Code Name: Tiara (Jameson Force Security 7)

No, the princess is about a whole fuck of a lot more than luxury and wealth. I realized that this afternoon at the community rec center when I saw her pale at something that little girl said.

She wasn’t in physical danger. And yet, I moved quickly to her side to determine her distress. That’s not in my job description, and yet nothing could have kept me back.

Camille had some sort of reality slap—an up-close and personal look at poverty and crime, and one little girl who was gravely affected—and she made some off-the-wall conclusions from that. What she decided was that there are monstrously catastrophic problems in the world and that they’re so much more real than she’d ever imagined. She translated it to mean that the work she’s doing is almost silly—giving out sports equipment and money for building repairs—and then translated that into a sense of personal worthlessness.

Honestly… it took me aback. I’ve never seen a single vulnerability in Camille since meeting her, other than perhaps some exhaustion that comes from her duties and burdens.

It was shocking because while I had come to realize that Camille takes her philanthropic work very seriously, I didn’t know how seriously she took on other people’s burdens. Truth be told, I’m not sure she realized it until then either.

I managed to speed her visit along, and by the time she was making her closing remarks, she’d regained her composure.

She had no specific evening plans as we were scheduled to leave in the morning, plus she didn’t know anyone in Jonesboro. So, Paul, Camille, and I ate at a highly recommended restaurant while the other agents kept an unobtrusive presence nearby.

Throughout dinner, she seemed fine. She kept up a running chatter with Paul and me about the things she’d seen today and the joy she got from helping those in need.

She didn’t mention the little girl or that the dad was in jail. She didn’t mention taking that child’s suffering into her own soul.

I know why she didn’t talk about those things at dinner, even though I saw the burdens lurking deep in her eyes. She didn’t bring them up because Paul was sitting there, and she wasn’t about to share such personal woes with him.

The ways she unburdened on me at the rec center when I realized something was wrong—she trusted me, and although she likes Paul and has known him much longer, that trust to share personal thoughts with him isn’t there.

We shared an intimacy on the plane earlier today, and whether I wanted or expected it to, that encounter has changed the nature of our relationship. She feels comfortable sharing feelings with me, because now we have a personal relationship.

It doesn’t set well with me, hence the pacing.

And now, I’m regretting getting tangled up with her.

That very second I came down from the massive orgasm she gave me, I’d already resolved I was going to touch her at every opportunity I could find on the rest of this trip. We were going to take this all the way, and I was going to try every dirty thing one could imagine with her. But in my mind, it was still going to be casual, and I felt it could stay casual.

Just sex.

That is, after all, what she wanted to begin with. A random hookup to check off on her adventure bucket list. And I’m a dude … so I’m here for it. Of course I want to fuck her at any opportunity. I compromised my ethics and morals already on that plane, so the dam has been broken. In my mind, as long as I’m still doing my duty to protect her, we can keep pleasuring each other.

So it begs the question, why am I sitting in my room when I know Camille is expecting me in hers right now?

She even said so after dinner as we reached the door to her room. Paul had gone off to check the agents and ensure all was well.

Camille reached out and slid a finger in my belt loop, giving it a playful tug. “See you in a bit?” she asked.

I nodded, even though doubts swirled within me.

That was twenty minutes ago, and I’ve been wearing a trail in the carpet with my pacing.

If I go to her room, and I make use of the condoms I bought—an extra-large box—I’m not sure what kind of message I’m sending. Hell, I’m not sure what kind of message I’m giving myself. Because there is no doubt I’m caring for her in a way I had no intention of doing. The way I rushed to her at the rec center because I knew something was wrong—emotionally, not physically—tells me all I need to know that I’ve already sunk deeper than I meant to.

So that means… I should break it off now before falling even deeper and someone gets hurt.