TheSmallPrint

by Barbara Elsborg

  What the hell did Matty think she was up to? Why wasn’t anyone looking at her except for him?

  “Sssh.” Turner turned to glare at her and caught Diana’s eye.

  “You do like ropes.” Her eyes widened.

  Turner watched in disbelief as Matty’s hands moved toward Diana’s neck. He slapped her fingers away.

  “Naughty,” Diana whispered. “Not in front of the vicar.”

  Turner oomphed as Matty climbed over the back of the couch and plonked herself on his lap. “What are you doing?” he gasped.

  “Nothing,” Diana said under her breath. “Not yet anyway.”

  Matty slid her fingers under the collar of his shirt and stroked his neck.

  “Oh God,” Turner muttered. “Don’t.”

  “What would you like to do?” Diana asked.

  “Nothing,” he blurted, and was rewarded with a wide smile from Matty.

  His cock had sprung back to life under her wriggling butt. Thank Christ no one could see it. Everyone paid attention to the vicar except the two women seducing him.

  “Doesn’t look like it, big boy.” Diana nodded toward his lap and raised her eyebrows.

  What? How could she see his cock? What the hell was happening? Matty was all over him and no one was taking a blind bit of notice. She grabbed his hand and stuck it under her skirt. Oh fuck, wet and sticky. Turner wrenched it out again. When Matty licked his fingers, he thought he was going to explode with lust and embarrassment.

  “Lovely hands,” Diana simpered. “So big and strong.”

  “Anything will be an improvement on David Hobsbawn,” said the vicar.

  What? Turner tuned back into the conversation, and Matty stiffened on his lap.

  “You remember when David burst the bouncy castle and the rush of air blew off that celebrity’s wig?” someone asked, and laughed.

  “That was me,” Matty said, and winced. “I slipped with a knife.”

  “And set fire to the cotton candy machine?” said someone else.

  “That was me too.” Matty sighed. “I thought it might work with molasses instead of dry sugar and make black fluff. My Goth period.”

  Turner laughed and snapped it off fast when everyone stared at him.

  “Hope they don’t mention the incident with pin the tail on the donkey,” Matty said. “I was only five.”

  Turner didn’t dare to ask. He went for an easier question. “Who’s David Hobsbawn?”

  “He used to own Milford Hall,” Kitty said. “He and his wife Matty…passed away a year ago.”

  Wife? Turner looked at Matty. “Who are you?”

  “Silly.” Diana thumped him on the shoulder. “I told you my name.”

  “Matty Hobsbawn,” said Matty.

  Turner looked at the vicar. “Is she telling the truth?”

  The vicar exchanged an anxious glance with his wife. “Diana Rolfe. Yes, that’s her name.”

  “Not her,” Turner said in exasperation.

  “They can’t see me or hear me,” Matty said.

  “Who?” asked the vicar.

  “Of course they can see you,” Turner hissed. “They’re just deliberately ignoring you. Don’t they like you? What did you do? Apart from the donkey thing.”

  “Donkey? Are you all right?” Diana frowned and patted his knee.

  Her hand went straight through Matty.

  Turner leapt to his feet and Matty fell on the floor. That hadn’t happened. That couldn’t possibly have happened. Had there been something odd in the Plasmix? He’d imagined that hand going through Matty.

  Only, he hadn’t.

  “I’m sorry but I’ll have to ask you to leave,” Turner blurted. “Everyone but you, Vicar.”

  Matty hauled herself up and stood leaning against the wall, a glare on her face. Turner couldn’t get everyone out of there fast enough. It took a lot of insisting but finally Diana was the last out, hope lingering on her face that he’d ask her to stay. No way.

  Turner closed the door and went back to the lounge. Matty sat next to Reverend Lazonby, fluttering her tongue close to his ear.

  “How many people can you see in this room?” Turner asked, knowing he really didn’t need to ask.

  The vicar’s gaze swept from side to side. “You and I are the only ones.”

