His to Protect: A Second Chance Billionaire & Virgin Romance

by Vivien Vale

  Fifteen minutes later, we are sitting in a darkened room, wearing nothing but a fluffy thick bathrobe. Our faces are covered with a thick white paste. Gentle music is playing in the background. A petite woman is preparing a foot spa for each of us.

  First, she massages our feet, and then she lowers them into the warm water.

  Soon enough, I’m relaxing into the plush leather chair. The woman now presses some buttons and the chair starts to vibrate, giving me a back and butt massage as my feet are enjoying their own pleasures.

  Alice sips on her iced mint drink and licks her lips.

  “This is the life,” she sighs and looks over at me.

  I chuckle.

  “You look like a fright covered in white.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “You don’t look much better, my dear. Wait till they take this stuff off you, you’ll look and feel ten years younger.”

  Laughing is a little difficult right now, but I do it nonetheless.

  “I think you’re exaggerating, but I hope I do feel better.”

  Alice glares at me—at least I think she’s glaring, it is a little difficult to tell with this facemask.

  “You have to snap out of it, Sophie,” she starts, and I brace for the lecture. “Todd isn’t the only man in town. You wait. Your film will be an instant hit and the men will throw themselves at your feet. You will have your pick.”

  I doubt it.

  “I guess.” I try to sound convincing.

  Thing is, I don’t want the pick of the bunch. I know who I want, and his name is Todd Alexander. My brain and my feelings just don’t want to see things eye to eye.

  My sensible part is telling my heart to simply forget about Todd, good riddance to him. Unfortunately, my heart won’t listen. My heart wants to pine for Todd.

  Perhaps it’s just human nature to want something we know we can’t have.

  “Sophie,” Alice voice rouses me from navel gazing. “Eric thinks we’re in with a chance for at least one Oscar.”

  “Eric, the optimist,” I say.

  “And Sophie, the pessimist?”

  I shake my head.

  “Realist?”

  “Rubbish.”

  Our beauty consultant comes back into the room and asks us to follow her.

  We leave our cave of relaxation (I think that’s what it is called), and now enter the room of calmness.

  More relaxation music is playing in the background and candles are along one of the walls. My sense of smells picks up hints of cinnamon, vanilla and something citrusy.

  “Please lie here,” says our consultant and points to two tables.

  I take off my dressing gown and lie face down on the massage table.

  Someone drapes a towel over my backside, and then a set of strong hands massage my body. I close my eyes and surrender to the pleasure of the massage.

  In my dream-like state, I’m imagining Todd rubbing my shoulders, running his fingers along my spine, before ripping the towel off me and kneading my ass.

  “You ok?”

  I open my eyes. Have I really just groaned?

  “Fine.” I say quickly and feel a delicious warmth in between my legs. Luckily, my face is hidden in the hole of the table and no one can see how red my face is.

  “You’re very tense,” my masseur says.

  “I’ve had a lot of stress in my life lately.” I reply and curse my imagination.

  “I’ll make you feel better,” she says and keeps digging her fingers into my tense neck and back.

  By the time we leave, I actually feel a little better…emphasis on a little.

  30

  Todd

  I swirl the amber liquid in the glass and watch it come to the edge and drop down again. Fuck. I take a big swig and wait.

  Wasn’t the pain supposed to be dulled?

  If it was, it isn’t working any more. The first few days, it was great at numbing the pain, but now...

  How many days has it been now? I can’t recall. Actually, I don’t give a fuck; it has been too many days, way too many days.

  My life has gone down the toilet. Nothing matters anymore.

  I look at my phone. I dial Sophie’s number again. Nothing.

  She’s blocked me from her phone. I glare at the little device in my hand and I want to throw it against the wall. I want to see it suffer the way I’m suffering. An eye for an eye.

  I try dialing her number again. Who knows, maybe now I’m unblocked?

  I’m not.

