Code Name: Tiara by Sawyer Bennett

CHAPTER 18

Camille

Ihave no clue what’s going on, but I’m going to find out. This last day in DC my freedom to move about and see what I want has been severely constrained. The two museums I wanted to take in today were changed to a private tour, which I don’t necessarily mind, but I also don’t mind being in a crowd either. I like being around people.

What I do mind, though, is something happening that caused us to move to private tours, and I’m not sure what. Normally I don’t question security protocols because I know they are fluid and could be for a host of reasons. When I asked Paul, without hesitation he said the change came at the request of the museums themselves; in case I should be recognized, they didn’t want the disruption.

I had no reason to question it, and I didn’t for the longest time.

But then I noticed that Jackson remained aloof and distanced, particularly once we made it to the Holocaust Museum. He was always within a few feet, but he had that stance about him that he was on high alert. Eyes moving around, watchful and tense, always coming to me for a few seconds and then moving on. He seemed concerned about something, and the more I observed him observing me and the surrounding area, I knew something was up.

I even tried to ask him about it after our tour of the Holocaust Museum was over and we’d made our farewells to the director, who I made a note to have my secretary send a huge gift basket in thanks. His tour was lovely.

But when I asked Jackson point-blank why the change in plans, and why he was being more hawklike than normal, he blew me off.

He actually said, “Not now, Camille.”

This implied he’d tell me later, but now I’m getting impatient. In the limo on the way to the airport, I tried to broach it again. Paul was in the car with us, and Jackson merely put me off again, and then initiated a long-winded conversation with Paul about the differences between two different guns, all of which I found incredibly boring and off-putting.

Now we’re in the air and the chime has sounded indicating it’s safe to remove our seat belts. As instructed that very first day I boarded my own plane with Jackson and he ordered me to the back of the main cabin, I’ve sat obligingly since being airborne. Paul and Jackson have stayed at the front in facing club chairs, chatting amiably.

Just as they are doing now.

It’s worth noting that Jackson took the seat with his back to me, and I wonder if it’s because I’m asking questions he clearly doesn’t want to answer. Perhaps he’s afraid if he were facing me across the length of the cabin, I’d try to question him with only my eyes.

Or perhaps, turning his back on me is a clear sign he’s not going to engage.

Well… fuck that.

I take off my seat belt and stand, moving up the narrow aisle. Both attendants are in the front galley, working in the small but fully functional kitchen to prepare our evening meal. Paul’s eyes glance at me coming toward him, a subtle indication to Jackson I’m on my way. Is it my imagination, or did he just stiffen slightly at my impending presence?

What in the hell is going on?

Is this him not wanting to answer my questions about the change in security, or is this him putting me off permanently because our time is running out? We have twenty-two hours of flight to Bretaria and then Jackson is staying one last day for debriefing. I had planned to use every minute of that time to be near him, if only to talk, but maybe he has other plans.

Whatever the case may be, he owes me an explanation.

Jackson’s head turns to look up at me when I come to stand beside his chair, my hand going to the top cushion to steady myself as the plane hits a little turbulence.

“I want to know why security protocols were changed back in DC,” I say calmly.

Jackson’s expression is bland. “What does it matter?”

“Answering a question with a question,” I retort sharply. “You’re only making me more suspicious.”

“You’re not normally the suspicious type,” he counters.

Deflection at its finest.

I turn from Jackson, pinning Paul with my gaze. He won’t tell me anything about the security changes, but I’m not going to ask him specifically about that.

“Paul… is there something going on that my father has specifically asked you not to tell me about?”

In my mind, I’m praying he gives something away. I want someone to tell me there’s something going on regarding my safety, because that’s actually preferable to thinking Jackson’s pulling away.

I’m stunned when Jackson rises from his chair abruptly. He glances at Paul and says, “I’ll be back.”

And then to my further shock, he takes me by the elbow and physically escorts me down the aisle.

Not in a very polite way either. I’m speechless he’d handle me this way in front of Paul.

I attempt to glance over my shoulder to see the expression on Paul’s face, to see how much trouble Jackson could potentially be in right now.

Hell, it’s not a stretch to think Paul might come charging up the aisle to get Jackson off me.

I manage to crane my neck just enough past Jackson’s body to see Paul watching both of us with a placid expression. He’s surely not put out by this.

What the hell is going on?

Jackson guides me through the doorway to the entertainment suite—me first, and once he follows, he closes the door forcefully and locks it.

I jerk my elbow away from him, whirl, and demand, “What is going on? Why are you avoiding my questions? And why are you going all dominator on me in front of Paul? Are you crazy?”

