While they ate, Gage kept the conversation light and easy. He liked the way she spoke, gesturing with her hands, not afraid to steal a bite of his baked branzino or to share some of her ricotta gnocchi. Two bottles of wine later, not quite ready to let her go just yet, he worked her around to going for a stroll through the district, an unexpected jewel he'd never thought to find here in the heart of Toronto.

It wasn't hard to understand why she'd settled down in the Distillery. The paved walkways of heritage brick, the quaint little shops, boutiques and restaurants framed in the walls of the refurbished industrial buildings, all spoke to his architect's soul. He loved the colours, the textures, the historical charm, and had quickly come to ascertain that if Toronto were ever to be his home, than this would be where he'd want to set down roots.

Home, he thought, as they stopped just outside of SOMA chocolatiers for a scoop of delicious Mayan chili chocolate and candied ginger gelato. The word gave him a surprised but pleased little kick in the ribs. Was that what he was doing here? Was that why he'd elected to stay, even though the remaining grunt work could have been delegated to others on the team?

While Gage set aside those thoughts for later, the conversation steered towards memorable, life-altering experiences and Victory listened, enviously, as he told her all about his travels—the year he backpacked throughout most of Europe with only five hundred dollars in his wallet. How he'd scraped his way through seedy restaurants and bars to scrimp together enough cash to hop on a train or bus to take him to the next destination.

"Morocco was where I discovered my passion for architecture," he explained, pausing to scoop up chocolate and a bit of candied ginger, struggled not to moan or roll his eyes in euphoria. "Every building, every structure and temple is a piece of art. And I would spend hours each day, just walking through the streets, stopping and admiring the exquisite details. Breathtaking." He shook his head, set down his empty cup and wiped his hands on a napkin. "When I came back home, six months later, that's when I knew I needed to make a change. By the end of the year, I dusted my hands, said goodbye to modeling and magazine covers, and made the move to BC."

"Must have been hard." Victory reflected, brushing a hand across her brow to push back a lock of hair caught in a stray breeze. "Leaving your family. Friends. Were they supportive?"

"My folks, Nora and Herb, they understood and supported my decisions completely. I think my mom was proud of me for understanding that dreams should be pursued, not because of fame and money, but because of passion.

"Roarke's was in films, the popularity and notoriety—part of the package and price of that dream. It wasn't mine. Never had been, and though I could have had an equally successful career, become famous and wealthy, I wanted more. I wanted to be happy."

For that, Victory thought, she had to admire him. Respect him. In a world where everyone was chasing after fame and fortune, he'd been brave enough to swim against the current, go the other way. Towards fulfillment. And through that, found a greater measure of success, because of it. She was hoping to do the same.

And could only hope to be so brave. Or so lucky.

"Your folks must be proud as well. I caught a glimpse of them at the opening, when you were giving your speech. Your mom is stunning. Could almost pass for your sister."

Smiling, she finished her last bite of gelato. "Don't I know it. Great genes, which I hope I am fortunate enough to inherit. My grandma Pearl was the same. Didn't get a single grey until three years past seventy. She lived to the ripe age of ninety-two, and was a consummate flirt until the end. She'd have eaten you alive." Victory snickered then sighed in memory, and tried not to linger on the unfortunate fact that she'd been too broke to make the flight to be at her deathbed.

Yet another thing Derek had cost her. Yet another thing he'd taken away...

Gage saw the glimmer of sadness, moved to stroke a hand across her forearm. "How long ago did she pass?"

"Four years. This spring." She cleared her throat, dug deep for a smile to hide the guilt. "And I miss her every day."

"Hm." Gage nodded. "I never knew my grandparents. On either side. My father's family wrote him off for marrying my mother, the backwater country girl with no prestigious family name, no pedigree and the subpar—to their eyes—education. And my mother's parents passed before either Roarke or myself were conceived."

"That's so sad." Without thinking, she reached across the table to lay a hand over his. "I've never had what you'd call a large family. My mom was an only child, my dad has two brother but neither of them had any kids. His parents were never close to us, either, but I see them every once in a while, when they visit from the other side of the pond. Grandma Pearl was widowed before my mom and dad met, so I never knew Grandpa Lester, but I've hear so many stories sometimes I almost forget we'd never met."

"So, you don't have any siblings? Crazy cousins?" Gage asked they walked, side by side, from the shaded patio. Standing outside of her condo, Gage admired the shimmering glass and chrome tower comprised of wraparound terraces and balconies, gathering and reflecting light from all angles, and radiating it out over the city like a prism.

A structure that exuded elegance, excitement and sophistication. One that caught his eye in appreciation of its bold, clean lines that married well with the quaint and historic architecture of the refurbished red-bricked factory, from whence it sprang, like a bold, brilliant flower.

