The Forbidden Throb Chapter 134

Daniel's POV:

The garden was deeper in snow than I'd expected.

Our footsteps crunched loud in the stillness, disturbing the pristine white coating on boxwood hedges and stone benches. The fountain stood at the center of its small plaza, ice glazing its surface with a silver-blue sheen under the moonlight.

Emma pulled away from me, fishing in her coat pocket. Three euro coins glinted on her palm.

"The ice is too thick," I said. "They won't—"

"I have to try."

She wound up like a baseball pitcher and hurled the first coin. The coin skittered across the surface, slid toward a hairline crack at the fountain's rim, and disappeared with the faintest *plink*.

Emma gasped, spinning to face me so fast she nearly lost her footing. I caught her waist, steadied her. We stood too close, her face tilted up to mine, snowflakes catching in her eyelashes.

"It worked," she breathed.

I stared at the spot where the coin had vanished, half-disbelieving. The odds of that—threading through such a narrow gap in solid ice—

"It actually worked," I said, and despite everything, I felt a smile pulling at my mouth. Something warm unfurled in my chest.

Emma turned back to the fountain again, and this time she drew her arm back and threw wit all her strength. The remaining coins arced through the air and dropped straight through a narrow gap in the ice near the fountain's center.

The sound of it striking water was crisp, clear, triumphant.

Emma's cry of delight made something crack open in my chest. She jumped, arms raised, then immediately closed her eyes, palms pressed together as if in prayer.

I watched her lips move silently, her face tilted slightly upward, snowflakes settling on her cheeks and eyelashes. Her expression held such earnest concentration—brow furrowed, breath held—as if the entire universe hung on whatever wish she was making.

The sight of her like this, so unguarded and hopeful, made my throat tighten.

When she finally opened her eyes, they were luminous with tears again, but this time they were different. Not grief. Not confusion.

Hope.

I wanted to pull her against me. Wanted to kiss her until she stopped crying.

But I just brushed snow from her shoulders. "You're going to make yourself sick."

She lowered her hands, revealing red-rimmed eyes and a watery smile. "I don't care."

"I do." The words came out rougher than intended. I touched her nose with my thumb—cold and pink at the tip. "If you keep crying like this, your eyes won't open tomorrow."

I bent and kissed the bridge of her nose, tasting snowmelt and salt. Her breath hitched.

"Let me take you back to the hotel," I said quietly. "You need a hot bath. Something warm to eat. Sleep."

She nodded, but when I looked at her, I saw the mascara smudged beneath her eyes. The way she was swaying slightly on her feet.

All those tears for me.

The satisfaction that twisted through me at the thought was ignoble. Possessive.

I unwound my cashmere scarf and wrapped it carefully around her neck, adjusting it twice to ensure it covered her properly. She let me, watching my face with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Come on," I said, offering my hand.

She took it, and we started toward the exit.

Halfway there, I moved our joined hands into my coat pocket, threading our fingers together.

We walked in silence for another minute. Then, very quietly: "I don't want to sleep."

I stopped. Turned to look down at her. The streetlight caught in her eyes, turned them sea-glass green.

"Emma—"

"I know what you're going to say." She pressed closer to my side. "That I'm exhausted. That I've been crying. That I need rest." Her voice dropped. "But I don't want to be alone right now."

My throat closed. I flagged down a passing taxi, helped her inside, gave the driver the hotel address.

The cab was warm. Too warm. I could smell Emma's perfume—something light, floral—mixing with melted snow and the leather seats.

"What do you want to do, then?" I asked quietly. "If not sleep?"

She took a breath. Let it out slowly. Then turned to face me, and the look in her eyes made my heart stutter.

"I want to be with you. Sleep with you."

The words were simple. Devastating. I felt my throat work, swallowing hard.

"Emma—"

"Hermann told me." She moved closer on the seat until her knee pressed against my thigh. "He said I'm the love of your life. That you've been in love with me for years."

My ears burned. I could feel the heat creeping down my neck.

"And if that's true—if you really—" She stopped, gathered herself. "Then I want to be with you. As your wife. Just show me your love."

Her hand settled on my leg, light as a bird. I stared straight ahead, hyper-aware of every point of contact between us.

"We're still in public," I managed. "You shouldn't—"

She leaned in, close enough that her hair brushed my jaw. "I like you so much, Daniel."

My entire body went rigid.

"I like you more than anyone." Another brush of her lips, this time against my temple. "You're the best person I know."

"Emma." It came out strangled. "You need to stop."

"Why?" Her fingers traced the line of my jaw. "Don't you want—"

"The driver," I said tightly. "Is right there."

She glanced forward, seemed to remember where we were, and subsided slightly. But her hand stayed on my thigh, warm even through two layers of wool.

By the time we reached the hotel, I was holding onto my composure by a thread.

I helped her out, held the lobby door, maintained the careful distance I'd perfected over weeks of living together. The elevator arrived empty—a small mercy—and I guided her inside with a hand at the small of her back.

The moment the doors closed, Emma moved.

Her hand slid up my chest to my collar, fingertips brushing the exposed skin at my throat. I froze, every muscle locked, as she traced the line of my jaw with her thumb.

"Emma." My voice was barely recognizable. "What are you—"

She touched my Adam's apple, and I couldn't suppress the shudder. Couldn't stop my throat from working under her fingers, betraying exactly how affected I was.

"I'm being very good," she said, eyes bright with something between mischief and determination. "I'm not even kissing you."

"That's—" I had to stop, breathe. "That's very restrained of you."

I knew she was teasing me. Testing boundaries, seeing how far she could push.

But knowing it was a game didn't make it any less effective.

Her touch burned through my shirt, made my pulse hammer against her fingertips. Made every carefully constructed wall I'd built over the past years feel paper-thin.

She had no idea what she did to me—how the slightest brush of her hand could unravel my composure, how her proximity made it difficult to think clearly.

But not here. Not in an elevator where anyone could see her.

The elevator chimed.

I stepped out first, needing the distance. But she followed close behind, her presence a constant warmth at my back.

I kept my stride measured. Professional. As if my hands weren't trembling slightly as I pulled out the keycard. As if I couldn't feel her watching me with those sea-glass eyes.

The hallway was dim, my shadow stretching long across the carpet. I reached our door, swiped the card.

The lock clicked open.

Emma moved past me into the darkened suite—and something in me snapped.

I caught her shoulder, pulled her back against my chest. The door swung shut behind us with a solid *thunk*. I reached past her to flip the privacy lock, then hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign with deliberate precision.

I felt her entire body go still against me. The sudden shift from bold to frozen.

"Daniel?" Her voice came out smaller than before, uncertain.