Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(45)

She smiled. “Butterflies and all?”

Frank nodded and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah. Butterflies and snakes and fear and all.”

Her blue eyes were suddenly soft. “Try to be happy, Frank. You’re not alive to punish yourself.”

Try to be happy. Try to grow wings and fly. Same difference.

“I’m trying. He’s the best thing that has happened to me in a long time.”

She reached out and touched his shoulder. “That’s good enough for me.” She pulled back and gave him a couple of limes. “Wash your hands and then zest and juice those.”

They were happily working away when Brandon came back down, wearing jeans and a fresh US Army T-shirt, hair damp.

Frank waved him in. “Your turn. I’ll go get changed.”

Brandon took over, chopping courgettes while Emily was butterflying a pile of chicken breasts.

Frank hurried upstairs and went into the en suite for a very quick shower, the room still humid from Brandon’s shower. The quick clean-up reminded him of what they’d done, that delicious passiveness that Brandon had managed to get out of him, and that now lingered much more closely under the surface than before.

After all that shit in his past, all the things to be defensive about, only Andrew had taught him that that wasn’t actually a weakness, merely a complementary aspect of him—the flip side of all his strength, as Andrew had called it. They’d negotiated power and positions for most of their relationship, which had kept things interesting. Nothing anybody took for granted, nothing given. In that kind of framework, exploring what he wanted, what he could do, what he could accept being done to him, had been entirely safe. And then the illness had shattered the only safe space he’d ever known.

And now there was the possibility of having that safe space again. Brandon may have been young, but he was no kid. No child, anyway. He knew what he was doing. He provided Frank with that safe place for submission and surrender. He gave Frank hope that he could have everything he’d had with Andrew again.

The conversation with Raoul crept in from the back of Frank’s mind. When there’d been a problem with a john, one where those involved had felt compelled to bring Frank into it, where had he been? On his knees in his office with one of the other rentboys up his arse. He owed his guys better than that. While he could agree to be more discreet, to keep their relationship out of Market Garden, everyone already knew about it. How would that affect his interactions with the others? Would they still respect him? Would they still feel safe working there knowing that the boss had indulged in at least one of them?

Frank sighed and shut off the shower. Just once, it would be nice to have a relationship that was simple. His status prevented that from ever happening, but these additional complications were for the birds.

Frank finished drying himself off and got dressed again. At the bedroom door, he paused to collect himself, taking a deep breath and pushing back all the worries and fears that had him tied up in knots. Whatever the future held, tonight would be about food, hanging out with three of his best friends and his boyfriend, and not giving a f*ck about anything else.

One more deep breath, and he left the bedroom and joined the others downstairs.

He could tell before he stepped into the kitchen that Geoff and Mike had arrived. That kind of uproarious laughter only echoed through this house when those two goofballs were present, and Frank finally managed to smile right before he turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs.

“All right, who let these stooges into my house?”

Emily pointed a wooden spoon at Brandon. “He opened the door. Blame him.”

“I’ll take it out of his hide later.”

Brandon shot him a curious glance, and Frank felt that instant chemistry again. All the unspoken things that were said with glances and implications. One of the things he liked best about being in a relationship: It always felt like a conspiracy of two.

“I got the wine.” Mike pointed at a couple bags standing on the counter. “Kick me out and lose the wine.”

Frank nodded. “In that case, you can stay. And your friend too.” He glanced over Emily’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“One of my Italian staples for starters. Set the table. You’ll need a couple sets of cutlery.”

“Got it, boss.” Frank busied himself laying the table, and Brandon watched him for a few moments, then replicated what he was doing on the other side of the table. Napkins, red and white wineglasses, a whole line of cutlery, plates and trivets to put the hot food on, salad bowls—the full works. His kitchen was stocked much like Mike’s, thanks largely to Andrew, who had to be carried out of speciality cooking and housewares shops. It did help if Geoff was around to carry Mike out, too, because those two had usually teamed up to buy more kitchen stuff than anybody needed.

“There. Done.” Emily sounded just the cute side of smug. “Sit down.”

Everybody scrambled to their seats, and Brandon sat right next to Frank, Geoff and Mike opposite.

Mike unfolded his napkin in his lap. “So has anybody been following The Great British Bake Off?”

Geoff rolled his eyes. “He’s getting into bread baking now. We drove like two hours to get the proper sourdough starter or whatever’s called.”

“Everything depends on the levain.” Mike slapped Geoff’s shoulder. “And if you don’t like it, you don’t get any.”