Ry had come to the strip club earlier than he’d told Hayley he was going to. Rationalize all he might about being concerned for her safety, the naked truth was that he couldn’t wait to see her dance again.

His disguise wouldn’t fool her twice, so he’d remained partially hidden behind a pillar and watched every second of her first routine.

Tonight she was less nervous, more polished. More deliberately seductive, he thought. She was truly performing for her audience, and getting off on it. There was definitely an exhibitionist side to Hayley.

And a voyeur side to him, because he sure as hell was getting off on this too, damn it. A man’s anatomy wasn’t designed to be achingly hard for this long without any relief in sight.

Only thing was, he wished she was dancing for his eyes only. It pissed him off to see other men gaping at her naked body.

She was a coworker, doing an undercover job. If it had been Kari—a nonpregnant Kari—up there, he wouldn’t be feeling aroused or possessive.

What the hell was it about Hayley? Was this just because they’d had sex?

When she finally left the stage, he let out a sigh of relief and drained the rest of his beer.

A scantily clad waitress promptly appeared, smiling warmly. “Another drink?”

“Please.”

By the time she returned, he’d recovered his composure. Her “Didn’t I see you here last night?” was the perfect opening to launch into his cover story.

For the next hour or so, he played the lonely out-of-towner, chatty but harmless. He talked to the waitress, the bartender, one of the bouncers, and a couple of the dancers who were offering private shows.

He kept an eye on Kat Dancer as she chatted with customers, disappeared toward the VIP area with a couple of them, and exchanged comments with other people who worked at the club. Never did he get a sense of any special, clandestine relationship.

She made her way over to where he sat. “Hi there,” she said, smiling. “Enjoying the dancers?”

“Sure am. I’m from out of town, and the concierge told me this was the best club. I think he’s right.”

She leaned close. “I bet you’d enjoy it even more if you had a private dance.”

He deliberated. It would give him a chance to talk more intimately with Kat Dancer. Then the DJ’s voice caught his attention, announcing Penny Catalina.

His pulse quickened. “Maybe another time. I’d like to watch the next dancer.”

“Penny? She’s new tonight, and seems like a nice girl. Cheer for her, okay?”

So, Hayley was succeeding at ingratiating herself. Good for her.

And right now, his full attention was needed onstage. She appeared, wearing a full-length white robe that was more lace than fabric, and white stripper shoes trimmed with fluff. The white glowed alluringly under the black light, calling attention to every bit of her fine body that was displayed, and every bit that was hidden.

The word boudoir—one he’d never used in his life—popped into his mind.

Her hair was pinned up, loosely this time, all soft and messy.

She looked semivirginal, semiwicked. Like every red-blooded guy wanted his bride to look on his wedding night.

Whoa. Wedding night? Where the hell had that thought come from?

Not that he was against marriage—hell, his parents were still in love after forty years—but as best he could recall, he’d never before looked at a woman and thought about a honeymoon. His problem was, the women he found sexually appealing tended to have personalities that bored him, and the women he really liked, people like Kari and Evelyn, weren’t usually the ones who turned his crank.

Hayley moved seductively across the stage and he forgot about all other women he’d ever met. The female singer—Beyoncé?—teasingly said she was feeling like a naughty girl.

Oh yeah, Hayley was a naughty girl. Instantaneously, Ry was hard again.

Mouth dry, pulse pounding, he watched as she danced, playing with her robe, then slipping it off to reveal a short see-through nightie. Underneath it, he could clearly see a white lace bra and thong, and lots and lots of bare skin.

She glanced around, as if maybe she was looking for him, but, not wanting to distract her, he’d chosen a seat where she’d have trouble seeing him. Soon she focused on others in the audience and settled into her performance. Each time she danced, she gained confidence, working the stage more effectively and connecting more intimately with the audience.

And that tweaked his jealousy. Yet, what a turn-on that the seductive beauty onstage who was flirting the straps of her nightie down each sleek shoulder had been in his arms last night.

His. Only his. The other men could watch, but Hayley was his.

Well, she had been. Maybe could be again?

Last night, satiated from incredible sex, his brain had finally kicked into gear and he’d decided they shouldn’t have a repeat performance. Now, the insistent throbbing in his groin begged him to reconsider. The Private Eye had no rule against colleagues dating; it was left up to people’s judgment.

