Read Online TheSmallPrint by Barbara Elsborg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Elsborg
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her sake and his.
Turner neither heard nor saw her on his way to the library, but he knew she was still there. He could smell flowers. If he didn’t find the contract in the next couple of hours, he’d text George. He’d also ask for the name of the lawyers, though Turner recognized the slim chance of his desert-exploring assistant being within the range of a mobile phone transmitter.
Turner blinked when he walked into the library. The books no longer see-sawed along the shelves—they’d been rearranged alphabetically. And by genre. He sighed and then tightened his mouth. He’d told her to leave them alone. The Search for Order box was now on the bottom shelf, and he couldn’t resist checking the contents were still there. Maybe leaving them in plain sight was a better idea than hiding them. A sort of double bluff. Christ. The sooner Gabriel came, the better. Let him find the damn things, take them and leave.
Turner’s gaze fell onto his desk and he slid the wedge of papers out from under the books.
The contract.
Why did he have a feeling he wasn’t going to like what he saw?
Turner sat down and read the page she’d left on top.
Twice.
He thought about going for a third time and instead flicked through the rest of the document. No other surprises, but those special conditions were alarming enough. Why the fuck had he signed it? Why had George let him? Turner couldn’t believe this would stand up in a court of law. Easements and covenants were one thing, but these three conditions were ridiculous. He had no interest in being a committee member of some happy little village group. He didn’t want them traipsing all over his property, wrecking the grounds. And how in hell was he expected to share his house with Miss Tadpole?
A visit to the estate agent would be the start of his campaign to get rid of her. They’d have details of his lawyers. No need to get frustrated when he failed to contact George. Turner could sort this out himself. He wasn’t entirely useless.
Now he had a reason to seek out Matty. He’d thank her for rearranging his books, thank her for finding the contract, thank her for a fabulous— Maybe not that. As Turner strode upstairs, he found himself feeling unaccountably agitated. Through anger, anxiety or anticipation? His cock thickened in response and he bit back a groan.
Turner gave a sharp rap on the attic door and it swung open. Matty knelt on the floor, surrounded by teetering piles of books. Her face brightened when she saw him, but as he stared, her smile slipped away. His jaw twitched. He didn’t like it that he stopped her smiling.
“Come in,” she said.
He did not need an invitation to step into his own attic. Turner walked toward her.
“I decided to sort my books too.” She slotted a pile of dusty tomes onto the end of a shelf.
“Thank you for doing mine and for finding the contract.”
Matty jumped to her feet. “You read it? You saw the special conditions? Milford has a huge Winterval—that’s a big winter carnival in case you were wondering. People come from miles around. It dates back for centuries—well, longer than that. Millennia. A king came here once for a visit. Not sure which one. There’s competitions for all sorts of things and fireworks and rides and lovely…food.” Her face fell again.
Turner frowned. What was wrong with Miss Chatterbox now? She’d said something that had sparked a thought but he’d been distracted when her smile slipped. Turner swallowed hard. He didn’t have to tell her right this minute that he planned to find a way to amend the contract. He didn’t have to tell her until he’d actually done it. No point upsetting her too soon, not when it was better they remain on friendly terms. His cock nodded in agreement.
With a mouth as dry as George’s Chilean desert, Turner wasn’t entirely sure that he could speak to tell her anything. She stood in front of him in that tiny skirt and all he could think about was whether
Turner neither heard nor saw her on his way to the library, but he knew she was still there. He could smell flowers. If he didn’t find the contract in the next couple of hours, he’d text George. He’d also ask for the name of the lawyers, though Turner recognized the slim chance of his desert-exploring assistant being within the range of a mobile phone transmitter.
Turner blinked when he walked into the library. The books no longer see-sawed along the shelves—they’d been rearranged alphabetically. And by genre. He sighed and then tightened his mouth. He’d told her to leave them alone. The Search for Order box was now on the bottom shelf, and he couldn’t resist checking the contents were still there. Maybe leaving them in plain sight was a better idea than hiding them. A sort of double bluff. Christ. The sooner Gabriel came, the better. Let him find the damn things, take them and leave.
Turner’s gaze fell onto his desk and he slid the wedge of papers out from under the books.
The contract.
Why did he have a feeling he wasn’t going to like what he saw?
Turner sat down and read the page she’d left on top.
Twice.
He thought about going for a third time and instead flicked through the rest of the document. No other surprises, but those special conditions were alarming enough. Why the fuck had he signed it? Why had George let him? Turner couldn’t believe this would stand up in a court of law. Easements and covenants were one thing, but these three conditions were ridiculous. He had no interest in being a committee member of some happy little village group. He didn’t want them traipsing all over his property, wrecking the grounds. And how in hell was he expected to share his house with Miss Tadpole?
A visit to the estate agent would be the start of his campaign to get rid of her. They’d have details of his lawyers. No need to get frustrated when he failed to contact George. Turner could sort this out himself. He wasn’t entirely useless.
Now he had a reason to seek out Matty. He’d thank her for rearranging his books, thank her for finding the contract, thank her for a fabulous— Maybe not that. As Turner strode upstairs, he found himself feeling unaccountably agitated. Through anger, anxiety or anticipation? His cock thickened in response and he bit back a groan.
Turner gave a sharp rap on the attic door and it swung open. Matty knelt on the floor, surrounded by teetering piles of books. Her face brightened when she saw him, but as he stared, her smile slipped away. His jaw twitched. He didn’t like it that he stopped her smiling.
“Come in,” she said.
He did not need an invitation to step into his own attic. Turner walked toward her.
“I decided to sort my books too.” She slotted a pile of dusty tomes onto the end of a shelf.
“Thank you for doing mine and for finding the contract.”
Matty jumped to her feet. “You read it? You saw the special conditions? Milford has a huge Winterval—that’s a big winter carnival in case you were wondering. People come from miles around. It dates back for centuries—well, longer than that. Millennia. A king came here once for a visit. Not sure which one. There’s competitions for all sorts of things and fireworks and rides and lovely…food.” Her face fell again.
Turner frowned. What was wrong with Miss Chatterbox now? She’d said something that had sparked a thought but he’d been distracted when her smile slipped. Turner swallowed hard. He didn’t have to tell her right this minute that he planned to find a way to amend the contract. He didn’t have to tell her until he’d actually done it. No point upsetting her too soon, not when it was better they remain on friendly terms. His cock nodded in agreement.
With a mouth as dry as George’s Chilean desert, Turner wasn’t entirely sure that he could speak to tell her anything. She stood in front of him in that tiny skirt and all he could think about was whether
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