Safeword: Davenport
Read Safeword: Davenport Online
Authors: Candace Blevins
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Bdsm
Excessica Publishing
www.excessica.com
Copyright ©2012 by Candace Blevins
First published in 2012, 2012
Safeword: Davenport
(C) July 6, 2012 by Candace Blevins
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Dana tucked the chain holding her husband's wedding band under her blouse. He'd been gone a year and a half, and she'd moved forward with her life in so many ways, but his ring was still a welcome anchor.
Finished dressing, she eyed herself in the mirror and saw a nice mix of quirky artist and professional businesswoman. Her thick blonde hair fell to her waist two years ago but now barely brushed her shoulders. Garnet wanted it long and she'd been happy with the length but cutting it ultra-short was one of the first executive decisions she'd made after his death. She might let it grow another couple of inches, but no longer. She was finding balance, she reminded herself, as she ran her hands through the loose curls around her face, dividing them up.
Sliding her arms into her coat, she reached for her tablet before walking out the door to meet her new client.
The house was at an odd angle, set back from the road, and she followed the driveway through some woods, not seeing the shape or details until she was directly in front of the imposing structure.
Dana unhooked her seatbelt and looked around to get a feel for the place. The outside hardscaping and winter plantings appeared fine; if the client insisted on a change, perhaps they could replace the fountain with a large statue or sculpture. She made a mental note to ask for outside pictures taken in spring and summer, wincing as she realized the memories she'd make him drag to the surface.
Her research on this man hadn't turned up much. She'd hoped to gain insight into what style he might have, the circles he ran in, or even friends or associates they both knew. She hadn't found a single picture of the man, though she'd come across news articles that made her want to cry for him.
Zachary Irving's wife died a year and a half ago, within a few weeks of Garnet's death, and Dana was here to help turn
their
home into
his
home. She understood the need for change; within six months of losing Garnet, she'd sold their house and bought a nice condo, going from five thousand square feet to sixteen hundred, though both had cost about the same. She'd needed to be surrounded by people and activity, and moving to the heart of downtown had been a good call.
She wasn't here to play therapist or commiserate so she wouldn't share her own loss. He wanted his home renovated and redesigned, nothing more. He'd expect her to figure out his style and create a look he'd like—helping decide what would stay or go, and to choose new pieces. Seven thousand square feet of change. She'd be working with him a long time so their initial face-to-face meeting was important.
Noting the delicate vine work in the front door's leaded glass, she wondered if he'd want a more masculine entry. A handsome young man opened the door as she walked up the steps, and she introduced herself. “Hello, I'm Dana Bennett, here to see Mr. Irving, please."
The man gave an annoyed smile. “Yes, Ms. Bennett. I'm Zachary Irving. Please come in."
She'd assumed a man who'd lost his wife and had enough money for this neighborhood would be much older, but the gorgeous man inviting her in was probably in his late twenties. He looked like a bit of a rogue even with the upscale clothes and fashionable haircut, something in his eyes and the way he held his body.
"I apologize if I offended you. Do you wish to change anything outside? It looks masculine enough I think, but we could replace the fountain with a large ball with water flowing from the top, or perhaps a modern sculpture in a reflecting pool."
He smiled, his icy blue eyes turning warmer. “Wonderful. Get me pictures of things you think would work and we'll discuss it. Please come in. Let me to take your coat and I'll give you a tour."
She noted his empty ring finger as he took her coat and wondered how long it'd taken him to stop wearing it. She'd found a jeweler who resized hers while she watched and now wore it on her right middle finger. She shook her head, trying to get her mind back onto her purpose.
"You're an inventor, Mr. Irving?"
"More of a researcher but since my research often leads to new breakthroughs I suppose it's an accurate statement."
Zachary Irving was thirty-two years old—a few years older than he looked—and he'd invented a way for solar panels to draw twenty percent more energy from the sun. He was apparently making a fortune licensing the technology to manufacturers.
"Do you use solar electricity here?"
"Yes, but not throughout the house. My wife wanted to cook with normal appliances, light the public areas of the house without worrying about power consumption, and just generally entertain without having to make excuses for her crazy inventor husband. We compromised—the main floor, outside lighting, fountains, and pool equipment are on the grid. The top two stories and part of the basement run on DC power. Any electrical items you replace on the upper levels will have to be custom made or retrofitted, as there aren't usually direct current options available for decorative fixtures."