"My mom always wanted more kids. Had her mind and heart set on a house full. The more the merrier. But there were...issues." Victory finished weakly. The word didn't seem to be enough, not nearly enough to convey the failed hopes, the struggles and misery wrought in miscarriages and broken hearts.

"What sort of issues?" Gage asked, although he could hazard a guess from the way her brows had knit and the sheen of memory in her eyes.

"Year after year was a constant string of disappointments and heartbreaks. I was ten when she had another miscarriage, but this one almost killed her. The doctors said she needed to decide: hysterectomy, or an early grave. My mom didn't even hesitate, but I could see how devastated she was." And even now the memory jolted Victory to her core.

To see her mother so wilted, and broken, and...defeated, was an image she'd never been able to shake.

"I've endeavoured every day since to do what I could to make them proud, so that she'd never have reason or cause to look back and grieve for the children she couldn't have. The one's she'd lost. She always says that I am her life's sweetest victory." Victory's eyes warmed. "That's how I got my name." Brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she faced him with a smile, and the slightest twinge of regret that the afternoon had to draw to an end. "This was great. Thank you for lunch."

"It was a pleasure." As their eyes connected, the hum of anticipation he'd first experienced the night they'd met warmed his blood. He could have played the gentleman, left it with a pleasant smile, perhaps a friendly kiss and an easy goodbye before they parted ways, but something about her mouth, curving with invitation, made him think to hell with it. She had made a point of saying she appreciated bold honesty.

So, testing her, testing them both, he gave her a little nudge, backing her up until he had her caged.

"Dare I ask if you plan on inviting me up?" His mouth dipped, hovered.

Victory smiled, feeling a little bold and a little dangerous, she slipped her hands to his shoulders and kept her eyes locked to his. Braced between the hard planes of Gage's body, and the sun-warmed red brick of the exterior wall, with every patient breath she drew in the scents of summer and musk, making her bone-dry mouth suddenly water.

"I haven't made up my mind yet."

"Then perhaps I should give you more to think about?" His mouth teased over her with a brush of lips and breath before sinking in to a sample. She tasted warm and deliciously lush, with hints of the decadent chocolate and chili adding another velvety layer of richness. He'd meant to be delicate and restrained, but when the throaty purr of her moan hummed, Gage forgot about restraint and fell into greed.

Devouring her. Devouring her completely.

God! Need shot straight to Victory's head, swirling there with three glasses of wine, warming her blood, staggering her senses. Thank god for the wall. Thank god for his arms. Those two important things kept her standing.

Was she still standing? Victory couldn't feel the ground. Or her feet.

And as the kissed steered towards desperate, Gage found some measure of control, eased back, scraping his teeth against her lower lip, seizing it. He'd kept his hands planted to brick the entire time, and now his palms screamed to be filled with her. She quivered against him, a delicious ripple like a woman waking from a dream, struggling for breath, her brown eyes all soft and misty with arousal.

"Go." Stepping back from her cost brutal effort, and every inch of him wanted to rebel. "Go, before I don't let you. Before I press every button I can think of until you drag me upstairs, through your door and into your bedroom where I'll endeavour to ruin us both."

Oh God, yes! A voice echoed in the back of her head, ignoring any lingering doubts or uncertainties that cautioned her against it. He was handsome, sophisticated, decent. Niobe could vouch for his integrity and intentions...

"You're not ready," he said, clearly reading her mind, and cupped a hand to her face, thumb grazing the curve of her cheek. "I want you." Christ, he wanted her with a need that bordered on pain. "I can see you want me, too. But you're not ready." He let her go and smiled, all warmth and sincerity. "I can wait, perhaps poke you a long, but I won't rush you, Victory."

"Well," a little off balance, she pressed a hand to her chest where her heart leapt like a rabbit caught in a burlap sack, kicking and beating with a flurry of movement, "you've certainly given me plenty to think about."

"The merest fraction." His voice was deep, rough and strained with desire. "But it's a start." Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips over her knuckles, the gesture sweet and innocent to contrast the searing fire of longing in his blue eyes. "Thank you for indulging me this afternoon. The next time I want to take you out, I promise to call first."

"But you don't have my number."

His blue eyes twinkled, bright and devious. "Don't I?"

Victory paused. Laughed. "Good grief, does Niobe know no boundaries?"

"What can I say?" Gage winked, pleased to see that her reaction hadn't been unfavourable or in opposition. "She likes me. And can see how crazy I am about you." He lifted her hand again, and when she thought he planned to kiss the back in a gesture full of gallantry and romance, he turned it around and nipped the heel of her palm with a graze of teeth and brush of lips, his eyes flashing and smile bright when she gasped.

Round three, he thought, and tucked away another point in his favour.

"Ciao, for now."

Standing there, leaning against a wall of brick, Victory devoted the next ten minutes to catching her breath.