  “Fucking little thing,” I growl at my phone. “Why the fuck aren’t you working? What’s the point of having a little fucker like you if I can’t even use you?”

  I’m not sure, but my words might be a little slurred. Not being able to speak to Sophie is driving me insane.

  I stumble to the kitchen. On the way I trip over empty bottles.

  Why the fuck is there garbage all over the floor? I should speak to someone about that.

  No matter how thorough my search, there seems to be no whiskey left. If I were of the right mind, I would go and buy some more. The effort seems too great though.

  With a sigh I look around. Wherever I look, I see Sophie.

  Her image haunts me. Her eyes haunt me. Fuck, she’d looked so hurt the other night.

  I’m a bastard for hurting her like that. How could I have been such an idiot and fallen for Emma’s blackmail?

  The little bitch just wanted to make me pay for rejecting her. She wanted me to be her plaything—she wanted to use me.

  Even my alcohol-befuddled brain understands Emma had been toying with me. Perhaps her attention had been as evil as splitting Sophie and me up all along.

  She probably never really wanted anything from me once I had rejected her. Bitch.

  I don’t hear the front door and am surprised to see Jordan in my living room.

  “Fuck, man,” he groans. “What’s going on?”

  I stare at him. He betrayed me too. Why didn’t he come to my aid when I needed him?

  I watch as he picks up clothing, discarded pizza boxes, and milkshake containers.

  “Man, a garbage can smells better than this.”

  Fuck you, I want to say, but for some reason I can’t form the words.

  With my head nearly exploding, I flop onto the couch and cover it with a pillow.

  Go away, leave me alone. Everyone just fuck off.

  Jason keeps making noise as if he’s throwing grenades in my living room.

  “Man,” I mutter, “can you keep it down?”

  “I was going to ask how you are, but I can see I’m wasting my breath.”

  I ignore Jason and keep my head covered.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I say and lift the cushion off my face. “It’s such a fucking mess. Emma led me right into a fucking trap, and now Sophie won’t speak to me. I can’t call her, I can’t.”

  I’m not crying, not really. Come on, a real man doesn’t cry…but my voice has gone a bit funny.

  Coffee. I need some coffee.

  As I throw the cushion off my face and try to get up, I fall flat on my face. Ouch. The grenades I thought Jason was throwing are now going off inside my head.

  It takes me several minutes to get my bearings and even longer to get to my feet.

  There’s something severely wrong with me. Have I got a terminal illness? Maybe.

  Would Sophie feel sorry for me and come to nurse me in my dying days? I stay on the ground and lean against the back of the couch.

  The images of Sophie applying a cool washer to my sweaty face are a nice thought. But then who would tell her I’m dying?

  She’d read about it, fool.

  Yes, the press would have a field day with the news of Todd Alexander dying of mysterious illness. Maybe it isn’t that mysterious, maybe it is cancer.

  Or a fucking broken heart.

  I shudder. I hear Jason on the phone. I’m not quite sure what he’s saying, but he seems to be talking to someone.


  “House cleaning will be here in five,” Jason announces and throws me a dressing gown. “You might want to cover up.”

  What the fuck does he mean now? Slowly my gaze travels down my body and onto my legs.

  Fuck. I’m not wearing any pants.

  Just as the doorbell rings, I put on some pants.

  “Drink this,” he says, and it’s a command, not a question. Jason hands me a green-looking drink.

  “Are you trying to poison me?”

  Jason pulls a face. “Man, you’re doing that all by yourself. I’m trying to help you.”

  I shake my head. He calls this help? Fake friend.

  Gingerly, my lips curl around the glass, and I take a sip.

  Argh. I grimace; it’s disgusting.

  “Just drink and don’t think about it.”

  I do as he commands. His face leaves me little choice.

  As a reward, he hands me my espresso.

  Ah. That’s better.

  I look at him.

  “So, man, how do I fix this stuff up? I can’t believe it’s such a mess.”