"I have an electrician on the payroll; I assume he can handle it. Tell me about the foyer, what do you envision? The burgundy is somewhat dark; we could go with a brighter color for a different feel. Perhaps a soothing pastel green?"
They went room by room through the public areas of the home on the first floor. Mr. Irving walked by a closed door and—after walking through the spaces on either side—Dana realized it was a large space. She motioned towards it. “I think we missed a room?"
"No, we didn't. The door stays locked. This way please."
She didn't follow, and he stopped, eyeing her imperiously as she stood looking at it. “I feel compelled to point out a locked door in such a high traffic area will raise eyebrows if you begin entertaining again. The flow of traffic on this floor is...” She hesitated, quickly deciding for the blunt approach. “Mr. Irving, shutting this room off will seem rude at worst, and at best will paint you an eccentric. I realize you'd prefer I ignore it, but you're paying for my expertise. Let me help with whatever's in there, so we can open it."
"Your advice is noted, Ms. Bennett. Can we do away with the formalities? Please call me Zach."
"Yes, of course. Please call me Dana."
"Well then, Dana, please come with me to the second floor."
She internally kicked herself for asking him to let her help. If he was hiding a locked memorial to his dead wife she shouldn't even be here, much less offering help.
She was attracted to this man and his clear blue eyes, but it was empathy and nothing else.
Following him into the master suite, her stomach dropped into her feet. Most people would've seen a beautifully constructed mahogany canopy bed, but Dana identified it immediately as a bondage bed, custom made by a well-known kinky furniture craftsman.
Honesty up front was her motto, even if it wasn't always pleasant. Besides, things would be even more uncomfortable if she pretended ignorance and the subject came up later.
"Will you keep the bed, or will you want Frederick to craft another?"
Zach turned slowly, his face losing the professional mask and showing curiosity. “How, exactly, do you know Frederick? This is a one-of-a-kind creation; you must be very familiar with his style."
She looked him in the eye, determined to show a professional interest and no embarrassment. The interior design business sometimes put her into client's private lives and treating everything in a matter-of-fact, calm, and relaxed way was imperative—she was here to do a job, not comment on anyone's lifestyle. “I often work with people who can afford handmade pieces of furniture, and Frederick is one of the best at making quality pieces so the intended uses aren't obvious."
"Yet you immediately recognized it? You call that not being obvious?"
She realized he'd feel more comfortable if he thought she were part of his world. “Okay, not recognizable to those outside the world of kink. The choice remains—keep the bed or replace it? If you replace it, do you want another made by Frederick, or would you prefer a normal one?"
She wondered if his wife had topped him or if he'd dominated her. No way would she ask, though. This man had attracted her from the moment he'd opened the door, and the more she learned about him the more she liked him. She never dated clients, and her therapist would probably say she was only interested because it was safe, since nothing could come of it. She groaned inwardly; did she really need therapy anymore when she already knew what the counselor would say?
Zach pointed to doors on either side of the bed. “There are two bathrooms, mine and...” He stopped, started again. “I never go into hers and don't care if it's changed. My therapist says I need to make the house mine, so my companions don't feel as if her ghost is looking over their shoulder. If you think women would be uncomfortable knowing she picked everything in there, we'll redo it."
He walked into his bathroom as he continued. “Bethany chose ninety percent of the furniture, all of the colors, and most of the fixtures throughout the house. Much was done to please me, but some were items she liked and knew I wouldn't object to.” He sighed, turning to face her through the doorway. “I love this house; otherwise it might be easier to move."
Yes, easier to move. Like she'd done.
Dana investigated both bathrooms and met him back in the bedroom, wishing she didn't want to wrap her arms around him, comfort him through his grief. It would also help if the bondage bed weren't towering over her. “I don't see a need in ripping out tile or changing hardware, a superficial color change should be enough—paint, curtains, towels. Is the locked room downstairs your playroom?"
He pivoted and walked out of the room, and she wished she'd left it alone. His kink was none of her business, and if it were a playroom, she couldn't imagine the painful memories that assaulted him when he ventured in. She twisted her wedding ring on the middle finger of her right hand, and questioned again whether she should give this job to another designer.
She took measurements and snapshots of the bathrooms, closets, and bedroom before following him. The second closet had been stripped—the walls still marked where the shelves, drawers, and bars had been. She'd given all of Garnet's clothes and shoes to his sister and had no idea where they'd gone from there. She wasn't sure she could live with an empty closet, much less an empty playroom, and her heart hurt for him.