Right now, all his judgment had surged to his cock. Which meant, he’d better stick to the decision he’d made back when he was thinking straight.

Hayley pulled a clasp out of her hair and the glossy waves tumbled free, messy and glorious. Then she twirled around the pole, hair flying and nightie lifting to reveal her near-naked bottom half.

Back on the ground again, she strutted, hips swinging in a sultry dance, over to the other pole. She eased down both nightie straps and, with a sensual shimmy, let the garment slip to the stage.

Clad only in a bra and thong, she worked the pole, worked the audience. Her eyes sparkled, her smile was seductive, and she seemed to glory in her sexuality and in the audience’s admiration.

As she twined around the stripper pole, he remembered her legs twined around his body, his cock embedded deep inside her.

He watched from within a haze of desire as her bra came off. Her dance became more sexual, more provocative. He could barely breathe. All the blood in his system had surged south.

She was on the floor, hands stroking her body. Crawling to one side of the stage, she displayed her assets in a sequence of seductive poses. Running her tongue around her lips—lips that last night he’d owned—she smiled intimately at the men seated close to the stage.

Then, each movement drawn out and erotic, sultry, and full of sexual promise, she crawled toward a different group of men, arching, spreading her legs with amazing flexibility, flashing her naked crotch.

Last night, she’d spread her legs and welcomed him in. Her body had risen and fallen with him in a passionate drive to climax.

He could barely stifle a groan.

When she finished her show, he joined the rest of the audience in applauding energetically, but he wondered how he’d survive the rest of the evening.

Forcing his mind back to work, he continued to observe the club, its staff, and its patrons, but he wasn’t seeing anything to account for Jennifer Mortimer’s transition from a sweet-tempered wife to a loner who refused to give up stripping.

He wondered if Hayley was having any better luck backstage.

And then, there she was, wandering around the club in a white halter top that glowed in the light and a denim skirt that barely cleared her butt. What the hell was she wearing under it? Her assignment required her to strip onstage, not expose herself intimately offstage.

She exchanged words with a few customers, a waitress, seeming casual in her progress through the room. When she reached his table, she smiled, eyes twinkling. “Hi, I’m Penny. Are you enjoying your evening?”

Enjoying being tormented by her? Yes, and no. “Very much,” he said, playing his role. “You’re a very good dancer.”

“Why, thank you. It’s a pleasure to dance for a man who appreciates it.” There was a twinkle in her golden eyes.

“Oh, I appreciate it.” His groin ached from appreciation.

“In that case, maybe you’d like a private dance?”

Shit. His voice rasped, “No,” as his body screamed Yes!

“You wouldn’t? You don’t want to be all alone with me, and have me dance just for you?” she teased.

Of course he wanted to. “That’s not a good idea.”

Her chin lifted. “No problem, sir. Enjoy your evening. I’m sure I’ll find another man who’s more receptive.” Swinging her hips, she turned to go.

Jesus. She wouldn’t, would she? “Hayl—” He stopped himself from saying her name and from grabbing her hand. “Hey, Penny, wait.”

When she turned back, brows lifted, he muttered under his breath, “Private dances aren’t part of the job. You should be talking to Kat.”

She tilted her head and he realized Kat was across the room, chatting to a patron. “Or one of the other dancers,” he said lamely. “Maybe they’ll gossip.”

“Mmm.” She sauntered away. Backstage, he was thankful to see.

Hayley, giving another man a private, naked dance? Hell, no.

A flashily dressed pair of guys sauntered through the club and took seats at a table near the stage. Hmm. They had the look of drug dealers or pimps.

He made a trip to the men’s room, and when he came back chose a table where he might overhear some of their conversation.

Snippets of talk drifted his way, with words like “deal” and mention of ritzy cars, enough to make him think he might be right. When Kat Dancer approached their table, his attention sharpened, but he didn’t see any items change hands and the pair turned down a private show.

He’d just relaxed again when Hayley took the stage. Now she wore a gauzy harem costume made of flimsy purple fabric with gold fringe, embroidery, and sequins. Her music was Middle Eastern and sultry. Belly dance music.

This time, though she did smile at other men, he got the feeling she was dancing for him. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

He shouldn’t want her to focus on him, to draw attention to the two of them, yet a primal instinct made him want to claim this woman as his.

