Connecting Rooms

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Amy gave him an approving look. “Precisely.”

  “Villantry is a very small town. I’m not going to be able to hide very easily.”

  “I don’t intend to keep you hidden.”

  “Just how do you plan to explain my presence?”

  Amy smiled a trifle smugly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all worked out. I’ll pass you off as my fiancé.”

  Chapter 2

  That evening Owen sat next to Amy in the restaurant of the Villantry Inn and wondered what the hell had come over him. But the question was strictly rhetorical. He knew the answer. Amy Comfort had come over him. Or, to be more precise, he sincerely hoped that their acquaintance would develop to the point where that eventuality became a distinct possibility.

  He’d wanted Amy Comfort from the first moment he’d seen her. He would never forget that shattering instant of acute knowledge. He had walked into her parlor office, intent on purchasing the old Draycott place. The moldering pile of timber and stone had appealed to him on sight. He had been determined to possess it, regardless of the price.

  He’d felt the same way about Amy, although there was nothing moldering about her. Just the opposite. She was fresh and vital and alive. Her chin-length hair was the color of honey and her intelligent eyes were a mesmerizing shade of ultramarine blue.

  She was not beautiful in the classic sense, but there was an appealing quality in her firm chin, high cheekbones, and straight little nose. There was something else there, too, an indefinable essence that he suspected an older generation would have labeled strength of character.

  She reminded Owen of the wild roses in his garden. She would not fade when the going got tough, the way his first wife had. Amy would endure and flourish, just as the flowers in the Draycott garden had endured and flourished. Owen was not sure how he knew that, but he was very certain of it.

  The extent of his desire for Amy had astounded him, because he’d assumed that he was well past the point when passion and desire could dazzle his senses and shake up his world. He was within spitting distance of forty, after all, and he had not gotten this far the easy way. One broken marriage and a checkered career that included a stint in the military and later as a private investigator had taught him that the world was painted in shades of gray.

  But the day he had met Amy, Owen had started viewing life in living color again for the first time in years.

  He had decided upon his goal in a heartbeat, but years of training had taken over at that juncture. He was, by nature, a careful, methodical man. He had told himself that he had to approach Amy in a subtle manner. Misplaced Island was a very small community. If he moved too quickly, there would be gossip. Amy might be embarrassed. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off.

  It was clear to Owen that she led a busy but largely solitary life. He had established immediately that she had not dated anyone since her arrival on the island. That meant the path was clear for him.

  He was no ladies’ man, but he was determined to woo her with all the finesse at his command. Carefully planned trips to the post office, the grocery store, and the bookshop had netted him a series of seemingly casual encounters. He had told himself that she was getting used to him. She certainly seemed happy enough to run into him several times a week.

  He had been encouraged with the results of his invitation to coffee last week. He had been consumed with plotting a dinner invitation when she’d blindsided him with the offer of a job this afternoon.

  He had been dumbfounded when she had strolled into his wild garden and offered him a case. He had also been chagrined to learn that weeks of cautious maneuvering had been for naught. After all his painstaking efforts, she apparently viewed him only as a man who happened to have a useful expertise. She wanted to do business with him, not go to bed with him.

  Owen stifled a silent groan. His only hope now lay in the fact that he had managed to get connecting rooms here at the Villantry Inn. There was something about adjoining rooms that created a sense of intimacy, he told himself.

  To hell with delicacy and masculine finesse. It was obvious to Owen that the time had come to take a more aggressive approach to the business of courting Amy Comfort. Subtlety was lost on the woman.

  “I do wish you two could have stayed with me,” Bernice said for the fourth time. “But what with the remodeling and all, there’s just no place to put you. The house is a mess, isn’t it, Arthur?”

  “Afraid so.” Arthur Crabshaw, a sturdy man with gray hair and friendly eyes, smiled at Amy. “You know how things are during a remodel. Chaos and destruction. And I don’t have room at my place.”

