Danny doesn't want Tara burning herself out over some nameless phantom in the dark. They will analyze the intel and act when the time is right, but for now, he firmly wants her attention on him.
"Stop overthinking. Let's go to bed," he murmurs, pulling her down onto the mattress and wrapping his arms securely around her.
"Are you finally done with work?" Tara asks, getting comfortable.
"My work is never actually done. I just stop when I hit a decent stopping point."
At his level of corporate dominance, an empty inbox is a myth. He handles the immediate crises and pushes the rest to the next day. If he actually tried to finish everything, he would go bald from stress before he ever got the chance to marry the woman in his arms.
"Fair point," Tara agrees. She operates the exact same way. If she truly wanted to clear her plate, she could work 365 days a year without sleep and still have tasks left over.
Barely a minute after she closes her eyes, the temperature in the bedroom seems to spike. A large, warm hand begins roaming dangerously low on her waist.
"Stop moving," she whispers, swatting at him.
"I'm alive, Tara. It's biologically impossible for me not to move," Danny replies, entirely unapologetic. "Besides, I'm a man. Being the stationary one in bed goes against my nature."
Tara stares at him in the dark. Seriously? We're just diving straight into the dirty talk now?
"Keep moving and you're just going to torture yourself," she warns. If he crosses the line, he is the one who will be taking a freezing cold shower at midnight. Why do that to himself?
"No, tonight is different. Your cold is one hundred percent gone." It has been over a month since her uncle's death, and he can feel her emotional state has finally stabilized.
"What does my cold being gone have to do with anything?"
"It has everything to do with it." Danny's patience snaps. He rolls over, pinning her to the mattress, his gaze darkening with predatory heat. "How about we..."

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