Emilia froze. The air seemed to leave the room, resulting in her clogged and ragged shallow breath while her hand still clutching the photograph, eyes wide as she locked onto Leonard’s intense gaze. The gun lay between them, its presence pretty heavy, like an unspoken accusation.
Leonard’s face was a perfect mask that was cold and unreadable, but beneath that icy veneer, Emilia could sense the boiling tension. God! He was furious. The kind of fury that wasn’t loud but dangerously quiet.
Her mouth went dry, the words she desperately needed to explain herself stuck in her throat. She dropped the photo onto the bed like it burned her, as if that could somehow erase the fact that she’d been snooping through his things.
“I—” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. “I wasn’t... I didn’t
