His to Protect: A Second Chance Billionaire & Virgin Romance

by Vivien Vale

  After a long moment, I gather my belongings, tucking them efficiently into my own bundle before heading towards the truck.

  I sit in the passenger seat as the engine roars to life. My driver’s a boy of no more than sixteen.

  “Airstrip?” he asks.

  I nod in response, watching the village slowly shrink behind us, dust kicking up in our wake.

  Before long, the cloud of dirt obscures my vision entirely, the village lost forever from view.

  34

  Adelaide

  Ford told me to forget about him.

  As though it could ever be that easy.

  Ever since we were sixteen years old, he’s always been at the back of my mind. Now, to have him so close—closer than we had ever dreamed of being as teenagers—then for him to just leave?

  Ford said he was leaving to protect me.

  But can’t he see that he’s hurt me now more than any boogey-man kidnapper ever could?

  This isn’t the kind of hurt I can just patch up and fix either. Heartbreak isn’t like a broken bone—I can’t put a bandage on my chest and stop it from getting infected. There’s no salve to apply or medication to take.

  I just have to deal with the pain and cross my fingers and hope that it ends soon.

  It hurts so much, though. It’s as if my heart’s been smashed into a million tiny pieces.

  But I should be used to it by now—after all, what does Ford ever do but break my heart and then leave me to pick up the pieces? I’ve survived through it once, and I can do it again. I need to be able to do it again because the people of the village need me.

  I can’t—and I don’t—let my heartache show.

  I make sure never to cry or to be angry in front of the villagers. They don’t need to know just how much I’m suffering.

  Some of the women of the village can see it. But they’re the women who’ve lost husbands and sons, so they know better than to comment. They know that I’ll have to get through this on my own.

  I wish there was a way I could make them all feel better, lift their spirits, too. I know in their own way, they’re grieving for Ford’s absence. He’s left a void in the village that nothing can fill.

  He was strong and kind.

  He had an open mind and a good heart. He helped when he had to.

  I wish my new guard was half as kind or half as willing as Ford was. Oliver—and don’t call him Ollie—thinks that his duty begins and ends with the hospital doors. He has no time for the rest of the village and is downright rude when they come up to him.

  The village boys approach the hospital, a half-inflated football in their hands and hope in their eyes.

  “Do you want to come play with us, Ollie?”

  “It’s Oliver,” he snaps instantly, and they recoil like a crocodile has bitten them. “No. I don’t want to play. My job is to protect Miss Johansen.”

  He says the word ‘job’ as though it makes him better than these boys who’ve never had the opportunities, which, unfortunately, he himself takes for granted.

  “Oh, go on,” I chime in, looking up from my desk. “If I need you, I can send someone. Or you’ll hear it if something happens.”

  “With respect, Miss Johansen, I should never leave your side.”

  “You’ll only be on the street, Oliver,” I remind him.

  Silently, I’m begging for him to leave me alone for a minute. His presence in my surgery is oppressing to say the least.

  “I’m not playing football,” Oliver says firmly, looking me dead in the eye as though I’m supposed to be intimidated by him. Then he turns to the boys, and without any softness in his voce tells them, “If you’re not here to see Doctor Johansen, you need to get out.”

  I bite my lip as the as the kids leave, the light dropping from their eyes. I want to run out and apologize to them all for his behavior, but I’m rooted to my seat. I’ll find them all later or mothers and apologize then.

  I hear a game start up in the street a few minutes later, and I can even see it from my window. But Oliver seems not to care.

  “You could’ve been kinder, Oliver,” I say, looking at him angrily now that everyone is out of earshot.

  “I’m not being paid to be kind, Dr. Johansen, and I’m not being paid to play football.”

  “Kindness and manners cost nothing, and those boys don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

  “Respectfully, you are my mission, Doctor,” Oliver says, as though that apologizes for his attitude and behavior and therefore, ends the conversation.

  I don’t have the energy to fight him, so I suppose that it does.

  But Ford would have played with them. Ford would even have let them win.

  Instead, all Oliver does is stand there, watching me like a hawk as I treat patients. He’s unmoving and unmovable. If I need an extra pair of hands to hold something, he’ll shout for someone rather than step in himself.

  If I’m brought to tears by the magnificence of human resilience, heart and spirit, Oliver is there in the corner, dry-eyed. He’s probably silently judging me for being such a ‘weak’ woman who cries so easily.

  But I often feel that crying is better than feeling nothing.

  The afternoon brings rain. A lot of rain, a deluge.

  I should have been glad or relieved. The reservoirs will fill, and we can all have showers, and there’ll be some water for the cattle to drink, and the crops will thrive.

  And of course, I’m glad, but I can’t find it in me to take to the streets with the people like before. I stand in the doorway of my hut, basking in the sight of happy villagers. It’s still warm, and the rain falls over the front of my hut and bounces off the dry earth.

  It splashes the front of my legs and soaks my shins. It’s refreshing.