“Paul knows about us,” Jackson says flatly, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest. All my air is sucked out, and I couldn’t ask how if I tried, but luckily Jackson tells it to me straight. “He guessed. Apparently we aren’t as cool in public as we thought we were. When he guessed, I didn’t deny.”

“Are you going to get in trouble?” I ask fretfully. Because Jackson’s the one who stands to lose… not me.

He shakes his head. “Paul won’t say anything. But that’s not really why we’re back here. You’ve been asking me questions, and yes, I’ve been putting you off until it was the right time. This is the first time we’ve had alone.”

“Because Paul doesn’t know?” I guess.

“Paul knows, but he’s forbidden from telling you.”

I frown. “You mean my father or Dmitri has forbidden Paul from telling me something?”

Jackson nods grimly.

“But you haven’t been forbidden?” I ask in confusion.

“Oh, I’ve been forbidden,” he says with a mirthless smile. “But I’m not going to lie to you. I can’t. So if you ask me a direct question, I’m going to answer it. I wanted to do it in private in case it upsets you.”

My hand goes to my mouth and I nibble on the edge of the nail on my middle finger. Jackson raises a hand, grasps my wrist, and gently pulls it away from my mouth. In the short time we’ve been intimate together, he knows that’s my go-to bad habit when I’m stressed, and he doesn’t let me do it.

It’s those things he does that have made me fall for him.

That have made me dread parting ways day after tomorrow.

I have a million questions, but I only need to ask one. Before I ask it, I slam myself into Jackson, putting my hands to the back of his head and pulling him down for a kiss. He doesn’t hesitate in the slightest, his hands going around me, melding our bodies together as our mouths fuse.

I’d let it go on forever. I’d let it go to the point where we’d get naked and he’d bend me over the leather couch. But it’s Jackson who stops it, his hands moving to my face as he murmurs, “Ask what you need to ask.”

And here comes the one and only question. “Will you tell me everything that’s going on so I’m not in the dark about anything?”

So broad.

So all encompassing.

And Jackson does as asked, nodding solemnly. He won’t lie to me.

We sit on the couch, and Jackson proceeds to tell me that a suspected assassination plot against my father has been uncovered. The details are minimal and sketchy, which is why Dmitri stayed in Bretaria. He also tells me that a day and a half ago, more chatter was picked up that, while very vague and coded, seemed to indicate I am on the list too. Thus the change in security protocols.

“And that’s why lunch with the president got cancelled?” I ask, because that was incredibly disappointing to me when I’d learned of it this morning. I’d been told his schedule had changed and couldn’t accommodate me, which was understandable. He’s the leader of the free world and I’m just a ruby princess.

Jackson nods. “I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to that. But the threat against you is real and the Secret Service was never going to let you get near the president for safety reasons.”

I nod in understanding. “It makes sense,” I muse out loud, eyes drifting out to the darkness as we fly toward San Francisco, “that they’d want to get to me before my twenty-fifth birthday. The ability to name my heir and keep it secret pretty much ensures my safety. No one can obliterate an entire bloodline.”

Jackson is silent and I turn back to him, noting his grave expression. I smile at him. “It’s probably not a big deal. It’s a little less than two weeks until my birthday, and I’m sure I’ll be sequestered in the palace. I’ll even promise not to sneak out. But I get now why you changed things up in DC, just to be extra safe.”

And still he says nothing.

I tip my head. “What?”

“You’re not safe even in the palace,” he says grimly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoff, raising a hand. “Everyone in the palace is trusted.”

“No one can be one hundred percent trusted. The right amount of money can buy anyone’s loyalty.”

I frown at him. “You mean like… Dmitri?”

“Probably not Dmitri,” he says, but he emphasizes the word probably. “And I’d probably trust Paul.”

“But not fully,” I press.

“I don’t fully trust anyone,” he says, and I hate that this hurts. It’s ridiculous that it hurts. He’s only known me a few weeks. Just because we’re intimate doesn’t mean there’s trust.

And yet, I trust him with my life.

But do you trust him with your heart?

I don’t know the answer to that.

I avert my gaze again, staring out to the blackness beyond the window.

“If there’s a legit plan to take you and your father out,” Jackson says, and I don’t look his way, “it’s most likely going to come from a worker. Someone who can easily be bought, no matter how trusted they might be. While I know anyone who works at the palace makes a great wage, the price to kill you and your father would be in the millions. It’s enough to sway most people.”

It’s hard to comprehend that someone could so easily give up their soul for money, but I don’t doubt his words. It sickens me, and I’m done with this conversation.

