Forbidden Kiss by Shannon Leigh

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 please 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