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ISBN: 9781780800295Author: Noel AmosWord Count: 92,716Format: eBook
'Excuse me.' The blonde was standing right in front of Gavin, on the other side of the counter. 'Hot, isn't it?' Gavin was thunderstruck. Her yellow halter-neck was moulded to her body, tightly encasing her voluptuous form. Her protruding nipples were dark points beneath the cotton. 'I can tell you like my figure,' she said in a low voice. 'Would you like to see some more?' Not waiting for a reply, she pulled the garment to her chin, exposing two stunningly proportioned breasts. They quivered in front of Gavin like ripe fruit. It was a moment before he noticed the gun. In a tone no less intimate, she added, 'While you're looking at my tits, put the money in the bag...'
She's out there somewhere - a woman of mystery and menace, with a knock 'em dead body that's coining her the cash. The papers call her the Topless Raider and her victims just pray she'll come back and roll them over again...
Assignments don't come any tougher than this - ice-cool detective Archie Monk has been handed the hottest case of the year. It's up to him to find the voluptuous blonde who has bared her all in building societies throughout the land - and made off with the money. Helping with enquiries is leggy journalist Robyn Chestnut. She's all mouth and no knickers but there's nobody better when it comes to grabbing exclusives.
Together they team up to hunt down the red-hot robber and put her where she belongs - back behind bras!
Monk was late for his appointment with Julia. This was not, as she assumed, a deliberate ploy but the result of an ill-timed telephone call. And so, when he took his seat on the other side of her desk, she was a nervous wreck and he was hopping mad. The call had been from Superintendent Hatter whose own anger was ill-concealed. 'You've got twenty-four hours, Monk. Nail that woman down by tomorrow morning or you're back in Traffic.' 'That's unfair, sir. I'm close to a breakthrough but I can't guarantee an arrest to a deadline.' 'Tough. I'm the one who decides what is unfair. And in my book that's the hotel bill you and Fantail are racking up at the taxpayer's expense. Not to mention the insults I am exposed to every day in the gutter press. The press with whom, I believe I am correct in saying, you appear to be hand in glove.' 'Sir?' 'Or should it be hand in knicker? I'm told that Robyn Chestnut of the Daily Rabbit is also a resident of this country-house hotel for the randy rich.' 'Superintendent, I can assure you that my relations with Ms Chestnut have been entirely professional.' 'If that means you're paying for the pleasure of her company just don't put it on expenses.' 'Sir, I protest—' 'Don't bother. If I were you, Monk, I'd make the most of the next twenty-four hours. That's if you don't want to be counting traffic cones for the rest of your career.' So it was no surprise that Monk's face was grim as he waved away Julia's offer of coffee and laid his notebook on the table. He gazed at the woman on the other side of the desk, his face like thunder. It was the allegation of sexual impropriety, more than anything, that so upset him. It was well known that he was no womaniser - he hadn't so much as kissed one for fifteen years. And the notion of a liaison with Robyn Chestnut was a joke. Make love to that Yankee ball-breaker? Preposterous. If he were going to fall for a girl she would be the opposite of Robyn. Warm and submissive, soft and feminine, someone who would respect his rough edges and aim to please. No tall dark skinny chain-smokers for him. He wanted a curvy blonde with pink pouting lips and huge sky-blue eyes... 'Inspector?' The red mist in his mind cleared and he looked into a pair of huge sky-blue eyes. His eyes feasted on Julia, checking her attributes against his requirements. She fulfilled them all, and then some. 'How can I help you, Inspector?' She was shifting unhappily in her chair. She looked vulnerable and, he couldn't deny it, very desirable. Monk shook aside inappropriate thoughts and began to question her. Julia Jarvis was his number-one suspect. Her car had been spotted at the scene of the last robbery. She had no alibi for yesterday afternoon. And there was no doubt she looked the part. What's more, if he could crack her, she was his passport to glory. The fact that he found her physically disturbing was irrelevant. 'Ms Jarvis, can you tell me what you were doing on these particular days?' He pushed a piece of paper across the desk. On it he had written some half a dozen dates spanning the previous two months. Monk did not say that these were the days on which Brenda crimes had been committed. He did not need to. Julia checked them against her desk diary, frantically searching for an entry that would prove her innocence. Surely, amongst the myriad notes about Rotarian dinners and staff holidays and ladies nights at the health club, there was something that would dispel suspicion? If she could just prove that she was on duty when one of the crimes was committed then she must be in the clear. 'I was here on May the eighth,' she said. 'It was Mrs Clegg's silver wedding and there were eighty-five for dinner. They had salmon en croute and the young Cleggs got drunk and pushed each other into the swimming pool.' There was a pause in the interrogation. Monk had become distracted by the play of sunlight on the side of her face. Her complexion was flawless, he noted. 'What time did you start the preparations?' he said at length. 'I came on duty about four. The kitchen staff were at it all day, of course.' He was finding her perfume distracting. It invaded his senses and lured his thoughts from the matter in hand. Was this some cunning ploy to throw him, literally, off the scent? If so, it wouldn't succeed. 'What did you do before that?' he asked. 'I - well - I can't remember exactly. I should imagine I went for a walk then had a bath. I generally rest before a late night.' He said nothing and she realised she hadn't helped her cause. 'Are you sure you can't recall what you did? You didn't go for a drive, for example?' Her eye fell on a pencilled note in the column headed May 8 and she said firmly, 'Oh no, I couldn't have done that because...' She stopped and suddenly began to page through her diary comparing entries. 