  He wasn’t lying. He couldn’t see Matty. Turner had no choice but to accept the conclusion his confused brain had made. No one could see Matty but him. The estate agent had told him Matty Hobsbawn was dead. The vicar’s wife had just confirmed it.

  Oh God, I’ve fucked a ghost.

  “Do you do exorcisms?” Turner asked.

  Matty leapt to her feet. “I’m not dead.”

  The vicar’s mouth opened and closed. “N-not exorcisms as such. What’s wrong?”

  “The ghost of Matty Hobsbawn is still in this house. Can you do a blessing or something and send her on her way?”

  Matty stamped on Turner’s foot. “I am not a ghost. I’m not dead.”

  “Ouch. Did you see that? She stamped on my toes.”

  The vicar’s eyes opened wider.

  “She ought to have…moved on with her husband, but for some reason she’s still here. Bothering me.” Turner scowled at her.

  “I made you a cake,” she whispered.

  “Is she here now?” asked the vicar.

  “I made love to you.” She clenched her fists.

  “Sitting next to you.” Turner sighed when the guy faced the wrong way. “Other way.”

  The vicar made the sign of the cross. “In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, I bless this house and banish all evil spirits from whence they came.”

  Turner didn’t think that sounded very sincere. In fact, the Reverend Lazonby was looking at him as if he was deranged.

  Matty leapt to her feet. “I’m not an evil spirit.”

  “She’s not an evil ghost,” Turner said.

  “I’m not a ghost.”

  “Leave this place,” the vicar said. “Join your husband in a new life and let this house be a peaceful abode for its new owner. Amen.”

  “I’m not married,” Matty said. “My mother was called Matty too.”

  Turner stared at her and then faced the wary looking guy on the couch. “Did the Hobsbawns have children?”

  “A daughter called Matty.”

  “Did she die with her parents?”

  “No.”

  “See,” Matty said. “I told you I wasn’t a ghost.”

  “She died later,” said the vicar.

  Chapter Nine

  Matty stared in despair at the vicar and then glared at Turner. “That’s not true. I’m not dead. Ask him why he thinks I’m dead.”

  “What happened to Matty?” Turner asked.

  “Some sort of accident. I don’t know the details. I didn’t like to press her uncle.”

  “Oh God,” Matty gasped.

  “Very sad. The family has owned Milford Hall for generations,” said the vicar. “It’s always been passed down to the eldest child. Such a shame— Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you shouldn’t have bought it. But it’s the end of an era.”

  “It’s still mine.” Tears threatening, Matty ran out of the room, bolted up the stairs to the attic and threw herself facedown on the mattress. Okay so Milford Hall wasn’t technically hers anymore but it didn’t feel that way. Just as she didn’t feel she was a ghost. How could a ghost cry? How could Turner and George see her if she was a ghost? How could Turner touch her, kiss her, fuck her?

  “Matty?”

  He got one star for following her.

  “Go away.” She snuffled into her pillow and yanked it up over her ears.

  The mattress dipped as Turner settled beside her.

  Another star for ignoring her request.

  “I’m not dead,” she repeated. “I’m not, I’m not.”

  “The vicar says you died in an accident.”

  Accident? For a moment she was stunned into silence. “He heard wrong.
”

  “No one can see you.”

  “You can. George can.” She rolled over and looked at him.

  “You can’t eat or drink anything, can you?” Turner asked. “How could you be alive?”

  All stars lost.

  “So explain how you can see me,” she snapped.

  He shrugged. “Some people are more—sensitive to supernatural elements.”

  Matty didn’t think the word “sensitive” suited Turner. She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “You can feel me. I’m not a swirl of mist or a blob of ectoplasm.”

  “People can walk through you. That’s why you leapt around in the pub, to stop me from noticing.”

  She took her hand off him. Matty’s heart sank into her stomach. “But you can’t walk through me.”

  “No, but you can get through locked doors,” Turner said. “Presumably because this was your home and you feel happiest here.”

  Happy? How could he think she was happy?

  He wouldn’t believe she hadn’t died. Whatever she said, it would make no difference. Matty hadn’t realized quite how important it was that he believed her, how she’d counted on it. Hope crumbled to dust and clogged her throat.

