Safeword: Davenport(46)

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You did this? It's brilliant! Do you have sketches of how it all fits together? Could I see them?"

Brent chuckled. “I'll get the drinks while you talk to Dana about curtains."

He looked at Brent, his submission showing clearly in his eyes. “I'm sorry, and thank you."

As Dana watched her friend nod and walk out, she had the feeling she'd just missed something, but wasn't sure it was any of her business.

Jacob turned back to her. “You've had a long drive, so let's eat before we look at the plans. The plates are to the right of the side table, please help yourself."

When Brent returned with their drinks, she was sitting on the sofa, biting into an exquisitely stuffed mushroom, and he placed her glass in front of her and put the other two on the table beside Jacob before fixing his plate. Jacob stood as Brent walked towards him, waiting until he was seated before gracefully sinking to the floor at his feet, leaning against the chair and sideways on his Master's leg.

Brent casually ran his fingers through Jacob's hair as he said, “I trust the two of you have exhausted the curtain conversation?"

She was in awe of how beautiful they were, sitting so naturally, and she didn't answer right away. Jacob answered for her with, “She wants to see my sketches, but I told her we should eat first."

His voice jolted her back to the conversation. “Yes, I'd love to see how it's all put together; get an idea of how he came up with it. Jacob, did you make the food? It's wonderful."

He shook his head. “Brent picked most of it up from a caterer he uses on sets; the only thing I can take credit for is the presentation."

The small talk continued, and Dana liked Jacob a great deal. When standing, he was only a few inches shorter than Brent, though he was probably fifty pounds lighter, at least. Brent was built like a tank, while Jacob had the streamlined body of a swimmer. Jacob's muscles were well defined, but slim and wiry as opposed to large and bulky. Brent's short dark hair contrasted with Jacob's stylishly disheveled blond hair, and Brent's deep voice with Jacob's normal one. Brent was in worn jeans and a navy tee, while Jacob was in dressy khaki's and a short sleeve mock turtle in a luxurious fabric that made her want to run her fingers over the well-defined abs she could see under it—to see what the fabric was, of course.

She remembered Brent had always expressed disdain for those he termed twinks, and Jacob's physique, personality, and confidence kept him out of that category—but he was the artistic type. She was a little uncomfortable with the attraction she was feeling for him, and tried to set it aside.

As they were finishing their food, Brent suggested Jacob load the sketches from his computer onto his tablet so he could bring them into the living room. When he'd gone, Brent moved to the sofa, sitting sideways beside her and pulling her into his arms again.

"My dear, I can't imagine what you've been through since we last saw each other. You remind me of the phoenix who's survived the fire to be reborn. It's still you, but you're different. I'm so sorry for your loss, but thankful you've made it through the grieving process in one piece."

Her eyes threatened to tear up as she said, “Thank you, but please don't make me cry. I really like Jacob, the two of you fit together so well. I'm happy for you."

He released her, letting her pull away, but keeping her hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Thank you. He seems to like you, too—which isn't always the case. I've spent years bitching and moaning about the artistic types I'm forced to work with, and I find myself in a relationship with one.” His eyes twinkled and he said, “Luckily, I'm in control, so if he gets on my nerves with it I can order silence."

She laughed. “I know you well enough to be fairly certain you don't abuse your power too often. You love him. I can see it in the way you talk about him, look at him, run your fingers through his hair. He looks so at ease at your feet, you're beautiful together."

"It's not an abuse of power if he wants me to silence him when he annoys me. And yes, I do love him, very much. I should probably explain we don't use Sir or Master; he uses my name as an honorific. We work together occasionally and neither of us wants him to screw up and call me Master when I tell him to modify a costume."

"I can see how that might be easy to do.” She heard Jacob's footsteps and Brent stood. “I'll put the food away while he shows you the sketches."

Jacob sat where Brent had been, and Dana felt a flutter she stubbornly ignored as their legs touched. He put the tablet in her lap and let her scroll back and forth through his sketches and the two became engrossed in the details, finishing each other's sentences, completing thoughts when one person stuttered through explaining a concept. Brent came back in while they were head to head, leaned over the tablet deep in discussion about textures and colors and patterns and the various ways of layering them. He sat and listened; not interrupting until they'd finished talking of fabrics and were transitioning to another conversation.