The Forbidden Throb Chapter 116

Emma's POV:

The descent into Paris felt like falling through layers of fog—each moment bringing me closer to ground, to clarity.

I pressed my forehead against the cool cabin window, watching the French countryside materialize below. Patches of snow dusted the fields like powdered sugar, and the Seine wound through it all like a silver ribbon. Beautiful. Disorienting.

"The forecast mentioned snow," Daniel said, his tone deliberately casual. "You packed warm enough?"

"I have my coat," I managed.

Daniel's eyes flicked to said coat—the camel-colored trench that was more fashion than function. His expression didn't change, but something in the air shifted.

"Paris in December averages around three degrees Celsius," he said quietly. "That's about thirty-seven Fahrenheit."

"I know the conversion."

He stood, reaching for his own overcoat from the overhead compartment—a charcoal grey cashmere. When he turned back to me, he was holding it out.

"Take this."

I stared at the coat, then at him. "Daniel, I can't—"

"You'll be cold."

"It's fine. We're just going from the plane to a car, and then straight to the hotel." I tried to keep my voice light, reasonable. "I won't be outside long enough to freeze."

His jaw tightened fractionally. "Emma—"

"Besides," I continued, heat creeping up my neck, "your coat would swallow me whole. I'd look like a child playing dress-up."

That wasn't entirely true. The real reason was that wearing his coat—something so obviously masculine, so distinctly *his*—felt like crossing a line.

Like putting on a sign that said *property of Daniel Prescott* for everyone to see.

"I have my own coat," I said more firmly, reaching for the camel trench. "I'll be fine."

For a moment, Daniel just looked at me. Then he nodded once, curtly, and turned to his carry-on luggage.

I thought that was the end of it. But instead of putting on his own coat, he unzipped a side compartment and pulled out a small cardboard box.

Heat packs. The kind you stick to your clothes.

Before I could protest further, he'd opened one of the packets with efficient movements, shaking it to activate the warming reaction. His hands moved to my waist, and I froze.

"May I?" His voice was low, professional, but there was something underneath it I couldn't name.

I nodded mutely.

He peeled the adhesive backing off and pressed the heat pack to my lower back, his palm smoothing it down through the fabric of my dress. Even through layers of clothing, I felt the warmth of his hand.

I stood there like a mannequin, letting him work, feeling increasingly ridiculous and cared for in equal measure.

"There." He stepped back, surveying his work with the same critical eye he probably used in surgery. "That should help."

The heat was already seeping through my dress, spreading across my skin like a warm embrace. It was... wonderful, actually. I felt my shoulders relax, muscles I hadn't realized were tense starting to ease.

"Your luggage is like Mary Poppins' bag," I said without thinking. "Everything just appears when you need it."

Something flickered across his face—not quite amusement, something softer. "I have someone at home who requires... frequent oversight."

The way he said it, so casual yet weighted.

Our eyes met for a brief, charged moment.

---

The first-class exit route was mercifully quick.

No jostling through economy crowds, no waiting in jetway traffic. Just smooth, efficient movement from plane to terminal.

The arrivals hall was decorated for Christmas—a towering tree covered in gold ribbons and crystal stars dominated the center, surrounded by a miniature train set that chugged along tiny tracks.

Children pressed their faces against the glass barriers, pointing and squealing.

"Photo op!" Sarah announced, already pulling out her phone. "We need documentation of this moment."

I joined the group gathering in front of the tree.

There were eight of us total: the medical team (Daniel and two other Mass General doctors), our media group (Professor Laurent, Sarah, and me), plus two cardiology residents who'd been on the flight.

"Everyone, squeeze in," Sarah directed, holding her phone at arm's length. "Emma, you're too far to the side. Come to the center."

I shuffled inward, suddenly very conscious of Daniel, who'd somehow ended up directly behind me.

"Closer," Sarah insisted. "We need to all fit in frame."

I felt Daniel's hand land on my shoulder—light, steadying. Just helping with positioning.

That's all it was.

But his palm was warm through my coat, and his thumb rested just above my collarbone, and suddenly I couldn't breathe properly.

"Perfect! Hold still—"

The camera flashed.

"Ms. Laurent! Bonjour!"

A man in his thirties approached, hand extended. Dark hair, expensive suit, carrying a tablet. He greeted Professor Laurent with the easy familiarity of a previous acquaintance.

"This must be the team," he continued in lightly accented English, his smile bright. "Welcome to Paris, everyone. I'm Marc Rousseau, conference coordinator."

Handshakes all around. When he reached Daniel, his expression brightened with genuine warmth.

"Daniel!" Marc switched to rapid French, pulling him into a brief embrace. "Mon ami, it's been what? Two years?"

"Nearly three." Daniel returned the embrace with ease.

"You're looking well. Still working yourself to death, I assume?" Marc's grin was affectionate, teasing.

"Says the man coordinating an international conference."

"Touché." Marc clapped Daniel's shoulder once before stepping back, switching to English for the group's benefit. "Dr. Prescott and I worked together during his fellowship here. Best six months of chaos I've ever experienced. "

Marc's eyes swept over the rest of us, landing on me. Something flickered in his expression.

"And you must be—" He checked his tablet. "Ms. Emma Johnson? "

"That's right." I kept my smile professional. "How do you know me?"

His grin widened. "Actually, it's not just that I know you. Your name is extremely well-known in our department."

Heat crept up my neck. From the corner of my eye, I glanced over at Daniel. He was talking to Professor Laurent, but I saw Daniel's spine straighten fractionally.