She throws me a sidelong glance, amusement flashing in her eyes. “Except for your corny lines, I suppose.”
She digs me with her elbow and I dig her back, and then our small group follows the guide. The first room is a reconstruction of a medieval torture chamber. Chains hang from the walls, skeletons positioned as though in mid scream, flickering candlelight casting shadows that creep and twist. The guide steps forward with a candle, narrating the macabre history of public executions, grisly punishments, and the notorious Jack the Ripper.
Pippa leans slightly into me, her shoulder brushing mine. “Why do they make this stuff so realistic?” she whispers.
I have to suppress a laugh. Realistic? It is all so over the top, it’s hilarious.
A mechanical skeleton suddenly swings out from a corner with the sound of rattling chains and she screams sharply and stumbles backward. I catch her quite naturally, my arms going around her. For a heartbeat, she’s pressed into me, her back against my chest, and her marvelous hair brushing my arm. My pulse starts to hammer in my ears. The world seems to narrow down until it’s just Pippa’s body against mine.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur gallantly. But gallantry is the last thing I am feeling. She’s so close to me I can smell the strawberry scent of her shampoo, and it’s driving me wild. I can feel my cock straining to life and the last thing I need is a hard-on poking into her ass right now.
“I … I’m fine,” she stammers, pushing away from me as I release her.
She’s still close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her as the rest of the room comes back into focus. A few of the group are smiling in our direction, the rest are listening to the guide explain how thumb screws work.
“Stupid damned skeleton,” she mutters, turning around to face me. Her cheeks are pink, her breath quick, and something about the way she smiles sheepishly makes me want to grin like an idiot.
“Uh-huh,” I tease, a soft laugh leaving my lips. “He was really scary. Any lingering trauma?”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a playful curve to her lips. “No lingering trauma. Just some slight embarrassment at how loud I screamed.”
We move through the next few rooms. The plague doctor’s quarters reeking faintly of herbs and age. A room dedicated to the Great Fire of London, smoke and flames flickering as the guide recounts the devastation. More torture devices and stocks, each accompanied by booming sound effects and strategically timed screams from hidden animatronics.
Pippa shrieks more than once as actors jump out of darkened nooks or launch into movement after fooling us into believing they are a prop. I must admit, the atmosphere and the actors really are brilliant.
At one point, we enter a chamber replicating a plague-infested street. It is dimly lit with mist curling along the floor. Rats scuttle in the projections, and eerie sound effects fill the room. Pippa clutches my arm involuntarily as a pained scream rings out through hidden speakers.
“You’re ridiculously brave,” she mutters, unclasping her death-grip awkwardly.
“Not brave,” I correct, hiding my laughter. “Careful. Alert. Fully prepared to protect the damsel in distress next to me.”
“Damsel? Really?” she snorts.
“Of course. You must know the old script. It’s a classic. Danger befalls the damsel. Damsel faints or screams in panic. Enter Sir Rhettimus. He saves the fair maiden and carries her away to his castle on the hill, where they live happily ever after.”
Her laugh is soft, tinged with breathless excitement, and I feel my insides tighten and start to crave the feel of her soft skin. Whoa! Rhett. Steady on …
We reach a room set up like the Tower of London with dim stone walls, chains, flickering torches, and a realistic-looking skeleton dangling from the ceiling. The guide’s narration gets theatrical as he describes executions, betrayals, and the ghost sightings ever since.
Pippa shivers again, half from the chill, half from anticipation. That is the perfect excuse. I move closer.
She glances at me, one eyebrow raised. “I swear, you are enjoying this way too much,” she accuses, though her lips twitch in amusement.
“Isn’t that the idea?” I whisper. “To appreciate the full immersive experience with an excellent companion.”
Her cheeks color again, but I can see she is pleased with the compliment. She nudges me gently with her shoulder. “You’re full of it, aren’t you?”
I smile.
We move on into the last room, which is a recreated courtroom where actors in period costumes are yelling accusations of witchcraft and treason, sentencing their hapless victims to the stocks, the guillotine, and the gallows. Fog creeps along the floor, and projections make the walls seem like they are closing in. A mechanical figure lunges suddenly, and Pippa yelps, stumbling forward. My hand shoots out instinctively, and for the briefest second, she’s in my arms again. She freezes for a second, and I can hear her heart beating quickly. Then sherecovers, and laughing nervously, pushes slightly against me to regain her balance.
“I think I’m going to have nightmares after this,” she says, though the grin on her face says otherwise.
“Have you really lived in London all of your life and never been here before?”
“I wanted to come here as a child, but my parents refused to bring me. I know why now,” she says.
“You’re going to be fine,” I reassure her. “You know it’s not real, and you’ve got me to protect you.”
