Forbidden Kiss Read Online Free Page B

her home office.
    He almost regretted leading her.
    “I have more photos at home in my office. There are some large blow ups of the Anonymous if you care to see it tonight.”
    Rom saw the taxi approaching in his peripheral vision.
    “I would.”
    When they were both seated side by side in the back of the cab, Rom spoke first, distracting himself from her body heat and the press of her thigh along his.
    “Why all the urgency over these paintings?”
    She fussed with the strap on her bag. “As a dealer who works with the big auction houses, you surely understand the cutthroat nature of the art world?”
    He nodded.
    “Well, how do you think people move up, advance in such an environment?”
    “By making a name for themselves and reputation,” he offered.
    “The same is true for the galleries and museums. The competition is tough and if I could bring together a previously unknown collection by an unknown Renaissance artist—”
    “It would mean a big promotion,” Rom finished for her.
    She looked out her window at passing traffic. Something else was on her mind. He let her struggle with it until she found the words.
    “I feel I have to ask what you plan to do if you see my father tonight.” The faux leather of the cab seat squeaked under her shifting weight as she moved nervously. He immediately missed the comfort of her body heat.
    “I don’t have any immediate intentions, if that’s what you’re asking.”
    She swallowed. “I’ve only just moved back in with them after a rather, uh, trying divorce. Normally our problems wouldn’t be so, er, intertwined.”
    Not what he expected her to say. Divorced? Hmmm. He wouldn’t have guessed she’d ever been married. The woman had tenacity. Strength. Resolve. But with a vulnerable core. A spirit like hers deserved to be adored, protected and nurtured.
    He turned to look through the window. The northern fringes of Greektown passed outside.
    The cab dropped them off at the steps of a three-story brick rowhouse. Lights blazed behind the arched, curtained windows on the street level, shadows moving within.
    The house resembled many in the Mid North district with elaborate facades full of wide windows and gabled roofs, all courtesy of the fashionable Italianate style of the late ninteenth century.
    Rom paid the driver while Jule fumbled in her bag for change.
    “Keep it,” he said when she offered it.
    Fortunately, she’d also found her keys in the bottomless bag and within seconds, they were standing in the tiled foyer of Edmondo Casale’s house.
    An antique hall tree with an inset mirror stood sentry inside the foyer, reflecting the party within. Casale stood with his back to the door, pouring drinks from a crystal decanter on a sideboard. An older woman, faintly resembling Jule, sat primly on the edge of brocaded wingback chair talking to a third party out of view.
    He spared a glance for Jule. In the process of shucking her raincoat, she paused and gave him an encouraging smile—as if he needed it.
    “Come on,” she said in little more than a whisper, waving him up the stairs after she exchanged her boots for flat slippers. “We’ll leave them to their business.”
    “Jule, dear. Is that you?” A maternal voice hailed them from the formal den.
    Jule paused on the stairs, her back ramrod straight. He thought he heard her curse under her breath. Stepping back and allowing her to pass back down, Rom followed Jule through the oak paneled double entry and into a sitting room. Not since his days as a mercenary had he felt the nerve-tingling feeling of walking into a lion’s den. Every muscle tensed in anticipation.
    A fire blazed cheerfully in a corner hearth and low music drifted from a stereo hidden in a Birdseye maple cabinet.
    “Hi, Pop,” Jule called to her father. “Evening, Mom.”
    Casale turned from the sideboard, both hands wrapped around lowball glasses. He took in Jule with an eyebrow raising look that said, “Where have you been?”
    “We were