Saturday night, after Hayley finished the last show of her contracted week, she felt an odd mix of feelings. Relief, triumph, regret.

Satisfaction, primarily. She was a different, much stronger, woman than she’d been a week ago.

Kat, wearing her slinky black costume, watched as Hayley, now totally comfortable with nudity, dropped her towel and reached into her gym bag for the bra and panties she’d wear home. “I’ll miss you, Penny.”

“Me too. Good luck with the counseling.” Kat/Jennifer had sat her husband down for a tell-all, and they’d decided to go to marriage counseling. In Hayley’s opinion, there was a fifty/fifty chance they’d either fix their marriage or part company. Either resolution had to be better for both of them than the status quo.

Once Hayley was dressed in figure-hugging jeans and a tank top that showed off her cleavage—she’d made a few additions to her wardrobe—she gave the other woman a hug. “Be strong. Be happy.”

A couple other dancers who’d come in to change costumes hugged her too and wished her well. In the last few days, she’d developed a real fondness for these women, and for the dressing room cluttered with sequins, makeup, and stripper shoes.

She’d also developed more than just fondness for the man who waited outside. After six months of fantasies, the reality was even better than she’d imagined. Ry was tough and capable, smart and witty, tender and considerate.

Of course, no man was perfect. Ry’s biggest flaw was his attitude toward her stripping. He treated her temporary job with amused tolerance—and undisguised impatience for the week to end.

How would he react when she told him about her plans?

Fifteen minutes later, when he ushered her into his condo, she gave a pleased, “Wow!”

Beside the big window with its view of Vancouver Harbor sat a small table decorated with a vase of purple orchids, two champagne flutes, and an ice bucket containing a bottle of Lanson bubbly.

She only hoped they’d still drink it after she told Ry what she had in mind.

She only hoped they’d still be together.

He took a platter from the fridge and put it on the table.

“Oh, yummy.” They were Lebanese lamb meatballs with yogurt sauce and pine nuts. “Kari made these?” When the PI had brought them to the office a couple times, made from her grandmother’s recipe, Hayley had loved them.

“To congratulate you for a job well done.”

“Does the fact that she gave them to you mean she’s on to us?” she asked as they sat down across from each other.

“She says she saw it coming before we did.”

And she’d sent her special meatballs as a symbol of approval. Hayley smiled and tasted one. “Mmm. Delicious.”

He eased the cork from the champagne and deftly poured two glasses.

She clicked her glass to his. “What are we toasting?” If only he didn’t say the end of her stripper career.

“You. You and me, and the best week of my life.”

Her heart melted. “I’ll definitely drink to that.” Even with their occasional differences of opinion, there was a sense of rightness about her and Ry together.

It gave her the courage to tell him what was in her heart. “I fell for you the first day I met you, Ry. And I’ve been falling a little more each day.”

Across the table, his blue eyes were soft. “It took me way longer, Hayley. But when I fell, man did it happen fast and hard.” He leaned over to give her a slow, sensual kiss.

This was bliss, and she wanted to relax and savor it. But she had to tell him about her new job and see how he reacted.

“Ry, I have news. I’m tired of being an administrative assistant. I want a job with more challenge and excitement.”

His eyes narrowed. “Tell me you don’t want to be a stripper.”

Damn, she really hated his attitude. So she said, “The other dancers told me their agency would be thrilled to represent me, and the manager of The Naked Truth said he’d have me back anytime.”

“Shit, Hayley.”

Deception was bad, so she told the truth. “I chose something different, though.”

His face brightened. “Whew. You had me worried.”

Troubled, she studied that handsome face. Would he be any more approving of the career she’d decided on?

If not, it would be the end of their relationship. No matter how much she wanted Ry—was even falling in love with him—she’d never be with a man who tried to control her. This week had taught her that.

Feeling stronger, yet more vulnerable, than ever before, she said, “I talked to Evelyn today. I’m going to study to become a PI and she’ll be my supervisor.”

“A PI?” He looked a little stunned, then delight lit his face. “Hayley, you’re perfect for it.”

