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On the table, her cell phone began to ring.
She leaned forward to peek at the screen. “It’s Tina again.”
Annoyance sizzled through him. He’d always liked Tina—she was a friend of his mother’s, and she’d been one of those who were adamant that Isaiah had not killed Jenson. But she could be a bit of a diva at times. Like now.
Quinley again tipped back her head to look at him, worrying her lower lip.
“The answer is no,” he told her.
She sighed. “I’m a healer, I’m supposed to help those in pain.”
“But as we’ve established, she’s being unreasonable. All she has to do is let Helena heal her wound, but she won’t. She’d rather suffer than accept the aid of someone she’s currently unhappy with.” It was all part of the diva thing.
“I know, but—”
“Worse, she’s been coming to you morning and night for pain relief. She doesn’t even need it that often. The slightest twinge and she calls.” Again, it was part of the diva thing.
“Not everyone has a strong pain threshold.”
Isaiah exhaled heavily. He didn’t like saying no to Quinley. Didn’t like seeing her face fall in disappointment. But he couldn’t support her ignoring her limits.
He wanted to be everything to her. He wanted to lift her up. Be her strength when she needed it. Make her feel safe and secure. Spoil her in what ways he could. But shove aside what was best for her? No. That he wouldn’t do.
He stroked a hand over her hair. “Baby, I get that you want to help people. That’s a good thing. But it’s important to have boundaries and ensure others don’t cross them. It’s important to take care of yourself. Tina isn’t being fair to you. She knows that coming to you so frequently for that level of relief will make you feel drained. She’s doing it anyway. It’s not right, and it’s stupid when she could rid herself of the pain easily by accepting Helena’s help.”
“It’s hard for me to ignore when someone’s hurting.”
“I know. But your wellbeing comes before healer instincts. It has to, if only because you’d otherwise be too worn out to be of help to the rest of the pride.”
The lines of distress in her face smoothed out. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
Even as her eyes shimmered with humor, she gave him a dirty look. “You’ve been very bossy today. I can’t take Tina’s calls. I’m not allowed to cook because you want to make dinner for us. And I’m not allowed to touch you until we’re in bed.” Huffing, she cut her gaze back to the TV. “Sounds like a crap deal to me.”
He licked at her brand. “Let’s not pretend you don’t like when I give you an order to follow. You like the challenge. You like the tension. You like to hand over control.” He grabbed his beer from the small shelving unit beside the sofa. “You also like when I make you wait for what you want.”
“Uh, the latter? No. You’re wrong there. I’m no better at waiting for things than you are. On that note, stop eyeing the stocking, you’re not opening anything until tomorrow.”
He did occasionally eye it. She’d hung four on the fireplace—one for him, one for her, one for his cat, and one for hers.
He, of course, had piled small gifts into the stockings belonging to Quinley and her feline. She hadn’t asked for hints or peeks, content to wait until Christmas morning. But Isaiah and his cat were far more curious and impatient than their mate, so they both wanted to know what she’d bought them.
He swigged back some beer and complained, “You’re supposed to cater to my every whim.”
“Ha. You’re funny.”
He caught her earlobe with his teeth and tugged. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Her breath hitched. “No.”
Isaiah returned his bottle to the unit. “Or I could torture your agreement out of you.” Wicked fast, he slipped his hand—cool and damp from condensation—under her sweater and tickled her bare skin.
She let out a little squeal, squirming like crazy. “Don’t, your fingertips are cold!”
“I know.” He continued for a good five seconds before stopping.
“That was cruel.”
