The Forbidden Throb (Emma and Daniel) novel Chapter 60

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.

ay i twind the the pasta around my fork, my mind kept circling back.

was wre aly ody burned into my retinas: Daniel’s bare chest, the water droplets, the way the sweatpants had hung low on his

re when he d said Mrs. Prescott like he was tasting the words, testing them.

In s

a ventre mile pieving at his lips

wey sed stepped closer, just enough that his scent had wrapped around me like a physical touch.

We the wire with inc

his choked on a noodle.

he deliberet

be ridiculous. Daniel Prescott doesn’t flirt. He’s probably never flirted in his entire perfectly proper fe He just to brit polite Considerate. That’s what

Tak this can be.

ned another forkful into my mouth, chewing mechanically.

arm milk followed, sweet with honey, coating my throat and settling into my stomach with condomforting weight.

dly felt full. My heart felt warm.

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