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stone-hard muscle. She fumbled with the next button. “Yes, I know. The happy hooker has a moral code.”
    He didn’t respond as she opened his shirt. Glorious. She flattened her hand over his breastbone and moved slowly from one pec to the other. Did he get told all the time how hot he was? Did other girls have to wipe their drool? Did he do this every single night?
    Was she actually jealous ?
    She slammed that thought into a mental drawer. Maybe she could make him think he was so attractive, so special, so incredible, that she had to know all about the other women. How many, who they were, what they did. Then she could ask him….
    With a frustrated half snort, she fell back on the pillow. Who was she kidding? She was half naked and about a thousand miles away from the original reason she’d signed up for a kidnapping in the first place.
    “Hey,” he said sweetly, cuddling her closer. “You’re thinking too hard again, baby.” He turned on his side and eased one leg over hers, pulling her lower half into him and dipping toward her mouth. “Let’s just kiss for a while. You’ll stop thinking, I promise.”
    That must be his specialty. Kiss his customers into relaxation. No, into oblivion.
    His mouth covered hers again, open and warm and sensual and intimate. He fondled her breast, nibbled her lower lip, then rose above her, moving his legs in a way that she knew meant he was taking off his pants.
    She’d never get what she wanted. He’d just touch her and tongue her and make her forget. She pushed at his amazing chest, but he just kissed deeper and burrowed his hand into the back of her shorts, searing her backside with a tender caress. She rocked up to meet his erection, punched by desire and the blood that surged through her body.
    Dammit! This was the most pathetic attempt at eliciting information by using sex in the history of journalism.
    Maybe if he knew part of the truth. Maybe if he understood she really hadn’t signed up for this. She’d never mention Keisha, but maybe…
    “Johnny.” She reluctantly ended the kiss. “I have a confession to make.”
    He pulled back. “Your name’s not really Sage.”
    “Yes, it is. But I’m not really…a customer.”
    He regarded her, then slowly, agonizingly withdrew his hand from her rear end, placing it on a much less intimate spot on her waist. “No?”
    “No.” She scooted up. “I’m a reporter.”
    His eyebrows shot up. “Really.”
    “And I swear everything you say is completely off the record. I won’t use your name or quotes or anything. I’m just trying to get information.”
    His expression went flat. “A reporter.”
    “Don’t worry. I promise.” She actually put her hand over her heart. Her bare heart. The one he’d just been caressing. As though that would make her vow more valid. “I will not put your name in my story, even if it’s not your real name. I’m trying to get information about these thrill sites. That’s what I do. That’s my job. I seek…the truth.”
    His gaze dropped to her chest, then zeroed back in on her eyes. “Quite an interview technique you’ve got.”
    She reached for her sports bra. “I thought…I thought if I got you…”
    “I know what you thought.” He took the top from her and opened the neck hole for her to slip it on. “Give the guy a blow job and he’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
    She never argued with the truth, no matter how ugly it sounded. She slid her arms through and smoothed the cups over her breasts. “I’m desperate.”
    He snorted softly and glanced at his still erect manhood. “So you’re trying to get me the same way?”
    “I really wanted to interview the guy in the van. That was my original plan.”
    “Now, is that an interview you do dressed or undressed? I’m curious how this works.”
    “No need to be sarcastic. I would have had an hour with the guy who is supposed to be their top kidnapper. But you prematurely rescued me.”
    “I didn’t do