"They talk about you all the time."
"You mean they ask questions about me?"
"I'll say,"' she grinned.
"I imagine when they're through, they must feel frustrated by the lack of information."
She shook her head. "Wrong. I make up all kinds of stories about you."
Fraser was leaning back in his chair, relaxing over a brandy. "What kind of stories?"
"Are you sure you want to hear?"
"Positive."
"Well, I tell them that you're an ogre and that you scream at me all day long."
He grinned. "Not all day long."
"I tell them that you're a nut about hunting and that you carry a loaded rifle around the office while you dictate and I'm constantly afraid that it'll go off and kill me."
"That must hold their interest."
"They're having a fine time trying to figure out the real you."
"Have you figured out the real me?" Fraser's tone had become serious.
She looked into his bright blue eyes for a moment, then turned away. "I think so," she said.
"Who am I?"
Catherine felt a sudden tension within her. The bantering was over and a new note had crept into the conversation. An exciting note, a disturbing note. She did not answer.
Fraser looked at her for a moment, then smiled. "I'm a dull subject. More dessert?"
"No, thank you. I won't eat again for a week." "Let's go to work."
They worked until midnight. Fraser saw Catherine to the door, and Talmadge was waiting outside to drive her back to the apartment.
She thought about Fraser all the way home. His strength, his humor, his compassion. Someone had once said that a man had to be very strong before he could allow himself to be gentle. William Fraser was very strong. This evening had been one of the nicest evenings of Catherine's life and it worried her. She was afraid that she might turn into one of those jealous secretaries who sits around the office all day hating every girl who telephones her boss. Well, she was not going to allow that to happen. Every eligible female in Washington was throwing herself at Fraser's head. She was not going to join the crowd.
When Catherine returned to the apartment, Susie was waiting up for her. She pounced on Catherine the moment she came in.
"Give!" Susie demanded. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened," Catherine replied. "We had dinner."
Susie stared at her incredulously. "Didn't he even make a pass at you?"
"No, of course not."
Susie sighed. "I should have known it. He was afraid to."
"What do you mean by that?"
"What I mean by that, sweetie, is that you come off like the Virgin Mary. He was probably afraid if he laid a finger on you, you'd scream 'rape' and faint dead away."
Catherine felt her cheeks redden. "I'm not interested in him that way," she said st