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Bullet Catchers? She knew ?
    “Yeah.” She curled her fingers, then grazed a nail down a pulsing vein. “You know, who works there. Who does what, who makes all the decisions, who are your clients. Just…” She squeezed. “Everything.”
    “Looks like you got me by the short hairs, princess.” His laugh was raw and forced, because absolutely nothing about this situation was funny.
    Okay. Not so smooth, that transition. But Sage never expected the equivalent of a male prostitute to short-circuit her last working brain cell. And her utter lack of finesse wasn’t the only thing that bothered her. She’d planned to seduce him, bring him to his knees, while maintaining some semblance of her dignity.
    Hah. She couldn’t maintain some semblance of her own top . And, just for the record, she hadn’t faked a single moan. Who would have dreamed that almost-sex with a hooker hunk would have her humming more than any man she’d ever been with? And she’d paid for it.
    Tamping down the mental lecture, she formulated her interview strategy. Start with benign, open him up, get him loose. She could do this. She’d gotten the mistress of BankBoston’s CEO to whisper the truth about her lover’s embezzling and gambling habit. She had uncovered the real trauma in the ER at Mass General, coercing information out of the head gyno and bringing down a few arrogant doctors in the process. Surely she could get the goods from this wiseguy who cooked for fun and fantasy-fulfilled for profit.
    “Hey. Blondie.” He tucked his hand into her waistband again, nudging the shorts lower, his body back in his control, not hers. “Why don’t you forget who sent me here and just enjoy the fact that I am.”
    “Uh-uh.” She shimmied her hips away from those wicked fingers. “Talk to me.”
    He chuckled again, his lips tipped up in a charming smile, moving the rejected hand back to her breast to rub his finger on the underside so lightly she thought she might scream. “You know, Sage, I’m really confused.”
    She didn’t know what got her more. That little tender twist in his voice that really did sound like confusion, or the fact that he actually used her name instead of princess or angel or darling. Or maybe what got her was that touch that sent fireworks between her legs.
    She gently removed his hand from her breast. “What are you confused about?”
    “I wanted to talk. Before.”
    “You wanted to eat pasta.”
    “Part of eating is talking. But you…” He closed his hand over hers—the one that still held tight to a very hard, very masculine, very large erection—and eased her away with the same purposefulness she had used. “You seem to be bent on something else. What’s going on?”
    What was going on was that he was rapidly gaining his composure while hers was getting shakier by the second. “I really want to know more about takemetonite.com,” she told him. “Before I, you know, finish you off.”
    She could have sworn she saw relief as his dark eyes shuttered for a moment. “You don’t have to do that, sweetheart.” He brushed some hair off her face and ran a knuckle over her jaw. “Surely you know that if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
    She flinched at the words. Is that what had happened to Keisha? Had she found out too much about this bizarro operation?
    “I’m kidding,” he assured her, studying her expression. “It’s a joke. Are you okay?”
    No. She was not okay. And Keisha was dead. The thought steeled her, giving her the power to force a guileless smile and remember her plan.
    “Yeah. I get it.” She fingered the top button of his shirt. “But I don’t think it’s so much to ask. I just want to know who sent you. Who else you’ve…done.”
    She finished that button and started on another, her pulse spiking traitorously at the thought of seeing his chest.
    “I told you, I don’t kiss and tell.”
    She splayed her fingers over his chest. No hair. Silky smooth right down to the