Relief made her a little giddy. “I think so too.” She had the attention to detail and patience to do the tedious tasks like research and surveillance, and the intelligence and people skills to do the more challenging work. And her craving for adventure would be satisfied on a regular basis.

She’d even discovered she had her fair share of courage. Enough to strip onstage and enough to take on Ry Montana. Hopefully, enough to tell Gran about the changes in her life. As she’d told Kat/Jennifer, you shouldn’t try to deny who you really are, and you should be honest about it with the people you love.

“And you’re perfect for me,” he said, sounding content.

Who’d have known that big, tough Ry Montana could sound content, and be so happy about it? Something told her Gran might well approve of this man.

“So, here’s to your short-lived career as a stripper,” he said, hoisting his glass again. “Thank God it’s over.”

She took a deep breath. Her career change had been only the first hurdle. The second promised to be even more problematic. “I don’t intend to give it up completely.”

“What?” His face darkened.

“It’s fun.” She spoke softly, but with determination. “Choosing the music, putting together a costume, working on the choreography. Getting out there onstage and feeling…like a goddess.”

“You’re my goddess. Isn’t that enough? Why the hell d’you have to take your clothes off for other men?”

“I don’t have to, but I want to. It’s a thrill.”

“You sound like Jennifer Mortimer,” he said disapprovingly. “Living life from one thrill to the next.”

“No. I do like having some excitement in my life, but I’ll never be addicted to it. And I want it to come from a number of places, like my job, being with you, and every now and then dancing as an amateur at The Naked Truth on Sunday night.”

“Damn, Hayley.”

She stuck her jaw out. “What’s your big problem with this? Do you think there’s something wrong with stripping?”

The challenge kept him quiet for a few moments. Then he said, “Shit. Okay, it’s not just stripping, I’d be pissed if you modeled for Victoria’s Secret. I guess I’m being chauvinistic and possessive. But hell, would you be okay with a bunch of women gawking at my naked bod?”

Her lips twitched at the thought of Ry stripping. He’d sure make great eye candy. But when she thought of other women drooling over him, maybe tossing their panties onstage, she did feel a surge of jealousy. Fear. Insecurity.

Insecurity? Was Ry actually insecure? Did he think she might choose another man, or feel like such a goddess that he wouldn’t be good enough for her?

Maybe that’s how Paul Mortimer felt about Jennifer’s work.

All the same, insecurity was no basis for a relationship.

“Maybe I’d feel a little uncomfortable,” she admitted. “But if you and I had a committed relationship and you really wanted to be a stripper or model, I’d try not to be jealous or possessive. I’m not like Paul Mortimer. If it was important to you, I’d do my best to understand and be supportive.”

He studied her face for a long moment, then made a rueful sound. “Point taken. Hell, I don’t want to be a jerk like Mortimer. If it’s what you want, then you should do it. You’re damned good at it.” A grin started. “Can I be in the audience?”

She let out a relieved sigh. Oh yes, things were going to be okay. More than okay, they were going to be wonderful. Thank heavens Ry was willing to see her point of view and change his mind. “I’d love it if you were in the audience. It would give me extra motivation.”

“So, stripper girl,” he said, eyes twinkling, “it’ll just be an occasional stage show? No private dances?”

“Oh, I might be persuaded to do a private dance now and then. For a very, very exclusive audience.”

“A wet dream come true.” He shoved back his chair and patted his lap. “My own private dancer?”

She rose and went over to straddle him, pressing her jean-clad crotch against the bulge behind his fly. “Mmm, that’s pretty selfish of you. But I might consider it.”

Shifting her a little, he reached into his pocket for his wallet. “Now, let me see if I remember. It’s thirty-five dollars a dance, right?”

He opened his wallet and pulled out a wad of bills. “If I want all your dances for the foreseeable future, will this cover it?”

Heart full of relief, joy, and a feeling she very much suspected was love, Hayley reached over and extracted his charge card. “Lover, you’re going to need this.”