  Turner pinned her with his dark gaze and took her hand in his. “I think for some reason you’re stuck on this plane and can’t move on.”

  Matty snatched her hand away and rolled her eyes. “That is so cliché.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s not true. You haven’t moved through the stages of grief. You’re stuck on denial, unable to accept that you’re dead, and until you do, you’re trapped here in your childhood home.”

  Matty didn’t want to feel the slightest flicker of doubt, but she did.

  Turner took her hand and stroked her palm with his thumb. Her heart lurched with joy that he’d reached out to her again. If she was a ghost, he couldn’t touch her like this. She’d never heard of any ghost with a real body, though she didn’t actually believe in ghosts.

  “If I’m dead, why can I feel pleasure and pain?” she whispered.

  He bristled. “Someone hurt you?”

  Apart from you? “Every now and then I have a terrible ache in my chest. It stops my breathing. I shouldn’t hurt if I’m a ghost. I shouldn’t breathe either.”

  “Maybe you only do it out of habit.”

  Oh God, could that be true? She held her breath and counted. Fifteen seconds and she gasped. That was pathetic.

  “I have to breathe,” she panted.

  “You just think you have to. Your mind playing tricks. Maybe you hurt because this isn’t where you’re supposed to be.”

  “You’re irritating me now.” She tried to pull free, but Turner didn’t let go.

  “You’re dead, Matty. Accept it.”

  She sat up and wrenched her hand from his. “For fuck’s sake, stop saying that. In a minute, you’re going to tell me to look for a tunnel of light and walk on down. I don’t want to go anywhere. This is my home and I’m staying right here. Just leave me alone. I’m no threat to you.”

  “Not a threat, no.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Her shoulders slumped. “Don’t answer that. I know. I-I annoy you. I’m sorry. I-I tried to make you like me but I guess I failed.”

  “No you didn’t,” he whispered.

  She raised her head. “Didn’t what?”

  He stared straight at her. “Didn’t fail to make me like you.”

  “You like me?” Oh God, did he mean it? He could have a star back again.

  His lips curved in a smile. “I tried not to. You irritate the hell out of me, but there’s something about you I find—”

  “Irresistible?” Matty blurted, and then screwed up her face. “Damn. I should have waited for you to say that.”

  “Intriguing,” Turner said.

  Matty sighed. “I’d have preferred irresistible.”

  “Hasn’t my behavior already shown you that? I can’t look at you without wanting to—”

  “Strangle me?”

  Turner laughed. “You need to stop finishing my sentences.”

  “The vicar isn’t about to burst in and sprinkle me with holy water, is he?” she whispered.

  “He’s gone. I have a feeling he thinks I’m crazy, imagining a dead girl lives in my attic.”

  “If you’re so sure I’m dead, why aren’t you freaking out?”

  Matty watched him think about that, and she thought about it too. He seemed too calm, too accepting. If this had been the other way around, she’d have been scared to death. Oh funny.

  “What would be the point?” he asked, and stroked her cheek with his finger.

  “I-I don’t want to be dead,” she whispered. “But I know something’s wrong with me. I need help. I need you.”

  He stared at her with his dark eyes. “What can I do?”

  She took a deep breath. “Hold me. Make me feel wanted. Make me feel alive.”

  Turner wrapped his arms around her and pressed his mouth to her ear. “You are so beautiful.”

  And that was it. Four words and Matty was lost. Totally his. Heart, soul and body. Every bit of her. Even if she was dead. Though bits of her certainly didn’t feel in the least bit dead.

  He lowered her to the mattress. “Annoying, aggravating and alarming yet intriguing, irresistible and incredibly beautiful.”

  “Yes, you are,” she whispered.

  Turner smiled. “Clothes off.”

  “You first.”

  “No, you.”

  He removed her clothes as she struggled to remove his. The wrestling match was brief and he won, though Matty figured since he’d stripped the moment her clothes came off, she’d won as well. Turner held himself over her, his arms thick with sinewy muscles, pinning her in place with strong thighs, his cock a rigid length between them. Matty drew her fingers along the line of his jaw.