  “The Inn is perfect for us,” Amy said quickly. “Isn’t that right, Owen?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” Owen was vividly conscious of the fact that the curve of Amy’s thigh, demurely draped in a flowing hunter-green silk skirt, was less than six inches from his leg. Wistfully, he considered the connecting rooms one flight above. “Perfect.”

  Arthur Crabshaw forked up a fried oyster with gusto. “The Inn’s got the best food in town.” He winked fondly at Bernice. “With the exception of Bernice’s cooking, that is. Nothing compares to that.”

  Bernice, a robust, athletic-looking woman in her mid fifties with lively eyes and short, upswept hair that had been dyed a pale gold, blushed. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at Owen.

  “Amy’s quite a gourmet cook herself,” Bernice confided to Owen. “But I’m sure you’ve already discovered that.”

  Owen felt Amy stiffen next to him. He slid her a sidelong glance and was amused to see the barely veiled panic in her gaze. She was apparently not accustomed to subterfuge. She was on the verge of coming unglued at the first mild probe into their relationship. Gallantly, he stepped in to fill the breach.

  “So far I’ve done all the cooking,” he said, thinking of the pot of coffee he’d made that afternoon.

  “Oh, then you must be a vegetarian also,” Bernice said brightly.

  Owen heard Amy’s fork clatter loudly on the wooden table. He glanced down at the chunk of halibut that sat squarely in the middle of his plate. “I make an exception for fish. Health reasons.”

  “Well, Amy eats fish on occasion, too.” Bernice waved that aside, as if it were common knowledge. “Now, then, the two of you must tell us everything. How did you meet? I swear, Amy, when you told me that you were going to move to that little dinky island, I was extremely worried about your social life.”

  “I know you were, Aunt Bernice,” Amy said.

  “I realized you were burned out after that dreadful incident last year,” Bernice continued. “And I knew you wanted peace and quiet so that you could devote more time to your writing. But I never thought you’d be happy for long in such a small, isolated community.”

  Amy shot Owen a quick, unreadable glance. “Misplaced Island suits me. I’ve been very happy there.”

  “So I see.” Bernice bubbled with enthusiasm. “Imagine, after all these years, you’ve finally discovered the man of your dreams on Misplaced Island.”

  Amy turned pink. “Uh, yes, well, you know what they say. Love is where you find it.”

  “The name of the island says it all,” Owen said dryly. “I guess Amy and I weren’t fated to find each other until we both got ourselves misplaced in the same place.”

  “I’m not so sure it’s any harder to find love in a small town than it is in a big city.” Crabshaw chuckled. “Just look at Bernice and me. If I hadn’t come back to Villantry after all these years, I never would have found her.”

  “What made you return to Villantry, Arthur?” Amy asked boldly.

  Owen winced at her less than casual tone. But Crabshaw did not seem to mind the pointed question.

  “I got tired of the desert,” Arthur said. “After thirty years of Arizona sunshine, I realized I missed the rainy Northwest. The only thing I miss about Phoenix is the year-round golf.”

  “Arthur loves golf,” Bernice explained. “He plays every chance he gets, don’t
you, dear?”

  Arthur smiled. “I do indeed. Got a game scheduled for tomorrow morning, in fact. The Villantry Golf Course is not exactly world-class and the rain has a way of canceling out a lot of games, but I figure that’s a small price to pay to live here.”

  “Life is so unpredictable,” Bernice said. “What a coincidence, eh, Amy? You and I both finding true love where we least expected it.”

  Amy began to look anxious again. “Right. Hey, what’s all the excitement about here in Villantry? We saw banners hanging over the main street. Something about fireworks in the park on Saturday evening.”

  “Didn’t you know?” Arthur popped another oyster into his mouth. “The town is going to dedicate the new wing of the Raymond C. Villantry Memorial Public Library on Saturday. Big event. Madeline Villantry and her son, Raymond Junior, are pulling out all the stops.”

  “The new library wing is really a very generous gift to the community,” Bernice said politely.

