Forbidden Kiss Read Online Free Page A

inherently off limits.
    Ah, Merc, Rom thought. Not now. Not this one.

Chapter Four
    Rom wasn’t going to see what the night brought. He was going to find Casale’s daughter a cab and get on with life.
    “I’ll walk you to Grand Avenue and you can catch a taxi there.” He set out towards Grand, cramming his hands into his pockets in an appearance of cold. Shortly, he heard her footsteps fall in with his.
    They walked together through the night, cars passing swiftly on the street. Several minutes passed before Rom realized Jule was the first woman he’d been able to share silence with in a long time. Comfortable silence.
    He didn’t want a companion. So he started talking.
    “How did you come across the Anonymous?”
    Jule appeared on his right, tight against the buildings. She curled into herself, fighting the cold wind.
    “It was donated after one of the directors died,” she said, her former anger gone in the chill.
    “And he had just the one?” Rom had suspected for some time the painting hanging in his bedroom was a message meant specifically for him. He’d never considered before tonight there could be more.
    Obviously, he’d underestimated Lawrence and the monk’s fatal obsession of making amends.
    “As far as I know,” she sounded unsure.
    Rom rounded a street corner and saw Grand at the next intersection.
    “They could be a series of panels from a dowry chest, an Altar or even murals from a residence. That would make sense from the period,” she thought out loud. “But I’m still curious about the significance of the sword. You say it was a common dress sword of the time, but why is it featured so prominently in each of the two paintings?”
    “Fighting was a way of life. Vendettas were as common as marriages. Men who went unarmed were either foolish or too poor to afford weaponry.”
    “Doesn’t sound like much has changed since then,” Jule replied.
    “Dueling was respected as a means to solve the unsolvable and increase—or threaten as sometimes happened—a man’s reputation,” Rom said.
    Unless your family engaged in the practice one too many times and caught the unfavorable attention of the Prince. Then all hell broke loose. And people—many people—died.
    Approaching Grand, Rom hailed the first taxi he saw and turned to Jule for her address.
    “555 Little Italy,” she said, pulling her scarf tighter.
    Her father’s house. The place she didn’t want to go. A plan took hold in his mind. Rom seized the opportunity to see Jule’s painting and confront Casale where he was most vulnerable. Where he lived.
    He prodded her for more information. “Will someone be expecting you? Should I ask the cab to park until you’re safely inside?”
    “My parents will be home. They’re, ah, waiting for me I’m sure,” and here she paused for the first time all evening, stumbling for an explanation.
    Rom watched the cab turn the corner to make the block and come back up the one-way street. He had maybe thirty seconds to convince Casale’s daughter it was a good idea he accompany her home. To her home office. Under the guise of discussing the anonymous painter further.
    “You said the painting is at the Art Institute?” he asked, knowing full well they couldn’t gain access to the museum this late.
    She watched the street, her arms fitted close to her sides and her feet softly stomping. “Uh huh. In the work room where we do restoration.”
    “Could we go and see it? Now?” He got her attention with that one. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her brows drawn together.
    “Is there something you’ve remembered?” She swiveled to face him.
    “The pictures you showed me were not of the complete painting. I need to see the whole thing.” He knew full well researchers like her kept working copies.
    “No, just the portion with the sword.” She looked down at her feet, and then back up into his eyes, deciding in quick order to give him exactly what he wanted—an invitation to