  “I let you win,” she said.

  “Of course you did.” His face creased with laughter.

  “You are so gorgeous when you smile. I kind of like your scowl now that I’ve gotten used to it, but your smile makes me weak at the knees. Good thing I’m lying down.”

  He pressed his lips at the junction of her shoulder and neck, and Matty shivered at the soft, wet caress. He licked, nipped, sucked until she writhed beneath him and then he kissed her into submission, his tongue teasing hers, his teeth— Ooh, that was sharp.

  A deep groan burst from her throat as she surfaced for air. “You could kiss for England. If there was a competition for the best kisser, you’d win. ’Course, I wouldn’t want you go in for it because I only want you to kiss me. Especially don’t kiss Diana Rolfe. Even if she has ropes she’s dying to use. I wouldn’t trust her an inch.”

  “Matty?”

  “She’d probably tie you up and not let you go. Maybe she has a whip.”

  “Matty!”

  “What?”

  “Shut up.”

  But he didn’t say it harshly and she smiled. Turner scraped her neck with his teeth, and she trembled at the pressure against her skin. He seemed really keen on her neck. Why did she feel he wanted to bite her? Matty slipped down to put her face under his and tipped her head to kiss him. He moaned into her mouth and their tongues slid against each other.

  Supporting himself on one arm, Turner cupped her chin with his other hand as he deepened the kiss. Their hips rocked together in a kiss of their own, his cock cradled between his hard muscles and her soft ones, wetting her belly with pre-cum. Matty felt as though she’d been plugged into a socket, her veins and arteries sizzling as they transmitted electrifying excitement through her body. Her heart pounded. There was something different between them now, something special gathering momentum, carrying them forward, binding them together. Her feelings for Turner were growing, strengthening to more than lust. Did he feel it? Was it just her?

  Turner shifted to lie at her side and his hand drifted from her cheek to her neck, his fingers trailing over her skin, skimming the bony rid
ge of her shoulder and dropping to her breast. Matty wanted him inside her, but at the same time wanted him to touch her like this forever. He laid his palm over her heart and she felt it beat faster, throb harder. He groaned into her, and while his tongue explored, his fingers set out on a voyage of discovery around her navel. He found a magic place where her skin fluttered as if a butterfly were caught inside her and then his mouth followed his inquisitive fingers, licking and nibbling a wet path down her body.

  He lifted his head from her belly and stared at her, his eyelids heavy with desire. “You taste delicious.”

  “It’s all that icing you squirted on me.”

  “You taste wonderful without it. Be a good girl, open your legs.”

  Like a bad girl, she did.

  Using one long finger, he traced the line of her damp slit, sliding back and forth in her cream before he parted her folds to slip deep inside. One finger became two and her muscles tightened in frenzied excitement. When his breath hit her inner thighs, Matty sighed and trembled. His fingers pulled back to tease her clit and circled the hard nub, pressing, rubbing, driving her crazy.

  But it wasn’t only his touch that wound her so tight. Turner wanted her. He wanted her. Her head fogged as Matty climbed into the clouds, edging closer and closer toward the point of no return. Her breathing quickened and her chest tightened until she couldn’t take a breath. One caress by his tongue and she came. Pulsing waves swept over her, pleasure shooting along every nerve as Matty exploded in delight.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God.

  She gasped and opened her eyes to find him staring at her.

  Turner brought his fingers from her pussy to his glistening lips and licked them one by one.

  “That’s you, not icing,” he whispered.

  He shifted farther down the mattress and pushed her thighs wider apart. His hands lingered on her groin, thumbs playing in the creases.

  “Touch yourself.” His voice was gruff.

  “I’d rather you touched me,” Matty squeaked.

  “Want to see you do it.”

  She slid a finger over her clit and between her folds. She was so wet. Dripping. Oh God.

  Turner cupped his hand over hers and laid his finger on top of hers so they both pressed inside her. Matty couldn’t tear her gaze from his.