  Jason shakes his head.

  “What are you asking me for?” He is standing in front of me, arms folded in front of his chest. “Sophie’s film just got nominated for five Oscar categories, and here you are…wallowing.”

  “What?” I ask him, cocking one eyebrow at him. Oscar nominations? How long have I been on this bender? Ten fucking years? “Jesus.”

  “Yeah. And you got nominated for best actor.”

  “Shit,” I mutter, and even though I should feel happy about this…I don’t. Not without Sophie by my side. “Still, that doesn’t do shit for me. It doesn’t fucking help. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Man, I have no idea.” Jason sighs.

  “I just thought,” I mutter and go back to drinking.

  “Why don’t you just go viral? It’s what you do best, isn’t it?”

  Viral? I mull the words over. Now here’s an idea. Go viral.

  Not a bad idea, not at all. Jason might actually be onto something.

  A glimmer of hope ignites deep within me.

  Time to start devising a plan.

  31

  Sophie

  I twirl around my full-length mirror. I hardly recognize myself. Self-doubt creeps in.

  Can I pull this off? I wrinkle my nose. Is the dress too tight, too sexy?

  God, I can’t believe this is really happening. It’s crazy to think that I’ve made it to the Oscars.

  Yup, that’s right—I got those nominations, and the big day has finally come. I have to admit, I’m excited. These past few weeks were hard—Todd has never left my mind—and I need the distraction.

  For the occasion, I’ve purchased a full-length red dress. It’s cut very low on the back and goes all the way up to my neck on the front. My hair has been delicately up styled.

  The makeup artist has done a brilliant job too. Sophisticated, sexy, and beautiful. I force a smile to my lips.

  “Enjoy the night,” I tell myself and turn away from my reflection. The pain of not going to the most important event of the year with Todd is buried deep down, but I can still feel it.

  On the way out, I grab a matching purse and spray my favorite perfume in the air to walk under it.

  Mason whistles when he sees me. Like a true gentleman, he opens the door of the limo and helps me glide into the seat. Before I do so, he gives me a little kiss on the cheek—a great friend and true gentleman.

  At the venue, our limo joins the queue of other limos, and for a few minutes we creep along before it is out turn to alight. I watch the street lined with keen onlookers.

  We link arms and walk along the red carpet. I can’t believe I’m really here at the Oscar’s with my loyal film crew, hoping to win not one but maybe two or three Oscars.

  “Pinch me, will you?” I whisper to Mason, who puts his arm around my waist. I’m happy he agreed to escort me—at least I won’t feel like a widow tonight.

  We pose for photographs and soak in the atmosphere. All the big names are here. I feel like Cinderella at the ball.

  Briefly I even manage to forget my broken heart.

  Reporters are shouting questions, but I try and ignore them. Someone yells something about Todd and my affair, but I’m determined not to let anything ruin my night.

  A loud cheer erupts from the onlookers, and I see a black limo pull up with one of the superstars. She’s wearing a daring nude-colored dress. Several of the men in the vicinity start to drool.

  I keep walking along with Mason. The red carpet seems to stretch on forever.

  This time there’s an almighty roar, and I see another limo unload another A-list superstar.

  I catch a glimpse of a designer suit. The actor looks familiar, but I can’t recall his name.

  The girls are shouting at him, and I think someone is throwing a pair of panties at him. On his arm hangs a half-naked, big-busted blonde. Briefly I wonder if he’s hired the girl or if they are an item.

  Superstar after superstar arrives. Thankfully I still haven’t seen Todd.

  All around me cameras are clicking away and flashlights are going off constantly. I hope my dress won’t feature in one of those trashy headlines of Oscar’s worst dresses for the year.

  Mum chose it with me, and she’s an expert in what to wear to these occasions. In all her years by my father’s, she has never received a bad rap for her sense of dress.

  Mason says something and points. I can’t understand him over the deafening roar of more cheering.

