Forbidden Kiss (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

Jule took her first breath of Veronese air. Funny. It smelled the same as the air in Chicago.

“Ms. Casale?” The sudden question so near threw Jule off guard and she jerked away from the man in the slate gray linen suit.

Get a grip, girl. Nobody here knows you’re running.

Dark colored eyes set beneath bold brows inspected Jule as though she were a painting in a gallery. Professional and thorough.

Her ride.

She offered a weak smile. “Mr. Rossi?”

“Si.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Rossi was an independent art consultant to both museums and collectors, specializing in collections from the early Renaissance. If the paintings resided in Verona, Rossi would know.

“Sorry if I seem jumpy. Long flight.”

“Of course. Please.” He held his hand out for her carry-on bag.

“Thanks. I got it.”

“
Approvazione
. Okay.”

Rossi walked her out of the baggage claim and into the early morning sun. A light wind ruffled her hair, bringing with it the unmistakable odor of diesel.

“I have a car waiting.” He gestured to a sleek Mercedes parked in the front of a long line of automobiles. Seeing the car made her anxious to get on with what she’d came here for.

To find the paintings before Montgomery did.

She didn’t want to seem rude and ungrateful for Rossi’s hospitality, especially since she’d sprung this visit on him with less than twenty-four hours notice. But she just couldn’t wait. “Mr. Rossi, I hoped we could get right to the paintings.”

He regarded her over the top of the Mercedes for several seconds. Jule couldn’t read a thing in his expression, as he’d put on mirrored sunglasses.

Nodding curtly, Rossi slipped out of sight and into the driver’s seat. Jule followed suit.

Once they buckled in, he pulled away from the curb and eased into traffic. “You are not the only investigator to come to Verona this week. Is something going on in America that would prompt such interest in Veronese art?”

Jule’s heart sank into her feet. “How many other people have contacted you with a similar request?”

“One other.” Rossi cast a quick look in her direction before returning his gaze to the road. “You know this other person?”

She swallowed the disappointment that burned like bile in her throat. “Probably. Rom Montgomery?”

Rossi shook his head. “No. Montecchi.”

“Is Montecchi American?”

“No. A native.”

Didn’t sound like Montgomery. But if she believed Pio, and she did not want to, Rom went by many names.

“May I ask what he wanted?”

Rossi shrugged his shoulders. “The same as you. Looking for other paintings by the same artist.”

And?
“What did you tell him?”

“What I told you, Ms. Casale. There is much art here in the city. Many residences, public buildings, churches. I have my people looking at the catalogs and the items we’ve studied in detail, but until they finish, I won’t know.”

Jule forced her body to remain still in the seat. She wanted to grab Rossi’s lapels and demand he hurry up. If the other person wasn’t Rom, then someone else was onto her secret.

Antagonizing her contact wouldn’t help matters. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rossi. How long will the process take?”

He paused before answering. “A week maybe. Perhaps less.”

A week! Could she wait an entire week? Seven days? 168 hours?

Of course she could.

Breathing deeply, Jule turned in her seat to face Rossi. “What can I do to help?”

…

Rom heard her determined step on the uneven brick even before he saw her face. He’d heard it in his sleep these last few nights, his mind acknowledging what his consciousness would not. That his present was catching up to him.

“I wondered when you might find me,” he said, still facing away from her approach, looking down the shaded tunnel of overgrown grapevines to the arched wooden door of the abandoned monastery.

He heard her hesitate at the threshold. Rom turned to face Jule. She hovered just inside the gate, her hand gripping the open door for balance.

She opened her mouth, but words didn’t sound. Rom read all the emotions as they passed across her face in quick succession. Surprise. Puzzlement. Anger. Betrayal.

She found her voice at last. “Rossi told me I could find you here.”

“So I imagined.” He didn’t expect the rush of lust and happiness that filled his blood, pulsing through his veins and silently urging him to take her in his arms and kiss away the pain he’d caused her this week. But the desire didn’t surprise him, either.

Juliet was truly gone. Jule was here. And he grew tired of fighting his attraction to her.

