The Forbidden Throb (Emma and Daniel) novel Chapter 53

Chapter 53

Daniel’s POV:

The study door creaked open, pulling me from the aftermath of Nicholas’s call.

Emma stood in the doorway, her expression uncertain.

“What would you like for dinner?” she asked, her voice carrying that careful politeness I was beginning to recognize as her default setting when she felt out of place.

I glanced at my watch. Nearly six. The call with Nicholas had taken longer than I’d realized.

“I should cook something,” I said, rising from the desk chair.

Her eyes widened slightly. You cook?”

The surprise in her tone was almost amusing. “Occasionally. Healthier this way.”

“No, wait- Emma stood quickly, her hand reaching out as if to stop me. “I can cook too. You’ve already done so much.”

I paused, watching her. That careful, tentative quality in her movements–as if afraid of overstepping, of taking up too much space in my home. It stirred something uncomfortable in my chest.

She needed to feel useful. Needed to earn her place.

Nicholas’s words on the phone echoed back, sharper now. “Gold–digger.” “Social climber.” “Using our family name.”

The anger that had simmered earlier returned, edged with something darker.

“Emma.” I kept my voice gentle. “How about we both contribute? A collaborative dinner to celebrate your move.”

She hesitated and finally said.

“Sure, that sounds… nice.”

An hour later, the kitchen was warm with the scent of garlic and herbs.

We’d each prepared two dishes–mine a pan–seared salmon with roasted vegetables and a simple arugula salad, hers a pasta with tomato sauce and sauteed

mushrooms with butter.

The contrast was immediate.

My ingredients were arranged with surgical precision. Emma’s dishes were… homelier.

She stared at both sets of dishes for a moment, a flush creeping up her neck.

“Well, you know what they say—you can’t judge a dish by its appearance. Her laugh came out slightly forced. Let’s taste them first.

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Chapter 53

I took a bite of her pasta. The flavor was surprisingly good.

“It’s delicious,‘ I said, and meant it.

She seemed relieved, trying her own dish first. Her expression brightened. “Okay, not bad.”

Then she reached for my salmon, cutting a small piece.

The moment she tasted it, I saw her pause. Her eyes flickered to her own plate, then back to mine.

“So,” she said carefully, setting down her fork. Apparently, we’re not in the same league. Cooking–wise.”

“Different ingredients, that’s all.” I took another bite of her pasta. “Actually, I prefer yours.”

She seemed embarrassed by the compliment, ducking her head, suddenly focused intently on her plate, eating with the kind of determined concentration that suggested she was trying very hard not to meet my eyes.

“You seem to be good at everything,” she said quietly, still not looking up.

“Just a hobby.” I set down my fork. “If you like it, I can cook more often.”

Her head snapped up. “That’s not what I meant–I didn’t mean to-”

This is going to take time, I thought, watching her stumble over the words. Adjusting her mindset, teaching her she didn’t need to walk on eggshells around me–it wouldn’t happen overnight.

I leaned forward, reaching across the small table. My thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, catching a small smudge of tomato sauce.

“Emma,” I said gently, ‘you don’t need to be so careful with me.”

Her face turned crimson, eyes widening in surprise at the gesture. “What’s wrong?”

I pulled back slightly, showing her the sauce on my thumb. “You had some sauce there,” I explained, my tone matter–of–fact. “Why are you blushing?”

“I’m not ” But the color in her cheeks deepened. ‘It’s just warm in here.”

“Mm–hmm. I stood. “I’ll adjust the thermostat.”

I moved to the wall panel, using the moment to collect myself.

That brief contact had sent an unexpected jolt through me. I’d performed countless physical examinations, maintained professional detachment through

procedures that required far more intimate contact.

But this was different. This was Emma.

When I turned back, she was already gathering the empty plates, stacking them with quick, efficient movements—that same careful, eager to help demeanor she’d worn all evening.

I sighed quietly.

“Emma.” I leaned forward. “I need you to understand something. “

Chapter 53

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She was so still, I wondered if she was even breathing.

“You’re the woman of this house,” I continued. “If you want to rest, rest. If you want to rearrange furniture or cook at three in the morning or spend all day reading in bed–that’s your choice. No one’s keeping score.”

Her hands stilled on the plates. She looked down at them for a long moment before speaking.

“I just…” She paused, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to do my part. You’ve given me so much, and I-*

I could see the conflict in her eyes.

I sighed, recognizing a battle I wouldn’t win tonight. All right. But take your time adjusting. There’s no rush.”

She nodded, seeming relieved to have something to focus on, and resumed gathering the dishes.

Then she paused, as if remembering something.

Her eyes flickered toward the hallway, then back to me. “Are there… any rooms I shouldn’t go into? Any places that are off–limits?”

Jesus. What kind of home had she grown up in?

“Emma,” I said her name carefully. “Every room in this apartment is open to you. Wherever you need to be, you’re welcome.”

I let steel enter my voice. “I have no secrets from you.”

The words hung between us. I watched them land, watched something shift in her expression–surprise, confusion, move.

Her eyes had grown suspiciously bright. She blinked rapidly, and I recognized the gesture–she was fighting tears.

I stood and moved to the window, giving her privacy to compose herself.

The city stretched out below us, lights beginning to glow in the gathering dusk.

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