Moxie (Rock-Hard Beautiful, #3)

by C.M. Stunich

“Holy fucking shit,” Michael curses, sitting on Pax's left and gaping out the window with me and Muse. “Is that … is that a fucking castle turret or something?” He points out a round stone tower, artfully crumbling at the end of a cobblestone path. “It's a Victorian folly,” Pax says with absolutely zero emotion, still leaning over with this head in his hands. “What the hell is a Victorian folly?” Michael asks as the limo eases around the circular drive and comes to a stop next to the front steps. “Come on, man,” he says when Pax doesn't answer, reaching out and giving his shoulder a small shake. “Wake the fuck up.” “A folly is a decorative building erected for the simple pleasure of suiting an extravagant taste,” Paxton says, sounding the part of a highborn British royal. When he lifts his chin, his expression is dripping disdain. But … I don't think that contempt in his grey eyes is for Michael. I think it's for the folly itself, the house, his parents, their lifestyle. “That's a replica of a medieval tower built by my idiot ancestors during the Victorian era.” “The Victorian era?” Michael asks, scrubbing his hand through his long, dark hair. “Fuckin' A, man. When was the damn house built?” “In 1681,” Paxton says with a voice entirely devoid of emotion. He smirks at us, but that, that is definitely just his mask. “A century before your country was even born, yes.”