Page 302 of The Doctors Will See You Now

What it said, I wasn’t sure, but whatever it was seemed positive. But I guessed the evening was still young. I’d have to be on the lookout for poisoned offerings.

Somebody let me know if you see an apple in her purse.

The lights of the Slipper Room were a rosy red, and a completely mischievous glow enveloped the place as soon as you stepped inside. The only thing in front of us was a lone, tall set of stairs leading to the unknown.

“This is a sex club, isn’t it?” Harlow asked, apropos of nothing.

I coughed a startled bark of laughter and gave her hip an affectionate squeeze. “Not quite.”

The truth was, as soon as I’d picked her up in a cab from the corner of 42nd and Fifth Avenue a little over forty minutes ago—she’d been adamant that I not know where she actually lived—I’d been wishing a sex club was what I’d planned for the evening. A night in at my place. An overnight at a hotel. Fucking anything that would lead to being able to remove the tiny black skirt she’d donned so I could see what lay underneath it.

Good Christ, the amount of skin her legs had out to play made her look two feet taller than she actually was.

Her nose wrinkled, and her eyes turned down at the corners. I had a feeling she was shooting for plain disbelief, but her features betrayed her. Disappointment lived under the surface. I had to laugh. “A letdown, huh?”

“No!” she snapped. My waning laughter renewed.

“Okay, Harlow. Whatever you say,” I relented, guiding her toward the stairs, putting my hand to her back, and leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll punish your pussy later.”

She tripped, a simple misstep due to clumsiness, I’d have thought—if it weren’t for the timing.

I smirked to myself and moved my hands to her hips to steady her. “Would you like that, Low? Do you want to be punished?”

She shivered and tightened her hold on the railing. I’d been hoping to make her trip again, but the tremor would have to do. I’d lost the element of surprise, after all.

We walked in silence up the rest of the stairs until we reached the front desk and handed over the tickets I’d pre-purchased online.

“What is this place?” she asked again, albeit in different words.

“It’s a variety club,” I explained, pushing her deeper into the room so that she could see the stage. I felt a little bad, like I was always pushing her places, but honestly, half the time she moved like her feet were encased in cement.

It was frustrating. Of course, the hell of it was, it was also alluring, so different from the eager bounce of most women I spent my time with.

Complicated. That word had never sounded so good until Harlow.

“They opened nearly twenty years ago. Burlesque, drag, you name it, they were doing it. From the way I hear it, they used to open it up to pretty much anything and everything. The raunchier, the better.”

Her eyes lit with interest. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Some of the performances are still pretty borderline when it comes to societal appropriateness.”

“That sounds like so much fun,” she breathed excitedly.

I laughed. “It does, doesn’t it? The couple of times I’ve been here, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself.”

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “A regular date spot?”

I shook my head with a smirk. “Never.” The truth was, both times I’d come, I’d been by myself. It’d never even occurred to me to bring a woman here before.

I pulled her toward a table in the back, still close to the stage since it wasn’t possible to be far away—the room itself was no more than fifty feet deep—and pulled out her chair for her.

She murmured her thanks and sat down quickly. I followed the line of her legs, hoping the hem of her skirt would fail to protect her. Unfortunately, it remained in place.

“I have to write a column about this place,” she mused.

“Feel free,” I offered magnanimously, even though I had no actual say in the matter. “But keep in mind that as soon as you’re writing about it, it’s bound to lose some of its mysterious allure.”

“Hmmm…” She frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe I won’t write about it.”