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 n
ot 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.”
Jule pushed out of his arms, the mood spoiled by the truth in his words. She hated hopeless situations and this seemed to be taking the A train to Hopelessville.
She’d come to Verona chasing Rom, fleeing Pio, and searching for safety.
Perhaps the time had come for Jule to stand up for herself and finish what she’d started when she’d left Blake. The journey towards her future. Her happiness. And where did he fit into all this?
“So what’s your story, Rom? Why the false identity? Who are you hiding from?”
“Who said I was hiding?”
“Why else would anyone assume a phony name? Since you’re not a battered woman or a kid on the run, I assume you’re hiding from someone.” She spun, her eyes wide as a thought occurred to her. “You’re not, like, hiding from the mob or something? Are you?” That might explain Pio’s interest in the man.
Rom shook his head. “No. There’s no mob in my background. Nothing even illegal. Sorry, it’s not that exciting.”
“Then what? Why all the mystery? And the lies?” she asked.
“Trust me. It’s a very long story and not worth the time.”
He wasn’t going to tell her. Okay. Time to change tactics and get on with the number one reason she’d come all this way.
“Are you going to share what you know?”
“Work together?”
Jule nodded. He seemed to consider the offer, planting his feet wide and searching her eyes.
Chapter Twelve
He couldn’t put her off. Not anymore. She’d come all this way and braved her family and Mascaro despite his warnings. And when it came right down to it, Rom didn’t want to keep his distance.
He wanted to be up close and personal with Jule Casale. Naked with arms and legs tangled in an erotic dance. If they even made it to a bed. The wall would do. Or a table.
God, she glowed. Fierce and bright. With truth. Integrity. And an optimism he’d not experienced in over one hundred years. But would he kill that glorious hope when he placed her in front of Lawrence’s paintings? Probably.
He would eventually have to leave her. Whether or not his immortality came to end, their relationship would.
“How do I know you won’t expose me?”
“To what?” she said sharply, her hands open and out. “I don’t know what’s going on, remember? I know zero. How can I be a risk to you?”
Oh, but she had the power to rip his heart out. Or what little was left of it.
“We’ll work together. Just don’t expect anything from me, Jule. I’m not a commitment kind of guy and I usually don’t stick around to see how things turn out.”
“So I’ve noticed. How about the truth? Can I at least ask for that much?
“About some things, yes. Others, no.”
“When will I learn?” Her feet crunched on the loose gravel as she turned away and walked back through the open gate. Rom listened until her footsteps faded away into the distance.
He’d see her again. They didn’t have a choice. Either of them.
…
“Do you know a Pio Mascaro?” Rossi asked, a hint of curiosity tingeing his normally professional tone.
Jule’s stomach gave a lurch and threatened to make her reconsider the rapid breakfast of crackers and soda—the only thing she could coax out of the temperamental vending machine in her hotel lobby.
“Yes.” Trepidation filled her entire being. God, what had the man done now? “Why do you ask?”
“He called yesterday looking for you.”
“Dammit.” The expletive slipped past her lips.
“Judging by your reaction, it’s a good thing I referred him to the bankrupt Veronese Museum Coalition. He should be tied up for a couple of days banging on doors and trying to find anyone who knows anything about you.”
Banging on doors… No! “He’s here? In Verona?”
“Yes. At the Due Torri Hotel Baglioni. Room 89.”
Jule paced the back office of the thirteenth century church where Rossi was in the middle of conducting an onsite review of the frescoes. For three quick spins of the office, she forgot the elegantly dressed preservationist watching her.
“Should I call someone? The police?”
Get a grip Jule. If Rossi called the police, she might be tied up dealing with an inquiry while Rom was free to seize the paintings, or do whatever it was he had come to do. She had to manage Pio, Rom, and the paintings all without getting trampled in the process.
She squared her shoulders and met Rossi’s look of concern. “No. He’s just someone I would really rather avoid.”
That was an understatement.
“A colleague?”
“No. A family friend.”
“Who followed you all the way from the States? Sounds more serious than you’re alluding to.”
She dropped into an ancient seat lining the stonewall. The wood groaned reassuringly under her. Rossi turned discretely back to the work on the table in front of him, giving her a minute.
The only person who had any idea of her predicament was Rom.
She wouldn’t resort to asking him for help. She couldn’t. That left her on her own with probably less than forty-eight hours to find what she needed.
“Are you having any luck getting us into that palazzo? The one with the anonymous paintings you thought might be worth looking at?”
Rossi lowered a bundle of reports. “No. I’m sorry. But I’ll keep trying. It seems the best lead at the moment.”
Jule nodded and gathered her bag and coat. “Thanks for all your help. I really appreciate it.”
He smiled sympathetically. “Be careful of this man and pl
ease let me know if there is anything I can do.”
“You’re already doing it.”
Letting herself out of the office, Jule made her way into the cathedral. Centuries of incense and candle wax teased her nostrils as she walked through the nave. Diffused light fell from upper windows, washing the chapels along the walls with ambient lighting inspiring thoughts of peace and tranquility, exactly the thing she needed most at the moment.
The muffled sounds of parishioners and visitors blanketed her, soothing taunt nerves. Jule took a seat in one of the last pews after she blessed herself. For several minutes she closed her eyes and simply let the calm soak in. When she was focused, she opened her eyes.
She knew what had to be done.
…
Rom hadn’t seen her in two days. He’d been using the time to visit various buildings and residences open to the public in the hopes his own expedition might speed up Rossi’s research. All he’d gotten for it was a hell of a bad mood.
And no sign of Jule. He half thought with her desire and will of iron to speed up the process, he’d end up running into her at some point, what with both of them in and out of galleries, museums, and historic sites. But not a hint of her anywhere.
It didn’t worry him the first twenty-four hours, but as he’d cruised into day two, he started to wonder at her absence.
Where was she?
And then, just as he entered into the never changing seventy-six-degree, climate-controlled Castelvecchio Museum library for researchers, he spotted her sitting at a table. She hadn’t yet noticed him, her head lowered over a book. Her hair formed a partial curtain shielding her face.
Places on his body too long dead to true desire suddenly tightened in response to her nearness. Blood he knew too dormant in his ancient veins roared to life, rushing through him to fill his capillaries.
Any moment now, she’d feel his gaze and look up, catching his eye. He wanted to see the expression up close, to witness the abrupt constriction of her pupils. To hear the tiny, almost inaudible hitch of breath. To know she felt the same as he, dying to wrap his hands around her hips and force their bodies to meet.
So he closed the distance between them. Just yards from her, she looked up at him the same moment her hand reached up to move back the velvety curtain of hair, securing it behind a perfectly rounded ear. He’d actually thought long and hard about that ear. About drawing the lobe between his teeth and biting until he heard her cry out in pleasure.
Forbidden Kiss Page 8
