The Forbidden Throb Chapter 169

Emma's POV:

Daniel's hand moved to the small of my back, steadying me.

"Just a cat," he murmured, and I felt rather than saw his slight smile.

In the distance, something small crashed through the underbrush—probably a raccoon or possum fleeing the feline intruder.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, but my pulse still hammered against my ribs. The garden suddenly felt less like a romantic hideaway and more like a stage with invisible eyes watching from the wings.

Daniel's hand moved from my waist to cup my face, his touch warm against my cold skin. "Mrs. Prescott," he said softly, and there was amusement threading through his tone now. "Where were we?"

Heat flooded my cheeks as I remembered—I'd been about to kiss him. I'd been the one leaning in, the one initiating, and now I felt suddenly, acutely self-conscious.

I tried to step back, but his arm around my waist held firm, keeping me close.

"I don't know," I managed, my voice coming out higher than intended. "I think we should—"

"Should what?" His voice was gentle but relentless. "Go home? Or..." His fingers traced the line of my jaw, tilting my face up toward his. "Continue what you started?"

My breath caught. In the darkness, his eyes were unreadable, but I could feel the intensity of his gaze like a physical weight.

"Daniel," I whispered, and I wasn't even sure what I was asking for.

But he seemed to understand anyway. His other hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and he drew me close until our foreheads touched.

I did what I'd been about to do before the sound interrupted us. I rose onto my toes, my hands sliding from his vest to his shoulders, then to the back of his neck, and I kissed him.

It was meant to be soft, tentative—but Daniel made a low sound in his throat and deepened the kiss immediately, his hand at my neck holding me exactly where he wanted me.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His thumb traced my swollen lower lip, and even in the darkness I could see the satisfied gleam in his eyes.

My cheeks burned, and through the haze of sensation, a thread of clarity finally emerged. "We should..." I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "We should go home."

Daniel's hand found mine, lacing our fingers together.

His voice was rough, still edged with desire. "Yes," he agreed. "Let's go home."

---

The next morning.

I woke to sunlight streaming through cream-colored curtains, the warm glow painting golden stripes across unfamiliar sheets.

For a moment I was disoriented, my sleep-fogged brain struggling to place where I was. Then memory flooded back—Daniel's apartment, his bed, the way he'd carried me here last night after we'd gotten home from The Garden.

My face heated at the recollection.

We'd barely made it through the door before his mouth was on mine again, his hands urgent and possessive in a way that still made my pulse race. The clinical restraint he'd shown in public had evaporated the moment we were alone, replaced by something raw and hungry that both thrilled and terrified me.

I stretched, wincing slightly at the pleasant ache in my muscles, and reached for my phone on the nightstand. 10:47 AM.

The bed beside me was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. At the foot of the bed, my clothes from last night were folded neatly on the bench—Daniel's doing, obviously.

I smiled despite myself and pulled the covers up to my chin, breathing in the scent that clung to the pillowcases. Mint and citrus and that indefinable something that was purely Daniel. The smell alone was enough to make my heart skip.

I dragged myself out of bed, my legs slightly unsteady, and padded to the bathroom.

In the mirror, I looked thoroughly debauched—hair tangled, lips still slightly swollen, a faint mark on my collarbone that my shirt would cover but that made me blush anyway.

I splashed water on my face and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to look at least marginally presentable. But there was no hiding the glow in my cheeks or the dreamy expression I couldn't quite suppress.

I pulled on one of Daniel's t-shirts—it hung to mid-thigh on me, the soft cotton smelling like fabric softener and him—and made my way downstairs.

The apartment was quiet except for the faint sizzle of something cooking. I followed the sound to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway, my breath catching.

Daniel stood at the stove, his back to me, wearing a pale gray linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a navy apron tied around his waist.

He was flipping something in a pan with easy, practiced movements

He must have heard me because he turned, and his face lit up with a smile.

"There you are," he said softly, setting down the spatula and crossing to me in a few long strides. His hands cupped my face, tilting it up for a gentle kiss that tasted like coffee and maple syrup. "Sleep well?"

"Mmm," I managed, still half-dazed from the kiss. "Very well."

His thumb traced my cheekbone, his eyes warm with affection and something deeper, more intense. "You're wearing my shirt."

"Is that okay?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

He said, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that always made me shiver. "You look better in it than I ever did."

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. "Liar."

"Never," he said seriously, and kissed me again before returning to the stove. "Sit. Breakfast is almost ready."

I slid onto one of the bar stools, tucking my feet under me, and watched as he plated pancakes. The table was already set with butter, maple syrup, fresh strawberries, and Greek yogurt.

"How do you want your eggs?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder. "And coffee or tea?"

"However you're making them is fine," I said. "And coffee, please."

He nodded and cracked two eggs into a pan, the whites sizzling as they hit the hot surface. "Any plans for today?"

"I need to recover first," I said, then immediately regretted it when his eyes gleamed with amusement.

He slid a perfectly cooked over-easy egg onto my plate and brought it to the table along with a mug of coffee, made exactly how I liked it—one sugar, splash of cream.

"You're twenty-two, Mrs. Prescott. If you're this tired already, we might need to work on your stamina."

"Daniel!" I hissed, mortified, but he just laughed and dropped a kiss on top of my head before taking the seat across from me.

After breakfast, I helped Daniel clean up—or tried to, anyway. He kept shooing me away from the sink, insisting I should rest, until I finally gave up and perched on the counter, swinging my legs and watching him work.

My phone buzzed loudly on the counter beside me, breaking the moment. I grabbed for it automatically, and my stomach dropped when I saw the screen.

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