I shoved the blue folder under my heavy knit sweater, pressing it flat against my ribs.

I stepped back into the shadow of the tall mahogany bookshelves, holding my breath.

The door swung wide with a heavy groan.

Jason Thornton stood in the threshold, his eyes scanning the darkness.

His gaze paused on the open desk drawer, then shifted directly to me.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice sharp and cold.

“I was looking for a book,” I said, keeping my hands folded tightly over my midsection.

“Ethan used to read to me before the accident, and I wanted to find something familiar.”

Jason walked slowly into the room, his leather shoes clicking loudly on the hardwood.

He stopped just inches from me, his cologne filling the small space between us.

“This is Ethan’s private study,” he said, squinting down at me.

“Nobody is allowed in here without Grandmother’s permission.”

“I am his wife,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I tried to keep the folder from slipping.

“That doesn’t give you free rein of this estate,” Jason replied.