The Forbidden Throb Chapter 124

Emma's POV:

Sunlight filtered through the gap in the velvet curtains. I opened my eyes. My head throbbed.

I lay on unfamiliar silk sheets, wearing a soft ivory nightgown—not the deep red velvet dress I'd worn last night.

My mind went blank.

Then scattered fragments of memory began to surface.

*The Christmas market lights. Mistletoe. My fingers grabbing Daniel's tie. That burning kiss...*

Heat flooded my face. My heart raced.

I sat up abruptly, only to fall back against the pillows, dizzy and disoriented.

*Oh God. What did I do?*

I struggled to my feet and padded barefoot to the bathroom. The marble floor was cold, jolting me into sharper awareness. I flicked on the light and caught sight of myself in the mirror—

My hair was tangled and loose. Blue-green eyes dazed. Lips slightly swollen.

Faint red marks along my neck and collarbone.

As if I'd been kissed—gently, but insistently.

My trembling fingers touched those marks. My cheeks burned hotter.

Daniel's low voice echoed in my mind. His warm breath. That sentence: *"You've been giving me tachycardia for a very long time."*

My heart hammered. There was shyness, yes, but also a sweet tremor I'd never experienced before.

Then unease crept in.

*Was Daniel sincere? Or was it just... a moment of impulse?*

I washed up quickly and changed into a high-necked cream cashmere sweater, trying to hide the marks on my neck. When I pushed open the bedroom door, the scent of coffee and toasted bread drifted from the living room.

The table was laden with an exquisite French breakfast—croissants, jam, fresh fruit, orange juice.

And several items clearly prepared with intention: blueberry muffins, maple syrup, miniature versions of Maine lobster rolls.

I froze.

Daniel sat at the table, dressed in a charcoal cashmere sweater and white Oxford shirt, his collar buttoned precisely to the second button. He was absorbed in reading the *Financial Times*.

At the sound of my footsteps, he looked up. His gaze was gentle.

"Good morning, Emma. Does your head still hurt?"

My throat tightened. I hadn't expected Daniel to be this thoughtful—these home-state foods weren't easy to find in Paris.

"It's... fine." I sat across from him, unable to meet his eyes directly. Instead, I focused on his hands—those long, elegant fingers.

*The same hands that had traced patterns across my skin last night. That had known exactly where to touch, how much pressure to apply.*

My face heated again. I picked up a blueberry muffin, trying to mask my nervousness.

Daniel set down his paper. His gaze settled on me. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"You've lost weight," he said quietly. "Eat more, Emma. You need to take better care of yourself."

My breath caught.

*How does he know I've lost weight?*

Then my traitorous mind supplied the answer: *Because his hands had mapped every curve last night. Because he'd felt—*

Heat flooded from my cheeks down to my neck. I grabbed another muffin and bit into it, chewing furiously, using the food as a shield against the mortification burning through me.

"The muffins are good," I mumbled through a mouthful, not daring to look up.

Anything to hide my flaming face.

I couldn't help stealing glances at Daniel—still impeccably elegant, his collar pristine, even the top button fastened neatly.

Finally, I set down my fork and summoned my courage, my voice barely a whisper:

"Last night... did you sleep well?"

Daniel's movements stilled. He looked up, and something unreadable flickered in his deep brown eyes.

A slight smile curved his lips. "Not much."

My heart sank. *Oh God.*

"You were..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Particularly clingy after you'd been drinking. Couldn't bear to let me go for even a second."

The heat that had been simmering in my cheeks exploded into a full inferno. I stared at him, mortified.

He tilted his head, his expression gentle but unmistakably amused. "And now you've forgotten again, haven't you?"

"I—I'm not—" I stammered, my voice rising in panic. "I'm not the kind of person who just—I mean, I would never—"

*Oh God, he thinks I'm some kind of... of user. Someone who takes advantage and then pretends nothing happened.*

The words tumbled out before I could stop them: "I'll take responsibility!"

Daniel blinked. Then his smile widened, genuine warmth flooding his features.

"Thank you, Mrs. Prescott, for taking me in," he said softly, a teasing lilt in his voice.

I gaped at him.

"I was worried all night," he continued, leaning back in his chair with infuriating composure. "Afraid you'd wake up and... refuse to acknowledge what happened."

My jaw dropped.

*Refuse to acknowledge—? He was worried about* me *backing out?*

And that tone. That gentle, aggrieved tone, as if *he* were the wronged party here.

*Daniel Prescott, brilliant surgeon, medical prodigy... is* unbelievably *manipulative.*

He'd gotten exactly what he wanted and now he was acting like the victim.

*He's so... so...*

The word that came to mind wasn't one I'd ever associated with Daniel before:

*Conniving.*

*Do his residents at Mass General know he's like this?*

I gathered my courage and looked up at him, swallowing hard. "Then... then do you admit it?"

Daniel tilted his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Admit what?"

His calm gaze rattled me, draining away what little confidence I'd mustered. "You know... that..."

I trailed off, unable to finish.

Daniel lowered his eyes and lifted his glass, taking a leisurely sip. "You mean that I've liked you for a very long time?"

I nodded frantically, not even bothering to swallow the muffin still stuffed in my cheek.

Daniel's expression softened. His smile turned genuinely warm.

"Yes," he said simply. "I admit it."

He set down his glass and leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to something quieter, more intimate.

"I don't lie to you, Emma. I never have."