Connecting Rooms by Jayne Ann Krentz Page B

sign-here-and-you’ve-got-yourself-a-house smile. He’d never actually seen that smile because when he’d bought the Draycott place from her, he’d almost had to type up the papers himself. She had tried to talk him out of the deal right up until the ink was dry. He had to admit the smile was very effective.
    “Something tells me I don’t have a lot of choice,” Owen said.
    •  •  •
    Owen waited until he heard the shower stop in Amy’s room. He killed a few more minutes pacing his room and then strode to the connecting door. He knockedperemptorily.
    “Come in, I’m decent,” Amy called.
    That was unfortunate, Owen thought wistfully. He yanked open the door. “I want to talk to you.”
    “Yes?” Amy met his gaze in the mirror. She was dressed in a pair of blue silk trousers and a matching silk tunic that turned her eyes into jewels.
    For a few seconds Owen just stood there, transfixed by the sight of her putting a gold earring on one delicate ear. Desire swept through him, hot, unexpected, and laced with longing. Damn. This was getting bad, he thought. Very, very bad.
    “Is something wrong?” Amy prompted.
    Owen took refuge in righteous irritation. He braced one hand against the doorframe. “Mind telling me what happened in Crabshaw’s living room this afternoon?”
    “What do you mean?” She finished attaching the earring and turned to face him. “We’re going to help Arthur. What’s so complicated about that?”
    “Amy, you told me you wanted to prove he was concealing something. Okay, I proved it. Case closed.”
    Her eyes widened. “For heaven’s sake, Owen, we can’t stop there. Bernice loves him, and this afternoon I finally concluded that he loves her. We have to help him.”
    “I had a feeling you were going to say that. What the hell made you decide that Arthur is a good guy after all?”
    “Intuition. And the fact that he’s trying to play the gentleman for Madeline’s and Bernice’s sake.”
    “The gentleman?”
    “A man who cares about a lady’s reputation and who doesn’t want to see anyonehurt, even thirty years after the affair, must have a strong sense of honor. A man like that will do right by my aunt.”
    “Sometimes I forget that you write romance novels in addition to selling real estate,” Owen muttered.
    She smiled. “Ready to go down to dinner?”
    •  •  •
    Two hours later Owen stood with Amy on the veranda that ran the length of the Villantry Inn and contemplated night-shrouded Villantry Park. The summer evening was cool but not cold. The tang of the sea was in the air. Bernice and Arthur had left the Inn after dinner. Owen finally had Amy to himself.
    Amy and her case, he amended silently.
    “Want to take a walk?” he asked.
    Amy nodded. “Sounds lovely.”
    He took her arm, and together they went down the steps and strolled into the park. The globes of the tall, old-fashioned lamps that lit the paths cast a warm glow. The Friday night band concert had just concluded its performance. People streamed out of the park.
    By the time Owen had gotten Amy as far as the pond, the crowd had dwindled to a handful. Owen studied the library through the trees and rhododendron bushes. It was closed for the day, but the lights were on inside.
    Everything about this case seemed to center on the library.
    “Looks like someone’s working late tonight,” he said, indicating the building on the far side of the park.
    “Maybe some of the people in charge of the dedication ceremonies are holding a last-minute meeting.”
    “Let’s see what’s going on.” Drawn by the force of his curiosity, Owen steered Amy along the path that meandered toward the library.
    Amy glanced at him speculatively. “Are we going to look for clues?”
    “Have I ever told you that you have an overactive imagination?”
    “I believe you’ve mentioned it once or twice. So, what are we going to do?”
    “I’m not sure. I just want to have a look around. It occurs to me that even