  But when there’s rain, there’ll be insects, and I’m not sure if the village is ready for the wave of mosquitos and tsetse flies that will come in once the downpour stops. I know some people had been reporting holes in their nets, and the tsetse fly traps from the last downpour have all been used.

  I should round up some of the boys now—after all, the weather is no good for football—and ask them to set out and get the cattle urine that we’ll need. But first, I turn to Oliver who’s been standing at the door of his tent, surveying the scene and then once again, watching me. Waiting to see what I’ll do next.

  “Oliver, do you think you could help round up the local boys and get buckets of cattle urine for the tsetse fly traps?”

  “Respectfully, Doctor, I don’t think I could,” he says almost instantly.

  I sigh under my breath and shake my head. “Do you want to get bitten by tsetse flies and mosquitos, Oliver?”

  “I’ve got my fly repellent and my mosquito net. I believe I’ll be fine, and you shall be, too.”

  “And what about the rest of the village?” I ask.

  I can’t believe he’s like this. Where was he when compassion was handed out?

  “I’m not being paid to protect the rest of the village.”

  I could almost be impressed with how stubborn Oliver is, if it weren’t for the fact he was completely in the wrong. If I ever need someone to back me up in an argument, I’ll call Oliver, but until then I wish he’d be a little bit more open to change.

  Resilience really is an impressive trait, but I can’t help myself from thinking about Ford. Ford was stubborn, and he knew his own mind, but at least he wasn’t shallow and only concerned about money.

  Ford knew that if he wanted to protect me, he had to protect this village, too. That women like Shani and her new son were just as important to me as my own my brother or parents—if not more so, since they don’t always have the power to help themselves.

  “Please, Oliver, or I’ll go out there and do it myself, and then you might as well come with me,” I say, and Oliver shakes his head.

  He even smirks because we both know that I’m bluffing. I could hardly lift a full bucket with two hands, let alone carry it from the
fields to the village again.

  Ford would have helped carry buckets in a heartbeat. He’d have been able to carry one in each hand and then probably could have lifted two more over his shoulders.

  I stride out into the rain, ignoring Oliver’s shouts for me to come back lest I get wet, and I try to find the boys so that I can rally them.

  And if the rain washes away my thoughts of Ford while I’m out here, I won’t complain.

  35

  Ford

  It’s for the best.

  I had to leave her. If I stay, I’m more of a risk to her than the protection I was hired to be by her brother.

  Oliver will be able to protect Adelaide just as well as I can. He won’t have an asshole like Demetri gunning at him to make his life miserable, and he won’t be in love with her either to distract him from the job at hand.

  I didn’t realize how hard it would be to leave her, though.

  But it had to be done.

  The airstrip comes into view, and the young boy who is driving pulls up to the gate.

  “I’ll get out here,” I tell him.

  I jump out of the truck and pull my bag out of the back.

  Before heading to the plane, I shake the boy’s hand and nod in thanks.

  The Bush Pilot is waiting for me by the plane.

  “Leaving so soon, sir?” he asks me. “You and your lady seemed pretty close, and I didn’t think you would be leaving her side any time soon.”

  I stare at him blankly as he speaks.

  “It’s necessary,” is the only explanation I give him.

  He nods at me.

  We climb into the plane with no further conversation.

  I’m sure the man can tell I’m in a piss poor mood.

  I can feel the dark storm clouds floating above my head like I’m in a damn cartoon.

  This shit is ridiculous.

  I focus on the pilot. He starts flipping switches, and the plane comes alive with a loud growl. The propeller on the nose of the plane kicks up dirt as it starts up.

  The voices of air control buzz through the headset resting on my head. The pilot communicates with the other man on the end. Soon, we are cleared to take off.

  “Weather calls for some weather disturbance that make the ride a little bumpy, sir,” the pilot tells me.

  I grunt.

  Don’t fucking care as long as we get out of here.

  Up in the air, I look out the window and silently say goodbye to the African Bush. It really is a beautiful place. I’ve enjoyed and am going to miss it.

  Soon, we experience the rough weather the pilot warned me about. The plane is tossed up and down in violent turbulence.

  Rain slaps against the metal frame and glass windows. It’s impossible to see anything outside the aircraft, and the pilot is using the tools at this moment with the aid of the navigation tools the plane is equipped with.

  “We have to land, sir!” the pilot suddenly yells. “It’s not safe to keep traveling until the rain stops.”

  He lands the plane at the nearest town to our current location.

  I leave the pilot to stay with the craft and head to the local watering hole. If I’m going to be stuck here for a while, I might as well get a drink.

  I’m no longer on protection duty, anyway. Maybe I’ll even get a little drunk.

  Hopefully, it’ll take my mind off of Adelaide.

  I sit down at a barstool and request the local choice of drink.

  The place is filled with boisterous conversations and drunken arguments. One pair of men is arguing so violently that there’s no doubt there will be a bar fight to entertain the patrons soon.

  I shake my head. Fucking idiots.

  The bartender hands me my drink as I turn my attention back to the bar in front of me.

  I take the first sip. The alcohol burns down my throat. A warmth settles in my stomach.