He toyed with his beer and tried not to watch her sultry, hip-swiveling movements, but that was as impossible as stopping an orgasm once he’d reached the point of no return.

By the time she left the stage, he was biting back curses. Damn, they had to solve the Mortimer case. His body couldn’t handle any more nights like this.

The flashy guys had downed a few drinks, and got louder. Good for eavesdropping, but he quickly realized what they were dealing was cars, not drugs or hookers.

Time to change tables again, or go sit at the bar.

He was about to get up when Hayley drifted over again. She was back in the denim skirt and halter top.

With a public smile, she leaned close and whispered, “Kat and the others are after me to try a private dance.” Her warm breath tickled his ear. “It’s a challenge. I can’t refuse. But if I do one and say it makes me uncomfortable, they’ll back off. So, it’s either going to be you or some other guy.”

Hell. He swallowed hard.

She held out her hand invitingly.

No way was she going to dance naked in a tiny VIP booth for some other man. Ry had no choice but to rise and take her hand.

His own tingled at the contact, a tingle that spread up his arm and straight to his crotch. “Thought the customers and dancers weren’t supposed to touch,” he muttered.

Hell, how could he survive an intimate dance with sexy Hayley when he couldn’t touch her? Couldn’t have sex with her?

“Not during the actual dance.” Her hand squeezed his. “But it’s tradition to hold hands on the way to and from the VIP booths.” She stretched up, lips close to his ear, to whisper, “Smile, Ry. You’re supposed to be into this.”

Oh yeah, he was into her. Into doing her, here and now.

He forced a public grin. “Okay, Penny, let’s see what you’ve got.”

When they’d left the main room and she was leading him down a corridor, he reminded himself that, before his cock had taken control of his brain, he’d decided they shouldn’t have sex again. In which case, engaging in no-contact foreplay would be sheer torture. “We’ll just sit and talk.” He kept his tone low, so it couldn’t be overheard above the music from the stage. “I want to hear how things are going with Kat.”

“There are video cameras in the booths,” she whispered back. “I’ll have to dance or it’ll look suspicious.”

Damn, he’d researched this club thoroughly. How had he forgotten the cameras?

Or had he wanted to forget? They walked into a room containing booths, some with the curtains pulled for privacy, others open to indicate they were empty. Hayley led the way into an empty one, and decisively whipped the curtain shut behind them. The booth contained only two chairs and a small table. He put down his beer and hung his jacket on the back of the chair, noting the video camera’s eye staring at him. The music from the stage was piped in here and, though it was loud, he could hear a woman’s husky laughter from a neighboring booth.

Privacy was an illusion, and the men who came here must know it.

Ry sat down, jaw clenched. He’d had a lap dance once, when a friend had bought one for him for his twenty-first birthday, and had concluded he’d rather have real-life sex instead.

His feelings sure as hell hadn’t changed, even if he’d decided he and Hayley shouldn’t share that particular pleasure again.

She gave him a flirtatious smile. “I’ll dance to the next number when it starts. This one’s almost over, and I want to make sure you get your money’s worth.”

He gritted his teeth. “Okay. But you don’t have to, uh, be too enthusiastic.”

Her false lashes batted. “I take my job seriously. Of course I’ll be enthusiastic.”

Oh, shit. He was fucked.

Belatedly it dawned on him that maybe she hadn’t been impressed with him dictating the terms of their relationship. Was that why she was determined to torture him?

The song ended. They heard applause, the DJ’s voice, and a few voices from other VIP booths. “I wonder what they’ll play for us?” Hayley asked.

When the music started, he recognized Lady Gaga’s “I Like It Rough.” Reminding him of last night, the first quick-and-dirty sex. Unable to resist, he teased, “Does that suit you, Penny? Do you like it rough?”

Hayley began to sway to the music. Hips and pelvis, shoulders and torso, head. “I think you know the answer to that. I like it rough, I like it tender. Just so long as it’s good.” She drew the word out, glossy lips pouting seductively.

Her hair shifted and glimmered and her body shimmied and undulated in front of him—full breasts, narrow waist, curvy hips gyrating in front of his eyes.

He wanted to grab those hips and yank her down on his lap where his cock was rising to meet her. His hands twitched with the need to touch her. Instead, remembering the camera, he gripped the seat of his chair on both sides and vowed not to let go. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Her lips curved. “Thank you.”