  Whoever just pulled up must be a real crowd favorite. I’m swept away by the wave of excitement.

  This is my night. I’m at the Oscars, and my film has been nominated for no less than five categories. Alice, Eric, Mason, and I watched the announcements on TV, and it was a fantastic night.

  When Dad heard the news, he was thrilled. He told me to just enjoy the night and not get too upset if the film didn’t get the awards it had been nominated for.

  I touch my clapperboard pendant. As usual, I have it around my neck. It’s my pride and joy…and my connection to Dad.

  Finally we’re at the entrance to the Oscars. Just inside is a life-size statue of the smaller version we all vie for. My heart beats a little faster. I smile at Mason.

  Alice rushes toward us.

  “Can you believe it?” she squeals and grabs my hands. “You look amazing, Sophie.”

  “Thanks, Alice.” I give her a brief hug. “You look just gorgeous. That dress is you.”

  Alice spins three hundred and sixty degrees. She is in a long black V-neck tight-fitting dress. Around her neck is a gold necklace with a glass sand-art heart pendant, her eighteenth birthday present from my family.

  She’s also wearing the matching earrings. They complement the outfit perfectly.

  “I’ll show you where we are sitting.” She leads the way. We walk past little groups of huddled people. The hubbub is amazing.

  As usual the night starts with a quirky, interesting, funny, and slightly controversial opening.

  I laugh loud at the jokes and the digs. I’m carried away in the moment. All too soon, the emcee starts introducing actors to read out nominations and winners.

  I clap enthusiastically for the winners, and I feel for those who lose.

  And then the big moment arrives.

  Best male actor. The nominations are announced. Todd is one of them. I resist the urge to crane my neck and find him in the larger crowded room.

  As each name is read out, there’s a little film clip of various scenes of their film on the oversized screen. My heart beats a little faster as I’m taken back to filming times…to happier times.

  As the emcee opens the envelope, every muscle in my body tenses. I’m on the edge of my seat. For Todd’s sake, I hope he wins.

  “Please let him win,” I mutter over and over and squeeze both thumbs tightly.

  A hush falls over the crowd as the emcee reads first to himself before
announcing the winner to the crowd.

  “And the winner is Todd Alexander.”

  The audience erupts with applause. I join in.

  I can’t help but be happy for him.

  32

  Todd

  I sit in my chair and try and ignore the feeling of insects swarming in the pit of my stomach. So far, I’ve refused to have a drink. If I’m going to do this, it’s got to be done properly.

  I reckon I’m only going to get one chance, and that chance might be tonight. If I blow it, I can kiss my dreams, my life, goodbye.

  Occasionally I glance around, but I can’t see where she’s sitting. It probably doesn’t matter. It might even be better not to know where she is.

  I’m sitting alone tonight, and a small army of reporters has already questioned me about it. Emma wanted to tag along, but I just gave her the biggest fuck you I could muster.

  We’re at the Oscars now—the control she had over me is now gone, and I don’t give a fuck about her. I never did.

  There’s only one woman I care about.

  Only one woman I love.

  “And now, distinguished guests, for the moment we have all been waiting for.” A dramatic pause by the emcee, drum roll, and he continues, “Best male actor nominations...”

  I tune out to the ramblings of previous winners and nominations. I’m only interested in one thing. Am I the winner?

  I hold my breath as he opens the envelope and holds the paper in front of his face, clearly reading it to himself before announcing.

  “And the winner for this year’s best male actor is Todd Alexander.”

  I punch the air. Yes. I fucking did it.

  I get up and take a little bow. All around me, people are applauding and some are standing.

  With a spring in my step, I bounce toward the stage. I wave, I bow, and I smile. I need to look the part.

  As I approach the emcee and microphone, all I think of is the woman of my dreams. Only one person is on my mind—Sophie.

  Images of Sophie drown out everything else. She’s in my mind, large as life on screen as a scene from the movie is played.

  Sophie.