  Amy raised her brows. “Do I detect a note of dutiful peasant gratitude?”

  Bernice made a face. “Sorry about that. The Villantrys are nice enough in their own way, and Lord knows they’ve done a lot for this town. But they never forget for one minute that they are the leading family in Villantry. Very conscious of their position, if you know what I mean. Madeline is quite good in the role of Lady Bountiful.”

  Owen grinned briefly. “But the noblesse oblige stuff from the lady of the manor gets to be a bit thick at times, I take it?”

  Bernice rolled her eyes. “I’m afraid so. Then, too, even though we’re all adults now, I suppose a part of me can’t quite forget that when we were in high school together, Madeline was the acknowledged beauty of the town. She got every boyfriend she wanted, including one or two of mine.”

  Arthur shifted uneasily in his chair and cleared his throat. “Villantry Fishing built this town. Most of the jobs here are connected to the company. I worked for Villantry myself years ago, before I went off to Arizona.”

  “What did you do in Arizona?” Owen asked easily. He pretended not to notice Amy’s sharp glance.

  “Started a construction company. Got lucky. Hit the building boom in Phoenix. Always thought I’d retire there, but after my wife died I felt restless. Did some traveling and then, on a whim, I decided to see what had happened to my hometown.”

  “We met in the library,” Bernice said with a rueful laugh. “So I suppose one could say that we owe the Villantrys.”

  Arthur paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. “Speaking of Villantrys,” he murmured, “here comes the lady of the manor herself, and Junior. He runs the business now, you know. Took over when his old man died three years ago.”

  Owen glanced up to see a handsome woman in her fifties moving regally down the aisle between a row of tables. She was followed by a man in his early thirties who looked as if he was on the wrong coast. He wore a pale yellow sweater tied around his neck and a bored look that spoke of having grown up with a sense of entitlement.

  The dining room hostess trotted deferentially ahead of the pair, as though to make certain no rude serfs lumbered into their path. Madeline paused briefly at various tables to greet people with heavy-handed graciousness. Raymond Junior paused with her. He was not so gracious, however. He appeared impatient.

  A moment later the entourage halted beside the table where Owen and the others sat. Owen and Arthur got to their feet. Madeline acknowledged their chivalry with an aloof inclination of her head. The nod said more plainly than words could have that such good manners were only to be expected.

  “Do sit down, both of you.” Madeline’s smile was polite, but her voice was laced with a certain pinched quality. Her gaze touched Arthur briefly before sliding away. “Bernice, Arthur, I’m so glad we ran into each other here tonight. I heard about your engagement, and I want to congratulate both of you.”

  “Thank you, Madeline.” Bernice gestured toward Owen and Amy. “I’d like you to meet my niece, Amy Comfort, and her fiancé, Owen Sweet. They’re visiting.”

  “How do you do,” Madeline said. “This is my son, Raymond.”

  Raymond gave Owen a curt nod. “Our table’s ready, Mother.”

  A fleeting frown of disapproval flickered across Madeline’s noble features, and then it was gone. “Yes, of course. You will excuse us?”

  “Enjoy your dinner,” Bernice said cheerfully.

  “Thank you.” Madeline glanced once more at Arthur and then she was gone.

  Something in Arthur Crabshaw’s gaze caught Owen’s attention. In spite of his opinion of the crazy case and the fact that he had more important things on his mind at that moment than solving it, his instincts went on yellow alert.

  Not red alert, Owen noticed, just yellow. But a warning light had definitely flashed. He felt Amy go very still beside him. He wondered if she had sensed the same thing he had.

  No doubt about it: Arthur Crabshaw and Madeline Villantry had a history.

  • • •

  Two hours later Owen sat in a chair near the window of his darkened room and contemplated the closed door that stood between him and Amy.

  He had been studying the door for nearly twenty minutes, ever since he and Amy had returned from dinner and coffee in the lounge.

  After due consideration, Owen had finally concluded that the logical approach was the obvious one. He would simply knock on the connecting door. When Amy opened it from her side, he would tell her that he wanted to discuss the case. It was as clever an excuse as any.