'Because?' There was a strange expression on her face, as of someone counting the pennies as they dropped. 'Perhaps I did go for a drive.' 'Where to?' 'I really can't say.' Monk was puzzled. He changed tack. 'Get around the country much, do you, Ms Jarvis?' 'Not really, I don't have time.' 'Just the odd trip, then. Like the one you took to Bristol on the twenty-sixth of May.' Julia turned the pages. 'If you say so,' she replied. 'That would account, then, for the Bristol car-park sticker of that date which is still adhering to the windscreen of your car.' She smiled and lifted her chin high, it wobbled slightly but her voice was firm as she said, 'Quite.' Monk closed his notebook. He knew just about all he needed to know. She could have done the robbery in Skipton on May 8 and driven back in time to go on duty at four. She hadn't denied being in Bristol the day the Clifton branch of the Bristol Bountiful had been turned over. She hadn't come up with one alibi. The case was in the palm of his hand. So why didn't he feel elated? He stood up. 'Thank you, Ms Jarvis, that will be all.' 'All?' The sun streaming in the open window lit up her golden halo of hair. To Monk she looked like an angel - a beautiful and plucky angel staring her fate in the eye. A thrilling realisation struck him: here stood the master criminal of his dreams. He felt significantly affected and the effect was indeed significant - his penis was burning a hole in his trousers. She walked to the door as if to show him out. Then she turned to face him. 'You'll need to examine my breasts, I suppose. I mean, given the nature of these robberies.' 'Please don't worry about that, Ms Jarvis. We have the most sympathetic female officers. I'll make sure it is dealt with as discreetly as possible.' 'No!' Her blue eyes suddenly flared violet and her cheeks flushed pink. 'This is between you and me, Inspector Monk. I want you to examine me. Now.' 'Ms Jarvis, please. That's not necessary. Please don't—' But Monk's protests were already being ignored. With one hand, Julia was pulling her blouse from the waistband of her skirt; the other was unbuttoning the starched white cotton at her throat, her shiny pink nails slipping the tiny buttons free of their constraining holes.Monk watched as if paralysed, his mouth making noises as ineffectual as the buzzing of the honeybees on the roses outside the window. The action of those precise and slender fingers had him transfixed. He knew that this was his sternest test as a policeman - Bra-less Brenda was about to unveil her weapons. The plain cotton blouse fluttered to the floor, unveiling a boned white bustier which enhanced rather than concealed. The flesh of Julia's wondrous breasts glowed through the lace and the discs of her nipples thrust against the cups like the outlines of ten-pence pieces. She reached behind her back for the fastening. Then the garment was gone and Julia's delicious orbs were finally revealed. Full and round and trembling, their impact on Monk was like a blow to the chest. He sank into a chair. Julia took a step towards him and the big tit globes shimmied in the brilliant sunlight with a motion all of their own. The nipples were a flaming pink, swollen like ripe strawberries. Monk longed to taste them. She came closer, her breasts undulating inches from his face. He couldn't help himself. Fifteen years of abstinence had not wiped from his memory the ecstasies of the flesh. As he touched her those fifteen barren years might never have been. 'Oh yes,' she said as she surrendered her bosom to his hands and mouth. Then, 'Oh yes, yes!' as she caught his fever of desire. For Julia, fear was the ultimate aphrodisiac and she liked her loving rough. Despite her complaints she needed what men like Rodney Holmdale could do for her; she thrilled to Rodney's arrogance, his selfishness, his bestial requirements. Now she revelled in the firm handling of another man of authority, whose power over her was even stronger than Rodney's, for he held her liberty in his grasp. Fifteen years of self-denial had left Monk a hungry man and, even as he crammed his mouth with tit flesh, his fingers were beneath Julia's skirt tearing away her defences. In seconds her flimsy panties were shredded and her skirt was round her waist. 'Oh my God!' she cried as the policeman laid her over the desk and spread her firm white thighs. 'No more, please!' Monk paused with his rampant cock at the mouth of her vagina. For a second it seemed he might regain control. But Julia was too quick for him. 'No, no!' she cried, wrapping her legs around his waist like a boa constrictor around its prey - and jammed his long-neglected cock deep into the recesses of her hot wet pussy. 'Oh God, this is dreadful!' she cried at the top of her voice, already halfway to orgasm. Like riding a bicycle, there are some things a man never forgets. Monk rode Julia's succulent and sturdy body as if never out of the saddle. And when the journey was over, when he had shot a gallon of spunk into her soft white belly and torn his face from her heaving breasts, he ran from the room with a groan of anguish. Julia lay crushed against her desk, her legs in the air and her diary in the small of her back - wherein lay the key to her self-sacrifice. She wondered when the inspector might want to question her again.
Usually if porn writers try to create a novel at the same time, they turn out to either stink as a pornographer or as a novelist. Noel Amos however shows himself to be adept in both fields and manages to keep you interested in the story, in this case a whodunnit about cops and journalists trying to solve the case of a female building society-robber with a highly unconventional way of making the male tellers hand over the loot (okay, I didn't say he wrote PLAUSIBLE whodunnits). The people trying to solve the case get distracted a lot by each other and by a number of uninhibited strangers, leading to a great number of sex scenes that are involving and usually above average in heat. A pleasant and nonetheless very stimulating read that I highly recommend.
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