The Forbidden Throb Chapter 109

Emma's POV:

I stepped into his embrace almost instinctively, pressing my face against his chest.

The familiar scent of mint and citrus cologne mixed with fabric softener wrapped around me—clean, crisp, impossibly *him*.

Daniel's arms encircled my waist, his hands guiding mine to rest against the small of his back.

The four-leaf clover bracelet shifted against my skin, its clasp catching briefly between our palms, sending a shiver of cool metal through the warmth.

My heart hammered so violently I was certain he could feel it through the layers of wool and cotton separating us.

*Say it. Just say it.*

"Daniel..." My voice came out smaller than I intended, muffled against his shirt. "Will you... will you miss me?"

The question hung in the air between us.

I felt his chest rise and fall—once, twice—before his fingers moved, tracing slow, absent circles against my spine through my coat. The gentleness of the gesture made my throat tighten.

"I will." His voice was soft, almost tender.

My pulse quickened.

"But not for long, Emma." His hand stilled. "You'll be back soon."

The words landed like cold water, dousing whatever foolish hope had been building inside me.

*Not for long.*

*You'll be back soon.*

As if two weeks were nothing. As if *I* were nothing more than a temporary absence in his perfectly ordered life.

I released him, stepping back with what I hoped looked like a casual smile. "Right. I should—I should go."

My throat felt tight. My eyes burned.

"Have a safe flight." Daniel's expression remained gentle, unreadable. "Text me when you land."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and turned toward the door. My hand fumbled with the handle, my vision blurring slightly at the edges.

The morning air hit my face as I stepped outside, sharp and blessedly cold.

---

19:23 PM, I stood in the check-in hall at Logan International Airport, scanning the crowd for Professor Laurent and the rest of the team.

The terminal buzzed with pre-Christmas ravel chaos—families dragging oversized luggage, businessmen hunched over laptops, gate agents calling out boarding groups in mechanical voices.

I adjusted my grip on my carry-on, exhaling slowly.

*Two weeks. I can do two weeks.*

My gaze swept across the hall, moving past clusters of travelers, until—

I froze.

There, near the international check-in counters, surrounded by a small entourage of MGH administrators and medical faculty, stood Daniel.

He wore a black Burberry trench coat over a perfectly tailored charcoal three-piece suit, his wire-rim glasses catching the fluorescent lights.

His posture was relaxed but commanding, head tilted slightly as he listened to the hospital's Chief of Staff gesture emphatically about something.

My chest tightened.

*Daniel is going to Paris.*

The realization crashed over me in waves. He'd known. This morning—the hug, the carefully measured words—he'd *known* we'd both be on this flight.

God. That made sense now, didn't it? He hadn't been talking about missing me. He'd been talking about *logistics*—about the fact that we'd see each other in Paris anyway.

As if sensing my gaze, Daniel turned his head.

Our eyes met across the crowded terminal.

For one suspended moment, his expression shifted softer before smoothing back into professional neutrality. He gave me a small, polite nod. The kind you'd give a colleague. An acquaintance.

I looked away first, my face burning.

"Emma! There you are!"

I turned to find Professor Laurent hurrying toward me. "Thank God. I was starting to think you'd missed your flight."

I forced a smile. "Just got a little lost looking for the right terminal."

"Well, come on. I want to introduce you to someone very important." Sarah grabbed my arm with her usual enthusiasm, steering me toward—

*No. No, no, no.*

" Emma, this is Dr. Daniel Prescott, Chief of Cardiac Surgery at Mass General and Professor of Medicine at Harvard. Dr. Prescott, meet Emma Johnson, our star French translator and reporter. You'll be working closely together these next two weeks."

Daniel extended his hand, his expression perfectly professional. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Johnson."

His voice was smooth, cordial, utterly devoid of recognition.

I stared at his outstretched hand—the same hand that had been tracing circles against my spine just hours ago—and felt something crack inside my chest.

"The pleasure is mine, Dr. Prescott." I shook his hand briefly, my palm damp despite the terminal's air conditioning.

Sarah glanced at her phone. "Oh! We should head to security. The rest of the team is already through." She turned to Daniel with an apologetic smile. "Dr. Prescott, I'm sure we'll see you at the gate?"

"Indeed." He inclined his head. "Enjoy your flight, ladies."

I didn't look back as Sarah led me toward the security line. But I felt Daniel's gaze on my back, heavy and inscrutable, all the way across the terminal.

---

The security line moved with glacial slowness. I shuffled forward mechanically, removing my laptop, placing my bag on the conveyor belt, stepping through the metal detector.

My mind wouldn't stop replaying the introduction.

"You okay?" Sarah glanced at me with concern. "You've been spacing out."

I blinked, snapping back to attention. "Sorry—I didn't sleep well last night." I managed a weak smile. "Pre-trip nerves, I guess."

Sarah nodded sympathetically. "Don't worry. Once we're in the air, you can relax. "

Once we settled into our seats, Professor Laurent leaned across the aisle with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Emma, you never did answer my question from last week. When do we finally get to meet this mysterious husband of yours?"

Sarah perked up immediately. "Oh, I'm curious too! You've been keeping him under wraps. Is he camera-shy or something?"

I felt heat creeping up my neck as I forced an awkward laugh. "Actually, you've both already met him."

Professor Laurent's eyebrows shot up. "We have? Where? Who?"

"Dr. Prescott," I said quietly.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Sarah's eyes widened in recognition, while Professor Laurent's mouth formed a perfect 'o' of surprise.