building with us, so there won't be any chance of escaping."
"Who wants to escape?" I said, drawing her close, feeling her warm, smooth flesh against me. Then, quickly, I pushed her away. "But you've really got to go"
"I know," she said, with a reluctant sigh. "They do keep pretty close tabs on us. I managed to sneak out, and now I'll sneak back in. Janet Hooper will cover for me; at least, she'd better, with what I've got on her!"
Women! I thought. I wondered if Janet Hooper was as good looking, and as uninhibited, as Naomi. Naomi was the only one of seven girls that I'd seen, but traditionally Hollywood starlets are well-shaped and exceptionally pretty. And I'd be among them, living with them, seeing that no harm came to them. I couldn't help but think that it was like giving a wolf the job of guarding seven young lambs from other wolves, but I had no intention of mentioning this analogy to anyone but my sleeping conscience.
I got dressed while Naomi busied herself in the bathroom. Then she came out and quickly slipped into her dress and sat down on the edge of the bed to put on her high heels. More than ever, it seemed as though she'd been poured into the tight-fitting garment. The memory of her voluptuous nude body was still with me, and the tight dress seemed almost transparent to my remembering gaze.
She got up moved in close to me and put her arms around my neck. I held her waist.
"We'll get together real soon, Chris," she said. "Yes," I said.
"And Chris-" She hesitated. "Be careful."
I looked at her, puzzled. "About what?"
"I'm not sure, really. Maybe it's my imagination, but I have the feeling that there's something about this situation that isn't on the up and up. Your being hired to guard us, I mean. Maybe it's just my silly woman's intuition, but-"
I laughed and kissed her lightly on the nose. "I'll be careful," I promised. "Now, you'd better get along before you turn into a pumpkin."
It was a difficult metamorphosis to imagine, and I didn't bother trying. She pulled my unresisting head down to meet hers, and our lips collided, moistly, passionately, parted to allow greater intimacy. Even now, the feel of her body through the thin dress was very exciting.
We broke away and she walked to the door, hips moving the way female hips should move. She paused briefly and pursed her lips in a remote kiss, and then opened the door and went out. I could hear her high heels clicking along the concrete patio and past the pool.
Suddenly the apartment seemed very silent and lonely, and I went to make myself another drink, wondering what Naomi had meant about my being careful.
Probably just, as she'd said, her woman's intuition going astray-and yet there were some odd aspects of it that perhaps Dave Keller could clear up. Like what was his interest in it?, for example. And why the big deal of guarding a bunch of starlets?
I'd just poured the scotch over the ice cubes when the doorbell rang. That would be either Naomi coming back for thirds, or Dave Keller to give me another kind of business, I decided. I was wrong on both counts. I threw open the door. A large, heavy-set man in a dark suit was standing blocking the doorway.
"I want to talk to you, Sly," he said in a low voice. It wasn't a request, it was a statement of fact.
He seemed pretty determined, so I said, "Sure, come on in."
Besides, there's one rule for survival I practice as often as I can, and this was one of those times: never argue with a man who's got a gun in his hand and is pointing the muzzle at your stomach!