Connecting Rooms
3.5/5
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About this ebook
Amy Comfort is a real estate agent on Misplaced Island, a quaint, remote town located off the coast of Washington. When she sells an old Victorian manse to the sultry, sexy Owen Sweet, a private investigator relocating from Seattle, sparks fly from the get-go, though both Amy and Owen decidedly ignore their natural chemistry.
Until, that is, Amy enlists Owen's help in looking into her aunt Bernice's fiance Arthur Crabshaw, who Amy suspects is not what he seems. To keep their cover intact, Amy and Owen pretend to be a lovestruck, newly engaged couple, as they travel to Villantry, Washington, to investigate Arthur. When the mystery surrounding Arthur begins to spin out of control, Amy and Owen must trust in each other to stay alive. But, when the lines between their make-believe courtship and reality begin to blur, will the faux-couple end up with something aside from what they had set out to find?
From a bestselling anthology comes the story of two people looking for answers, who happen upon something they never knew was missing...each other.
Jayne Ann Krentz
The author of over fifty consecutive New York Times bestsellers, Jayne Ann Krentz writes romantic-suspense in three different worlds: Contemporary (as Jayne Ann Krentz), historical (as Amanda Quick), and futuristic/paranormal (as Jayne Castle). There are over 30 million copies of her books in print. She earned a BA in history from the University of California, Santa Cruz and went on to obtain a Master’s degree in library science from San Jose State University in California. Before she began writing full time she worked as a librarian in both academic and corporate libraries. She is married and lives with her husband, Frank, in Seattle, Washington. Jayne loves to hear from her readers and can be found at Facebook.com/JayneAnnKrentz.
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Reviews for Connecting Rooms
35 ratings4 reviews
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Short and simple. Easy to read. The love angle was too rushed though
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I have absolutely loved this book. If you have some great stories like this one, you can publish it on Novel Star, just submit your story to hardy@novelstar.top or joye@novelstar.top
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Though I am a huge fan of Jayne Ann Krentz, I had somehow missed this novella when it was published many years ago. It was fun to meet Owen Sweet and Amy Comfort. They had both admired each other from afar but, when Amy's aunt gets engaged to a suspicious man, Amy hires Owen to investigate. He is reluctant until Amy suggests that they pose as an engaged couple.I really liked both characters and loved the interaction between the two of them. There were a couple of misunderstandings between them on their way to confessing their love for each other - and one attempted murder. But everything works out for this couple.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This was my first Jayne Ann Krentz book, but it won’t be my last. I liked the characters and the plot. There was just enough suspense and romance to make the novella exciting. I tried throughout the book to figure it out, but missed the mark.
Book preview
Connecting Rooms - Jayne Ann Krentz
Chapter 1
No one ever said that the devil couldn’t have a rose garden, Amy Comfort thought. It just seemed a trifle out of character. On the other hand, the rose garden of the old Draycott place was no ordinary one. And Owen Sweet, Amy had decided, was no ordinary gardener.
Are you, or are you not, a private investigator?
Amy demanded.
Depends,
Owen Sweet answered. With the lethal precision of a fencer, he used a pair of garden shears on a clotted mass of evil-looking vines.
What does it depend on?
On whether or not I feel like working at it.
Owen took hold of the severed vines with heavily gloved hands. He ripped the old vegetation away from the window with a single, powerful motion. I’m a little busy at the moment.
Yes, I can see that.
Owen took no notice of her sarcasm. He seized another tangle of vines and dispatched them with ease.
Amy watched, morosely fascinated. She couldn’t help it. She liked watching Owen Sweet.
The vegetation he was attacking with such diligence had grown so thickly over the windows of the old house that it had effectively blocked all sunlight from reaching some of the rooms.
Not that sunlight was a common commodity here on Misplaced Island, Amy thought. The forgotten little patch of land located off the coast of Washington sat squarely in the middle of a rain shadow. A perpetual mist shrouded the island on good days. Dense rain poured down the rest of the time.
The local joke was that the island had earned its name when its original discoverer had temporarily misplaced it in the fog. Whatever the truth of that story, there was no doubt but that one had to be determined to find Misplaced Island.
And, Amy thought, one had to have either a powerful motivation or an extremely odd sense of whimsy to make one’s home here. She wondered which of those two possibilities applied to Owen Sweet.
Owen, this garden went wild years ago, just like the house.
Amy was growing increasingly exasperated. Time was running out, and she needed Owen Sweet. It can wait a few more days before you tame it.
Owen paused briefly to look at her. His sea-green eyes gleamed in the misty gray light. I’m in the mood to do it now.
Sweet was definitely a misnomer, Amy reflected, not for the first time. As far as she had been able to discern, Owen was anything but sweet, in either nature or temperament. She suspected he was yet another result of a baby having been switched at birth. Happened all the time, they said. Amy wondered what Sweet’s parents had thought when they discovered that they had been given a little green-eyed, black-haired demon to raise.
He was proving to be stubborn and thoroughly irritating, but there was something about the man that fascinated Amy. She did not know him very well, even though she had sold him the Draycott place. No one on the island really knew Owen Sweet.
He had moved to Misplaced Island two months ago. Amy had met him when he walked into the real estate office she operated out of the parlor of her cliffside cottage. She had been stunned by her reaction to him. Hunger and longing and a singing sense of joyous discovery barely began to describe it.
She had tried to squelch the feelings. True, she was a struggling romance novelist on the side, but Amy was far too pragmatic to believe in love at first sight. On the other hand, she trusted her own instincts when it came to people. They had stood her in good stead in the real estate business, and she saw no reason to discount them when dealing with members of the opposite sex. One thing was for certain. Those instincts had never reacted with such overwhelming intensity to any of the handful of men she had dated.
Owen had appeared oblivious of her carefully concealed response to him. He had announced without preamble that he’d already toured the island on his own and had checked out the available properties. He had decided to buy the Draycott place.
Amy had been horrified. Everyone on the island knew that the old Draycott house, a Victorian monstrosity, was a disaster from foundation to roof. She had dutifully done her best to steer Owen toward other real estate opportunities, but he had refused to listen to her advice. In the end a sale was a sale. Amy had reluctantly written up the deal.
The only good part about the transaction, she had told herself, was that Misplaced Island was a very small community. She would see Owen Sweet again. She could only hope it wouldn’t be in the course of a lawsuit over the Draycott sale. Some buyers tended to blame the real estate agent when they discovered they had made a bad bargain.
But Owen had appeared to be content with his new home when, to her secret delight, Amy had begun to encounter him with increasing regularity at the post office, in the checkout line at the island’s only grocery store, and at the tiny bookshop. One of the few facts that she had gleaned concerning him was that he was a voracious reader. At the rate he ordered books from Mrs. Akers, the owner of the bookshop, he would single-handedly keep her small store in the black during the coming winter.
But last week had been the real turning point. After running into her at the post office, Owen had invited Amy to join him for a cup of coffee at the town’s one and only café. The conversation had concerned such riveting matters as the weather, the latest novels they had each read, and the limited ferry schedule. Amy had walked on air all the way back to her cottage. Hope had bloomed within her.
She stifled a small, wistful sigh as she watched Owen free another window from its shroud of clinging vines. There was a lean, supple strength about him that captivated her senses. While it was true that, objectively speaking, Owen’s grim features could have been created by someone who would have been equally adept at designing junkyard dogs, Amy found him strangely compelling. Which probably said far too much about the limited social life on Misplaced Island, she told herself.
Then again, she had not even