****
The next morning, Chelsea awakened to the smell of breakfast wafting into the bedroom from the living room area of the suite. She realized she was alone in the bed, and sat up carefully, holding her hand against the bruised rib to minimize the pain. After their tryst in the bathtub, Johan had carefully lifted her up and out of the water, gave her another Vicodin, and ordered ice packs.
She had struggled to keep from laughing at the big, strong mercenary bodyguard as he played nurse, taking the throw pillows off the couch and positioning them so that her knee and ankle were elevated, bringing her water when she got thirsty, insisting that Chelsea shouldn’t get up for any reason. Under the humming, cottony influence of the pain killers, Chelsea hadn’t even felt the slightest self-consciousness when Johan carried her into the bathroom to use the toilet, waiting politely just on the other side of the door.
His lack of presence nearby made her irritated in some way that Chelsea couldn’t quite put a finger on. She carefully leaned over the edge of the bed to retrieve the braces that the hospital had given her and strapped them around her ankle and knee. Chelsea took a deep breath and slowly climbed out of the bed, trying to bend and twist as little as possible, putting her weight on her uninjured leg.
She grabbed up her bathrobe and limped into the living room area, where she found Johan, seated near the patio to their room, talking on his phone. A few feet away, Chelsea took in the sight of an extensive—and, she had no doubt, expensive—room service breakfast with pancakes, bacon, eggs, fruit, yogurt, toast…more things than she could imagine even the two of them being able to consume in one sitting. Johan glanced up and flashed a quick smile in her direction, holding up a finger to indicate he was nearly done with whomever he was speaking to. Still feeling slightly irritable—slightly hung over from the pain pills leaving her system, with dull, aching throbs echoing through her body—Chelsea sat down gracelessly on the couch, propping up her injured leg along the length of the furniture.
“I have good news,” Johan said as he tapped his screen to end the call. Chelsea raised an eyebrow.
“Someone killed the CEO of my company so now I can go back to having a normal life?” She paused and added, “At least, a normal unemployed life until I can get another job?” Johan smiled wryly and shook his head.
“Almost as good. My client has your new paperwork, and he got us an apartment. Do you think you can manage to deal with sitting in a car for a few hours while I drive us to your new home?” Chelsea scrubbed at her face.
“I think I can manage,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “Can we cut back my dose of the Vicodin somehow? It was kind of nice to be totally oblivious of everything, but I’d like to start being at least partially aware of the world around me again now.” Johan nodded, standing in a quick, graceful movement that Chelsea resented for the way it underscored her current injured state.
“I’ll give you a full dose after breakfast, and the next dose will be half, how about that?” Chelsea shrugged.
“Why not a half dose to begin with?”
“Because, my dear, it’s a lot easier to prevent pain than it is to kill it. If you have a full dose now and we give you a half dose on schedule, it’ll work better.” Chelsea shrugged, scratching at the skin around her knee brace idly. Why are these stupid things always so itchy? Johan began filling a plate for her from the platters and bowls on the table. “It’s a good thing I turned you down last night, or I’d feel horrible right now,” Johan said absently.
“You turned me down last night?” Chelsea frowned. Johan grinned at her, handing her the plate and a roll of silverware.
“You turned over in the bed at about… I want to say midnight? And started groping me.” Chelsea’s cheeks flared with heat. “I mean really going to town.” She looked down at her plate as her blush deepened. “You said something about how I could fuck you however I wanted. But since you didn’t sound exactly like yourself I figured it was the Vicodin talking.” Chelsea swallowed the tight ball of embarrassment in her throat, taking a slow breath.
“It’s a good thing you did,” she said, picking at the food on her plate. “Although I probably wouldn’t have remembered it.” She felt Johan’s fingers against her jaw; he tilted her face up so that she had to meet his gaze.
“I want every time we have sex to be memorable. Why waste an opportunity when you’re too drugged to even know what’s happening, much less tell me the next morning how good it was?” Chelsea chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “Besides, I wasn’t sure how to feel about you calling me ‘Mr. Honey-cock’.” Chelsea stared at him in shock.
“I—I called you—Mr.…”
“Honey-cock, yep.” Chelsea closed her eyes as new waves of embarrassment washed through her. “It was cute. A little weird, but cute.” Chelsea bit her bottom lip, unsure of whether she felt more resentment, embarrassment, or amusement at the situation that Johan had described.
“One of these days, somehow, I’m going to drug you and—and make you horny and record the stupid things you say,” she told him. Johan chuckled.
“Good luck with that,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. He pointed to her plate, pulling back to serve his own plate of breakfast. “We’ll eat, pack up your things, give you your first dose, and get on the road,” Johan told her. “New life!” Johan glanced at Chelsea, and she took a bite of her food more out of the feeling that she should than out of actual hunger. “It’ll be okay,” Johan said, holding her gaze. “Hey—there are lots of people who go to crazy lengths to ditch their old life.” Chelsea shrugged.
“I guess I’m not really one of them,” she said, taking a deep breath and exhaling on a sigh. “But I’ll have to become one.” Chelsea gave Johan a tight, tense smile and decided resolutely to focus on her food. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving forward.