The Forbidden Throb (Emma and Daniel) novel Chapter 72

Chapter 72

Daniel’s POV:

A

Emma had been upstairs for nearly three hours now–I’d heard her door close shortly after we’d returned from the

offices, then silence.

I’d considered knocking. Dismissed the impulse as intrusive. Made tea instead.

The kettle’s whistle cut through my thoughts.

I poured water over the chamomile, watching the flowers unfurl in the heat, their fragrance rising with the steam

-apple and honey notes, something softer than the mint and citrus I typically preferred.

A sound from the staircase made me glance up.

Emma descended with exaggerated care, her laptop tucked under one arm, a notebook clutched to her chest.

She moved like someone trying not to wake a sleeping household, though it was barely nine o’clock and the only

other presence here was the hum of the refrigerator.

“Emma.” I kept my voice low, matching her apparent need for quiet. “Come have some tea.”

She froze mid–step, one foot hovering above the landing. Her eyes found mine, widening slightly–caught.

“I… I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She descended the remaining stairs, still moving with that cautious precision. “I

thought you’d be reading or-”

“I just brewed chamomile for you.” I gestured to the French press on the counter, the golden liquid still steaming.

‘I was about to bring it upstairs. Perfect timing.”

Emma approached the island, her laptop now balanced on top of the notebook.

“Chamomile?” She eyed the French press with visible uncertainty.

“You mentioned having trouble sleeping.” I retrieved a second mug from the cabinet. “Chamomile helps. No

caffeine.

“Right. She shifted her weight, the notebook crackling slightly under her laptop. “That’s… thoughtful.”

Emma accepted the one I slid across the counter.

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10:26 am PMM

Chapter 72

A

She lifted the mug to her lips, took a small sip, then lowered it again. Her gaze flickered to me, then away, then

back. The universal posture of someone with words lodged firmly in their throat.

I waited, giving her space to formulate whatever she needed to say.

Another sip. Another glance. Her fingers tightened around the mug.

“Emma.” I kept my tone gentle. “You have something you want to discuss.”

Emma’s laugh came out breathy, embarrassed. “Is it that obvious?”

I raised an eyebrow, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly.

“Right.” She set the mug down and drew a breath, as if bracing herself. “I received some good news today.

Professor Laurent–she’s my advisor–she confirmed my spot on the international medical journalism team. We’re

covering a forum in Paris this December.” 2

“Congratulations.” I meant it. The tension in her shoulders eased fractionally at my tone. “That’s a significant

opportunity.”

“It is. Except…” She lifted the notebook she’d been clutching, holding it slightly away from her body as if its

contents might bite.

“The preparatory materials he sent are… dense. Medical terminology, surgical procedures, innovations I can barely

pronounce.”

A pause. Her eyes met mine, vulnerable and determined at once. “I was wondering if you might… if you have

time… could help me understand them?”

The question landed with such careful hesitancy that I had to pause, processing what she’d actually asked. All that

because she wanted help understanding medical terminology?

A laugh escaped before I could catch it, quiet but genuine.

Emma’s expression shifted immediately. “I know you’re incredibly busy, and it’s probably presumptuous to ask. If

you don’t have time, I completely understand. I could probably find someone else-”

Emma. I cut through her spiraling with gentle firmness. “I have time. Show me what you have.”

Relief transformed her features.

She crossed to the coffee table between the leather sofas, bending to arrange her materials across the glass

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10:26 am PMM

Chapter 72

surface.

20

A

“The forum focuses on advances in cardiac surgery.” She spoke slowly, reading from her notes. “Specifically,

minimally invasive techniques and their outcomes compared to traditional open–heart procedures.”

“Good start.” I tapped the pen against the coffee table’s edge, a rhythm to match my thoughts.

My gaze drifted to her laptop screen as she angled it toward me, scanning the excerpted paragraphs Professor

Laurent had provided.

Recognition settled over me.

“Did you happen to note who authored the primary paper?” I kept my tone casual, still tapping the pen in that

steady rhythm.

Emma blinked, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she scrolled through the document. “I… there’s no name

on the version she forwarded. Just partial excerpts and terminology guides.” Her brow furrowed as she searched.

“Is that important? Should I try to find the original?”

I shook my head, a slight smile playing at my lips despite myself. “Not particularly. No one important.”

2

Emma didn’t press. Instead, she revealed a document filled with highlighted passages and marginal question

marks.

I leaned forward, scanning her notes.

“You’ve been thorough.” I pulled the closest stack of papers toward me, laying them flat beside my knee.

For the next hour, I guided Emma through the architecture of cardiac surgery.

When I explained the mechanics of a transcatheter aortic valve replacement, she interrupted with questions that

demonstrated she’d been listening with genuine comprehension, not just transcribing my words.

‘So you’re essentially threading the replacement valve through the femoral artery?” She tapped her pen against

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