Cross My Tigress Face the Wrath (Stella) novel Chapter 690

Because she was in pain, she kept squirming restlessly.

Hull was having a hard time keeping her still. He finally just scooped her right out of the blankets and cradled her in his arms. “Settle down,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Even in her feverish daze, Susanna instinctively shrank her neck, cowed by his commanding tone.

Hull looked down at her, this tiny, trembling thing, and couldn’t help but sigh under his breath.

“It hurts…” she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut as Hull dabbed ointment on her wound again.

He paused, glancing at her scrunched-up face. “You’re such a wimp,” he muttered, almost to himself.

With Susanna whining about the pain every few seconds, it took Hull nearly ten minutes to finish treating her—ten minutes of her wriggling in his lap, making things just as uncomfortable for him as they were for her.

When he was finally done, Hull tucked her carefully back under the covers, then reached for the bottle of liquid medicine the housekeeper had set out.

Just as the housekeeper warned, Susanna wasn’t having any of it. She flat-out refused to take the medicine, no matter how gently he tried.

Hull tried again: “Open up,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for nonsense. Normally, Susanna would have obeyed out of sheer intimidation. But tonight, she just clung to her comforter, rolled to the far side of the bed, and buried herself in a mountain of sheets.

Hull stared at her for a moment, exasperated, then marched over, grabbed her by the ankle, and dragged her back—gently, but firmly.

He ended up having to basically force-feed her the medicine, which resulted in more of it ending up on her pajamas than in her mouth.

By the time he was done, Hull was sweating and more than a little annoyed.

He stormed out of the room, jaw clenched, and found the housekeeper waiting anxiously in the hallway. She took one look at his expression and practically shrank into the wallpaper.

“Get her changed,” Hull snapped. “She’s soaked.”

Hull just muttered something under his breath, raking his fingers through his wet hair again.

He made his way back to Susanna’s room, where, just as promised, she was curled up in a tiny ball, clinging stubbornly to the front of her soggy pajamas. Even feverish, she had a surprising sense of self-preservation.

Hull knelt beside the bed, scooped her up, and felt how damp her clothes were. If she slept like that, her fever would only get worse.

She was already so delicate—any worse, and she’d be impossible to care for.

He held her close. “Let go,” he said, gently prying her small hands from her shirt.

But Susanna just whimpered and tightened her grip.

Hull softened his tone, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed forehead. “Come on, sweetheart. You’ve got to get changed, okay? Just be good for a minute.”