“What are you doing, Rom? Why are you looking for the paintings when you know the discovery is mine?”

She’d steadied herself and moved away from the gate, deeper into the sanctuary of the ancient monastery, pushing towards him with heat in her eyes. She wouldn’t find solace or answers within its walls, however. Only pain.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Jule. Things I can’t tell you. Things you simply wouldn’t understand. Just know that I don’t want them for profit or a collection. I just need to see them and secure them.”

“But why? I don’t understand. What’s your connection here and why didn’t you tell me the truth back in Chicago?” The hurt in her voice stung him. But the sadness in her eyes wounded him more.

“I don’t intend to steal this discovery from you. I just need to see the series together, in situ, before it’s moved or broken up.”

She balled her hands into fists at his purposeful evasion, the tension whitening her knuckles.

“You’re suggesting I trust you? I don’t even know your real name. Romney Montgomery died when he was a baby. I don’t know who you are.”

She knew. The news came as a cleansing relief, no matter how she came by the information. No more hiding, then. He would share the truth and trust her.

He started across the grounds, only to have her back up to the gate.

“I came halfway around the world to find you sitting on my claim! My research, Montgomery,” she jabbed a rigid index finger to her chest. “I came to you for help. I defended you to my family for Christ’s sake and you double-crossed me. Used me!”

Her words made him wince. The accusations scraped him raw inside with shame and guilt. He deserved her anger and more. He wouldn’t refute her. He couldn’t.

Rom grabbed for her arms as she twisted away to hide her tears. He could only think of one way to stop the pain stumbling past her lips.

He kissed her.

As soon as their lips met and he tasted her, Rom knew he was in deeper than even he had suspected. She tasted achingly sweet and familiar.

She stiffened in his embrace, slapped his chest and raised her hand to repeat the strike to his face, but Rom caught her hands and held, deepening the kiss when her body relaxed at last.

He didn’t know who opened up first, but their tongues were suddenly hungry and entwined, their lips slanting frantically over each other. He wanted all of her at once, the urge to consume her strong and pulsing in his blood. But he resolved to slow down and savor each second as though it were the last. With his attention focused on bringing her pleasure, he would find his.

His tongue glided over the perfection of her teeth before diving deeper into the recesses of her mouth. She tasted of sweet tea and mint, an earthiness that spoke of green things and sunshine.

The kiss was hot, deep, penetrating. He released her hands, which made their way up his chest and around his neck, twining in the hair that lay along there.

Rom glided his hands along her sides, just under her breasts and around her backside, cupping her round bottom in his palms. The gesture elicited a deep moan from her and Rom felt a responding groan threaten.

Jule pulled back, biting his lip as she did.

“This doesn’t change a damn thing. I still don’t trust you. But I need you. And I’ll open myself up once again and ask you: will you partner with me?”

Her pronouncement cleared his head, if only to sense the full implications of his actions and the threat he imposed on her.

“Jule. This is dangerous. You
don’t
know me. You don’t know my past—where I’ve been and who’ve I been. I want to protect you. From me.”

He disengaged his hands from her bottom and set her fully on her feet, putting enough air between their bodies to remind himself where they were and who they were.

Jule rested her hands on her hips and leveled a hard gaze on him. In that moment, he glimpsed her shining inner strength and the walls she erected around herself to keep attacks such as his out. They would serve her well.

But then, there was her tenacity. It was a blessing and a curse.

“Don’t do this, Montgomery. Don’t push me away. Shut me out. Not after a kiss like that. You owe me. A lot. And you can start by telling me what the hell your real name is.”

Rom almost smiled.

…

Jule was too mad for a panic attack. His continued silence and deep well of secrets spoke of continued mistrust—and this after he had used her so harshly!

But really, could she blame him? Look at her family. If they could sell her out—their own daughter—so quickly, he was justified to keep his own council and keep her at safe distance.

And lord help her, that kiss wiped away every last bit of fear and filled her with a passion she didn’t dream possible. In his embrace, she experienced a glimpse of freedom too long denied to her by family commitments and fright. In his embrace, she found a sense of safety.