  Having considered and determined upon a course of action, he gripped the padded arms of the chair and started to get to his feet. An authoritative knock from Amy’s side of the door stopped him in midrise.

  “Owen? Are you in there?” Her voice was muffled, but the excited urgency in it was unmistakable. She knocked again, this time with a bit more insistence.

  Owen told himself not to get his hopes up. The odds were against the likelihood that Amy had fallen for him sometime during dinner and now wanted to share a passionate good-night embrace.

  Nevertheless, he walked across the room with enthusiasm and opened the door with anticipation.

  Amy stood there, her hand raised for another peremptory knock. Her honey-colored hair was pinned in a frothy knot on top of her head. She was wearing a heavy, quilted bathrobe that rendered the average nun’s habit scandalous in comparison. Owen smiled at the sight of her. She looked freshly scrubbed, and he was willing to bet that she had already brushed her teeth.

  “I thought you might want to discuss the case,” she said eagerly.

  Owen’s enthusiasm and anticipation vanished in a puff of smoke. So much for his fond dream of having Amy fall into his arms. Back to Plan A. “I was afraid of that.”

  Her brows snapped together. “What?”

  “Never mind.” Owen stepped aside and swept his hand out to invite her into his room. “Come on in and have a seat. I’m at your service. Hell, I’m even willing to unlock the little refrigerator over there and open one of those itsy-bitsy bottles of wine.”

  Amy scowled. “Those tiny bottles are horribly overpriced for what you get.”

  “No problem. I’ll just put it on my expense account.”

  Amy halted midway into the room. Alarm flared in her eyes. “Expense account?”

  “Sure. That’s how this PI business works, you know.” He closed the connecting door and strolled to the small refrigerator. He used the small key to open the door. “I bill you by the hour and then tack on all the little extras. Adds up nicely.”

  “Good heavens. I hadn’t realized. That could get rather pricey.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Owen removed a minuscule bottle of brandy and paused to examine the label. “Name of the game, I’m afraid.”

  “Maybe we should have discussed your fees in more detail.”

  “Too late.” Owen splashed the brandy into two glasses. “I’m already on the job. And once I start something, I always finish it.”

  Her
expression relaxed. “You’re teasing me.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes.” She took one of the glasses from his hand. “You know, you’ve been acting a little weird since you agreed to take this case.”

  “Maybe that’s because the case is a little weird.” He took a sip from his glass. “First time I ever went undercover as a client’s fake fiancé. By the way, you want some advice?”

  She looked immediately wary. “What advice?”

  “Try not to get that deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression in your eyes whenever someone makes a reference to our engagement. Sooner or later you’ll blow our cover.”

  Her mouth fell open in shock. “Good grief. I’m that bad?”

  He stared at her full, parted lips. “Maybe you just need to loosen up a bit.”

  “Loosen up?”

  “Mellow out. Get into the role.” He closed the distance between them with long, slow strides. “Try to become more comfortable with the idea of having a relationship with me.”

  She nibbled on her lower lip. “Relationship?”

  “It should feel natural.” He stopped in front of her. “Otherwise you’re going to panic whenever someone says the magic word, engagement.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to panic.”

  “No?” He put his hands on her shoulders. “How will you react if, for the sake of maintaining the deception, I do something like this?”

  He bent his head and covered her mouth with his own.

  Chapter 3

  Amy froze beneath the impact of Owen’s kiss. Just like a deer caught in a car’s headlights, she thought. Owen had been right. The concept of an intimate relationship with him did strange things to her nerves.

  But the rest of her body seemed to have no problem with the idea. Owen was kissing her. After all these weeks of her wondering and fantasizing, he was actually kissing her.

  Hot excitement flashed through Amy, erasing the momentary paralysis. With an awkward, slightly jerky movement, she wrapped her arms around Owen’s neck and kissed him back with all the bottled-up passion she had been concealing for nearly two months.