Moxie (Rock-Hard Beautiful, #3)

by C.M. Stunich

Neither of us speaks the rest of the way, pausing at the edge of the small group gathered around the sign for our ghost tour. “I'm totally going to shag you on this thing,” Pax growls into my ear as our tour guide—the woman that was wearing the sandwich board before the show—lays out some basic rules and then launches into a colorful story about the area's history. “Oh, please,” I say, but I can't lie. The idea's a little thrilling, deliciously naughty, a tad scary. Like a flower, my sexual awakening is in full bloom, as brilliant as the red, red rose. Doing it against a cold stone wall in Old Town Edinburgh is an enticing idea. I can feel my pulse thumping hard against the side of my neck as Paxton and I follow the group, listening to our guide weave tales of witch burnings, poverty, and the questionable public hygiene habits of medieval people who threw their, um, chamber pots and slop out into the middle of the street. I read once that that latter bit is just an urban legend, but who knows? Our guide puts on a great show of shouting gardyloo at the top of her lungs, encouraging the rest of us to do the same. “So not the sort of foreplay I was looking forward to,” Pax says as he cups his tattooed hands around his mouth and shouts along with the rest of the group, making me laugh so hard that I have to cling to his arm to keep from falling on the cobblestones in my heels. “Gardyloo? Chamber pots? What the hell kind of tour is this? Where are the bleeding ghosts?”