But why now? And why with a man like him? He’d lied to her. Used her!

“I’m waiting,” she said, crossing her arms under her breasts.

For a minute he stood there, too self-possessed to look contrite over the kiss or his betrayal. But she detected a grimness she hadn’t seen before, his eyes hard and dark, reflecting the winter clouds overhead.

He couldn’t hide his reaction to her. She’d felt his response to the kiss as well. Or had she imagined it? The thought she could be mistakenly transferring her own emotions onto him made her stomach sick.

“Rom is actually close enough to the truth. Closer than anything I used over the years.”

“So you’re just going to maintain the charade?”

“It wasn’t ever a charade, Jule. The only thing that was never true was the name. But what’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.”

The sadly ironic smile wasn’t lost on Jule, considering her family, but she knew it meant something deeper for him. The self-deprecating twist of his lips told her as much. She just didn’t know what.

“Shakespeare, Rom? Okay,” she said, emphasizing the fact she didn’t really understand, but would for the moment let it go. “What do you plan to do now?”

They no longer stood toe-to-toe, but close enough for Jule to feel his wonderful and distracting body heat.
How could the man act so cold and closed when he put off such delicious warmth?

Confused and aroused. That’s what she was.

“You mean with you?” He smiled, but she noticed it didn’t reach his eyes.

“For starters, yeah.”

He smiled again, but this time it lit the depths of his midnight eyes. His hand snaked out and wrapped around her neck, his warm fingers caressing and lifting her hair over her shoulder.

Jule watched as the smile slipped off his face and his gaze narrowed. His other hand pulled her forward.

“What the hell?” he said, leaning closer to examine her neck.

The bruises Pio had left behind. She’d forgotten about them following the struggle.

“Who did this?” he demanded, turning her chin to the light.

“Leave it. It’s fine,” she said, horrified over her physical struggle with a man she’d long considered an uncle. Yet another betrayal to add to her cabinet of emotional insults.

“Bullshit. Someone attacked you. And I can guess who.” Rom rubbed a gentle thumb over the injury, careful not to cause pain, but Jule shuddered just the same. But not with distaste. Not by a long shot.

“Was this in retaliation for bringing me home?”

She tried to keep her expression blank, but it proved hard with Rom standing so damn close. She wanted to curl into him and feel that elusive sense of freedom and happiness and thereby banish the bad.

“Look, don’t worry about it, okay? I can handle it.” Jule straightened her shoulders, determined to keep her focus on now. Here. Rom.

“Did you call the police?”

She didn’t answer, but shrugged out from under his hands and stepped back, pulling her hair down.

“No. You didn’t.”

She didn’t know if he was mad at Pio or her.

“I did finally call the police, but by then he was gone.”

“What do you mean, finally called the police? And gone where?” Two immediate steps erased the distance between them and Rom gripped her shoulders once again, commanding an answer from her as his fingers curled around her arms.

“I’d rather not go into it—”

He placed a finger against her lips, cutting her off. The intimate gesture gained her immediate obedience, damn it.

“Humor me.”

Jule sighed. This guy would be the death of her. Why she listened to him, trusted him, she didn’t want to analyze too closely. The implications scared her.

“This,” she pointed a thumb at her neck, “is two days old.” Jule looked away, anywhere but into his burning eyes.

He pulled her chin back to face him. “What happened?”

“He, ah, said some crazy things and scared the crap out of me.”

“You filed a report with the police?”

“Yes.”

Rom folded her into his embrace, cradling her head against his chest and squeezing her with another deep groan.

The sound reached inside and messed with her heart. As if an invisible cord existed between their bodies, drawing her closer.

Rom pulled back and looked down at her. “How long do you think you can hold Mascaro off before he takes what he wants, Jule? Father or no. He is powerful enough to make things happen. Men like him don’t stop because you tell them to. They don’t stop because men like me tell them to. They don’t stop. Period. Until they get what they want. And then it’s never enough.”