“And so sexy. It’s killing me that I can’t touch you.” He spread his legs so she could dance closer—and so she could see the erection tenting his suit pants.

She sucked in a breath, then moistened red lips. “I wish you could. It would feel so good.” Her eyes were half-closed, heavy lidded. Smoky and sultry. “So good for both of us. Mmm, I can just imagine your hands on me.”

Slowly, sensually, she ran her hands through her thick hair then down her body. The slender column of her throat. The lush breasts that pressed against the silky halter top. The sleek expanse of skin between the bottom of the halter and the low waistband of her skirt. The outer curves of her hips, then in to her center and back out to her firm, sleek thighs.

Her golden eyes glittered with excitement. Sexual excitement.

Swaying her hips, she slowly rotated, arms above her head, graceful hands weaving a spell. Enthralling him. When her back was to him, she bent down, legs spread, and grasped her ankles. Her butt thrust toward him, just out of reach.

The question that had been plaguing him was answered. Under the tiny skirt, she wore a scarlet thong.

The skirt rode high, revealing curvy cheeks that begged to be squeezed. His finger wanted to trace the line of the thong, and his cock wanted to slide through the vee of her legs and drive into her pussy.

Still bent down, she twisted her body to one side so she could smile at him, her face framed by long, rippling waves of hair. “Is this good? Am I doing it right?”

“Shit, yeah. But come a little closer.”

Lithely, sinuously, she rose and, keeping the dance going, slowly rotated until she was facing him again. Her arms, tipped by nails that matched her thong, swirled in the air, drifting past his body. Close, so close. Teasingly making him imagine her touch.

His blood throbbed. If only he could strip naked and feel the caress of her bare flesh against his.

“I like the way you look at me,” she said, gazing into his eyes. “All hot and intense. Like I’m the sexiest woman alive.”

“That’s because you are.”

“Aw, you say the sweetest things.”

She thought he was teasing. But the truth was, while he’d been with lots of attractive, sexy women, none had had the innate sensuality, the exciting spark, of Hayley Croft.

Still shimmying, she rotated so her back was to him. Her whole body rippled and undulated, mesmerizing him, then her hands skimmed her hips over denim. A moment later she’d undone the zipper and was sliding out of the skirt, putting it on the spare chair.

With her back still to him, she put her hands on the edges of his chair and, still gyrating, lowered herself so she was almost sitting on his lap. So close that her silky hair tickled his nose.

His swollen cock ached and the need to grab onto her gorgeous butt and pull her down that last crucial inch was overwhelming. “You’re killing me,” he groaned.

She straightened, shook her hair to one side, and toyed with the ties of the halter, then undid them and tossed the scrap of silk on top of her discarded skirt.

When she turned to face him, her beautiful breasts were naked.

“It’s a turn-on for me too,” she said. With those sensual, provocative moves, she shimmied partway down, leaning forward so her breasts were only a tantalizing inch or two from his face. Her nipples were pebbled with arousal.

“Especially,” she said, “because I know how good you can make me feel.”

Now she was almost sitting on his lap again, this time facing him. She arched her back, ran her hands caressingly across her breasts, along her thighs. Up close, her golden eyes were glazed with passion.

Oh yeah. Give him ten minutes alone with her and he’d make her feel very, very good. Multiorgasmically good.

He’d give it to her tender, give it to her rough, give her anything she damned well desired. “God, I want you.”

“Me too,” she breathed.

One little tug and she’d be seated on his lap. He could unzip his fly, shove aside the crotch of her thong. Embed himself in her.

His hips thrust uncontrollably and his distended fly pressed her crotch.

She gave a soft gasp and pure need burned in her eyes.

“Shit,” he said under his breath, and they jerked apart. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But you really get to me.” In fact, he had to clench every muscle to stop himself from coming.

She levered herself off his lap, careful not to brush him again. The music was ending. “Darn, I timed it wrong,” she said.

“Huh?”

“I was supposed to get naked.” Her fingers flirted with the side straps of her thong. “Want to buy another dance, so I can do it right?”

“Fuck, no.” She was toying with him, and he was the wrong man to mess around with. “Put your clothes on,” he growled. “We’ll finish this later.”

She gave him a long, considering look, then ran the tip of her tongue around her red lips. “Oh, yeah. And in the meantime, remember that camera and fork over thirty-five dollars. Plus a tip, because I’m worth it.”