McCall said. “Billy-be-damned. You’re a witch.” “Did I hear a labial?” Katie asked. “You’ve witched me. What is it? I never went for Irish girls before. I’d like a refill, please.” She raised her head again. Their lips touched and then there was pressure, and acceleration, and hands and chests and racing blood until Katie gasped and jerked away and said, “My God, what if somebody walked in? What’s the matter with me? Get over on the other side of that desk, McCall, before I yell rape.” “You’re something,” McCall said, not moving. “Right this instant.” He obeyed. She sat back and felt her hair. “You’ve ruined me. Just like a man.” “Have you known many men?” “In what sense?” “You know in what sense.” “You mean how many men have I gone to bed with? You know something, McCall, I ought to kick you in the you-know-where for daring to ask me a question like that on a twenty-four-hour acquaintance!” “I have a reason for asking,” McCall said doggedly.