“I thought,” I murmur in a low voice, still regarding the night before me, “that when you were putting me off, you were calling it quits between us.”

I don’t look at Jackson because a part of me is afraid he’s been aloof because of that too.

It’s why I’m not expecting his arms around me when he hauls me across the couch to him. He goes to his back, bringing my body flush to his. His hand cradles my head, and he forces my mouth down to his in a blistering kiss.

Any doubt that he wanted to part ways sooner rather than later dissipate, and I’m giving him as much as he’s giving me.

Jackson’s arms band around my lower back, pressing me tight to him, and I can’t help but grind my hips down on what is clearly a growing erection. It’s not fair. We shouldn’t even play around like this because it can’t go anywhere.

Except … Jackson’s hands move to my thighs, and he pulls up my skirt. I’d dressed for our tours in a knee-length skirt and matching jacket in a dark brown wool plaid, paired with high-heeled, brown leather boots. I seriously doubt Jackson is going to take the time to let me get out of them.

Cool air hits my thighs as the skirt is jerked around my waist and his hand snakes into my panties from behind, fingers dragging down through my ass cheeks before plunging into me.

“Oh God,” I moan into his mouth and then manage to shut off my words as I’m all too aware there are other people on this plane.

I think about asking Jackson if this is cool that we do this, but his fingers graze my clit, and I suddenly don’t care if anyone finds out.

I manage to get my hands between our bodies as Jackson turns slightly on the couch. I fumble at his belt, then the button and zipper of his suit pants. When I’m on official business as the princess, all the agents wear suits. Jackson ditched his jacket and tie at takeoff, and at some point, both he and Paul will change into more comfortable clothing.

But for now, I’m just happy the zipper works, and with a little maneuvering, made difficult because I’m distracted by Jackson’s mouth on mine and his fingers playing between my legs, I get his thick, long shaft into my hand. His hips flex into my touch, and he groans as I stroke him. This is something we have not done before… get each other off with just our hands. We’re both keen on oral, so the hands haven’t been used much.

But I don’t want just his fingers.

Not even just his tongue.

I want him inside me. It’s when I feel closest to him, and without a lot of thought into the matter, I push up and spread my legs to straddle him.

“What are you doing?” Jackson rasps as I lift up, hold him by the base, and pull my panties to the side. Slowly, I lower myself onto him. His hands come to my thighs, gripping them hard to halt my progress. “I don’t have a condom on me.”

“Wasn’t going to wait for one,” I pant as I rub the tip of him through my wet folds, which causes Jackson to hiss with pleasure. “I’m on the Pill, and we’ve talked enough to know… we’re both safe. We don’t need a condom.”

Jackson doesn’t answer me, but it’s clear by his expression he accepts my logic without any argument. It’s further solidified when his hands move to my hips to hold me tight and with a sharp punch upward of his hips, he drives into me.

I go boneless, falling onto him and causing him to bottom out until there’s not a fraction of a millimeter more he can fill.

My hands go to his chest for leverage, and for a moment, I’m dizzy from the sudden invasion and how absolutely perfect it feels.

Jackson’s hands shift, his palms splayed as he grips my ass. Looking up at me with an almost evil look, he says, “Time to bounce, Princess.”

My eyes flare wide.

Did he just tell me to bounce?

Lust rolls through me in waves as I look down to where we’re joined, knowing he wants me to ride that hard.

Bounce.

I have an idea. My hands move from his chest to my suit jacket. Five large buttons come undone easily. It’s designed not to have a blouse underneath, so it’s just my taupe silk bra, which causes Jackson’s eyes to fire hot when it’s revealed. I undo the front clasp, release my breasts, and shrug out of the bra. Then I take Jackson’s hands and place them on me.

The man is a master of all things sexual, and he immediately pinches my nipples, causing me to jerk.

But he said to bounce.

Placing my hands on his chest, I lean forward, and well… I bounce.

When it’s all said and done, I almost pass out from the force of the orgasm that takes me a lot faster than Jackson is ready, so I don’t mind in the slightest when he flips us so he’s on top and he fucks me hard to a second orgasm.

Noises are made—I can’t help it. It’s his name I call out, and he makes no effort to stifle it. Maybe Jackson doesn’t give a fuck anymore since Paul knows, but I’m pretty sure now the flight attendants do as well.

I’m sure that information will probably be shared with the pilots.

It will filter through the palace at some point.

And I really, really don’t care.

The fact that Jackson did nothing to hide what we were doing tells me he doesn’t care either. But why would he? His job for Bretaria is almost over.