The Forbidden Throb Chapter 57

Emma's POV:

I nodded obediently, picking up my fork to start on the pasta.

But the movement felt mechanical, my hand oddly unsteady as I twirled the noodles.

It was impossible to concentrate on the food when *that* was standing barely three feet away from me.

Daniel leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his bare chest, watching me with that quiet, patient expression he wore so often.

The overhead light caught the water droplets still clinging to his collarbone, tracing a path down the defined muscles of his torso.

I forced my gaze back to my plate.

*Stop staring. For God's sake, Emma, stop staring.*

But my eyes had a mind of their own, flickering up again despite my best efforts.

The fork trembled slightly in my hand.

"You look exhausted," I blurted out, setting down the utensil with more force than necessary. The metallic clink against the plate seemed too loud in the quiet kitchen. "You should... get some rest. Right?"

Daniel's lips curved into the faintest suggestion of a smile. "Concerned about me, Mrs. Prescott?"

The way he said it—low and warm, with just a hint of amusement—made something flutter in my chest.

"I'm just being practical," I said quickly, focusing very intently on the pasta. "You need to be sharp tomorrow. People's lives depend on it."

"Mm." He straightened from the counter, his movements unhurried. "You're right, of course."

He moved closer—just a step, but enough that I caught the full force of his scent. Mint and citrus, clean and masculine, mixed with the faint warmth of skin still damp from the shower.

My breath caught.

"Enjoy your dinner," he said softly, his voice dropping to something that sounded almost... intimate. "Good night."

Then he was gone, padding back toward the master bedroom.

I watched him go, my eyes following the line of his shoulders, the way the muscles shifted beneath his skin as he moved. He had the build of someone who stayed active despite long hours—lean but defined.

I caught myself staring and quickly looked down at my plate.

*Stop it*, I told myself firmly. *Just stop.*

*This is your husband,* a small voice whispered in my mind. *You're allowed to look.*

But even as I twirled the pasta around my fork, my mind kept circling back.

The image was already burned into my retinas: Daniel's bare chest, the water droplets, the way the sweatpants had hung low on his hips. The deliberate slowness in his voice when he'd said "Mrs. Prescott"—like he was tasting the words, testing them.

That almost-smile playing at his lips.

The way he'd stepped closer, just enough that his scent had wrapped around me like a physical touch.

*Was he... flirting with me?*

I nearly choked on a noodle.

*Don't be ridiculous. Daniel Prescott doesn't flirt. He's probably never flirted in his entire perfectly proper life. He's just... being polite. Considerate. That's what he does.*

*That's all this can be.*

I shoved another forkful into my mouth, chewing mechanically.

The warm milk followed, sweet with honey, coating my throat and settling into my stomach with comforting weight.

My belly felt full. My heart felt warm.

I rinsed my dishes in the sink, dried them carefully, and returned them to the cabinet. Everything was back in its place. Neat and orderly.

I turned off the kitchen light and made my way back to my room.

The door clicked shut behind me, and I leaned against it for a moment, letting out a long breath.

The hot water from the shower pounded against my shoulders, steam filling the small bathroom. I closed my eyes, trying to let the heat wash away the tension, the confusion, the thoughts I shouldn't be having.

Olivia's voice echoed in my head, clear as if she were standing right there: *"Just... guard your heart, okay? "*

*Guard your heart.*

I pressed my forehead against the cool tile wall.

*Right. Guard my heart. Don't get confused. *

The bedroom was quiet when I slipped between the sheets, the pillows soft against my head.

I closed my eyes.

Opened them.

Closed them again.

*Sleep. Just sleep.*

But my mind wouldn't quiet. It kept replaying the evening on an endless loop—the way Daniel had appeared in the doorway, the water droplets on his collarbone, that low voice saying my name, the almost-intimate way he'd leaned in...

*Damn it.*

---

Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden.

I blinked awake slowly, my eyes gritty and heavy. My body felt leaden, weighed down by the restless night I'd just endured.

The bed was comfortable enough, the room blessedly quiet, but I felt anything but rested.

*This is what you get for having zero self-control*, I thought tiredly.

For a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the exhaustion settle into my bones.

Then reality kicked in. I needed to get moving—shower, dress, get to the office.

I dragged myself out of bed, my limbs heavy with fatigue, and went through my morning routine on autopilot.

But when I reached the living room, I froze mid-step.

Daniel sat on the sofa, his laptop open on the coffee table. He looked up as I entered, and I felt my face immediately heat at the memory of last night.

"Good morning," he said, his voice warm. "I thought I'd drive you to work today. I don't have to be at the hospital until ten."

"Oh. I... that's very kind, but I can just grab a rideshare—"

"Rush hour," he said simply, closing his laptop. "You'll be waiting twenty minutes minimum. I'm heading in that direction anyway."

He was right. Morning traffic in Boston was nightmarish, and getting a car during peak hours was always a gamble.

"If you're sure it's not inconvenient..." I said, trying not to sound as flustered as I felt.

"Not at all." He stood. "There's breakfast on the counter.

I practically bolted to the kitchen and finished in record time.

---

In the car.

For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. I watched the city slide past the window, buildings and people blurring together as we navigated the morning traffic.

Then Daniel's voice broke the silence.

"You didn't sleep well."

It wasn't a question. I turned to look at him, startled.

He kept his eyes on the road, but there was concern in his profile. "The dark circles," he said gently. "And you seem... tired."

Heat flooded my cheeks. "I'm fine. Just... had some work on my mind."

"Your capstone project?"

"Yes," I latched onto the excuse gratefully. "Just thinking through some structural issues."

Daniel was quiet for a moment, and I thought maybe he'd let it go.

Then: "If the guest room isn't comfortable, we can look into getting a different mattress. "

"No! I mean—" I fumbled with my words, feeling my face heat. "It's not that. The room is perfect. just need time to adjust to the new environment. It's fine. Really."

I was babbling. I pressed my lips together to stop the nervous flow of words.

*Please let us get there soon. Please.*

As if answering my silent prayer, Daniel's sedan pulled smoothly to the curb in front of the office building. I reached for the door handle immediately.

"Thank you for the ride," I said, already halfway out of my seat.

"Emma!"

I froze, one foot on the pavement.