  All the conversation around me remains to be a constant buzz, like a radio static searching for a clear signal. That is, until one word breaks through the buzz as if the radio has finally found a clear station.

  “…heiress.”

  I find the man who spoke the word and tune in to his conversation.

  “I’m getting out of this shithole boys. That’s the truth. My pockets will be filled to the brim once I get my cut of a soon-to-be big score. Some heiress princess who’s had a spoon in her mouth all her damn life is about to get a rude slap of reality when she becomes a pawn to get money from mommy and daddy. No doubt they’ll be desperate to save their daughter.” The man gives a sinister laugh.

  With each word, my anger rises, and it feeds the violent monster inside me that has stayed dormant since I left the CIA.

  In a blink of an eye, I fly towards the man, grab him by the back of his neck, and slam his face into the bar top.

  He releases a scream.

  What a damn pussy.

  I hold him bent over, with his face crushed to the bar.

  Bringing my mouth close to his ear, I growl.

  He goes still as a statue.

  “You’re going to tell me about this fucking score with a heiress princess you’re bragging about like a dumbass. I suggest you don’t try to fight me to get free or lie to me. If you do, you’re going to feel a whole level of pain you didn’t realize you could experience. Understand?”

  Of course, the man decides he doesn’t understand. The next moment, he’s trying with all his might to gain the upper hand in breaking free from the hold I have him in.

  Like I said: dumbass.

  I take his left arm, twisting it behind his back to utilize as leverage, while I fist his hair with my other hand and lift his head up to slam back into the bar.

  This time, I make sure his nose hits the surface square on, breaking it in the process. Blood sprays all over his face and the bar.

  The patrons stare at us, but only those in close proximity and then only with mild interest. Some look as if they want to step in to help their friend, but my show of brutality has made them think twice.

  “Are you done?” I ask the man.

  “Fuck you!”

  “Wrong answer, fucker.”

  I lift the man up, slam him on the floor, press one knee into his chest, just enough to make it uncomfortable to breathe. And then I press one gun under his chin, with the other pointed at the man to the right who started to move towards us.

  “I really wouldn’t try to help your friend at the moment. I’m pissed as hell, and my trigger finger is itching to put a bullet in anyone stupid enough to interfere.”

  I stare at him, waiting for an acknowledgment that he’s going to take the smart road and do as I say.

  He nods.

  I turn back to the asshole pinned under me, still making sure I keep his friend in my line of sight out the corner of my eye.

  “Now,” I tell the asshole. “Tell me everything about this plan starting from how she was tracked down.”

  He doesn’t speak until I whack him in the nose with the butt of my gun before placing it back under his chin.

  Once he stops screaming like a little bitch, I tell him, “Start talking. Now!”

  “The boss suspected she was some important rich girl he could swindle money from somehow,” he spits out. “So he had the bitch attacked by a mugger. The mugger was all an act to slip a tracker on her clothing.”

  “The boss has tracked her to some village where he plans to send a big group of mercenaries and poachers to kidnap her,” he continues. “Then, he’s going to ransom her to her family.”

  It takes everything for me not to pull the trigger of the gun I have pressed under his chin.

  The asshole goes pale when he feels the gun twitch against his sweating skin.

  “What’s the girl’s name?” I manage to say.

  I’m so fucking livid right now. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I know who he’s talking about, but I have to make absolute sure.

  “Johansen. Adelaide Johansen.”

  My anger b
reaks my control. I roar and clock the asshole in the head hard enough to knock him out and leave a nasty gash in his head.

  I stand up and face his group of friends. My face must be a sight of pure anger at the moment, because they all step back in fear so fast, a few trip over their feet and fall to the floor.

  None of them look like they are going to try me in a fight.

  Good.

  I stomp out of the water hole.

  I need to get back to Adelaide, I decide. Hopefully I’m not too late.

  I look around for any mode of transportation. I don’t even fucking care if I have to steal something.

  A motorbike is sitting ten feet down the road from where I stand. That will do.

  A perk of working for a government agency is that you learn how to hot-wire anything.

  The motorbike groans to life. It’s not in the best shape, but it’ll get me to where I need to go, and that’s all that matters.

  Soon, I’m racing down the road headed back to the village and the woman I was running away from an hour ago.

  I’m coming for you, Adelaide. If those bastards have touched a hair on your head, I swear to God they will pay.

  I rev the motorbike to go faster. Wind and water whips me in the face as I move closer and closer to the woman I love and am determined to protect. No matter what.

  36

  Adelaide

  I lie awake on my cot, sleepless.

  I’m thinking of Ford, and my heart aches.

  Where are you now, Ford?

  Does he miss me at all, or has he cut me out of his memory already?

  Another adventure over and done with on his way to more…whatever it is that he’s doing with his life.

  The rain is drumming on the roof of my hut.

  Oliver is no replacement for Ford.

  Not that I’d ever dream of doing the things I’ve done with Ford with Oliver!

  But simply as a guard and human being, he lacks the attentiveness, foresight, and kindness Ford has.

  And the dark past, I assume.