Gage awoke late Sunday morning with a stretch and a yawn, dabbled rays of sun slanting through the floor to ceiling windows of the guestroom. Groggily, he swiped a hand over his face and groaned. The night had been a study in sheer torment. What the hell had he been thinking, kissing Victory like that? Oh, sure, seeing the way she all but melted in his arms had been satisfying enough, but then he hadn't exactly thought through what that sort of interlude would stir up in him.

And if he had bothered to think that far ahead, then Gage might had realized he'd only set himself up for a long, sleepless night of fitful tossing and turning, which had proved to be the case. Barely more than an hour, at most, of shuteye, and even then, the sorts of dreams to plague him were the kind that made it impossible to just leap out of bed and join the gang.

No, he needed a shower—brutally cold. Next, near an entire pot of coffee was a must. And once the edges of fatigue and frustrated desire were curbed, only then could he rejoin the ranks of society as a man instead of the two-headed bear he was sure to resemble at present.

Rolling to his side, he glanced towards the dark bathroom he knew would be just about as large as the bedroom suite, with a shudder and a sigh. Best to just close your eyes and get it over with, he thought, and lumbered from bed with all the enthusiasm of a kid facing a day of school after a long and glorious summer.

The shower was brutal; he'd growled and cursed a blue streak through most of it, enduring ten frost bitten minutes before the throbbing between his legs abated. Near frozen, he switched the taps and eased into the heat.

The rest of him that had tensed in the cold now sighed with relaxation.

Another twenty minutes of that and he was starting to feel like some semblance of a man. Swiping a head across the steamy mirror, Gage brushed his teeth in silence, scraped a hand over his face where the stubble from the day before had darkened to a burnt gold shadow.

Another day wouldn't hurt, he decided. There was no law that said a man had to be clean-shaven every damn day of his life. Not like he had any public engagement's lined up. Combing his fingers through his hair, he strode from the bathroom and dressed in worn jeans and a casual shirt of steel grey, paired with a battered leather belt and comfortable shoes that still managed to be stylish.

No point in checking the mirror, he thought, just the gang and they'd seen him in worse. Leaving his room, he walked down the stretch of naked hall with floors of poured concrete and walls a few shades deeper. Tristan had always preferred the stark and barren style of the simple and modern. Keeping the lines clean, the colours masculine and the textures crisp, all glass, chrome, stone and wood. Rough, elemental.

Tristan had purchased the entire upper penthouse floor, creating a fifteen thousand square foot sky-high palace that sat above the city, complete with a wraparound private terrace accessible from any of the eight bedrooms, or the two living rooms and private office. Pausing in the kitchen, Gage helped himself to the espresso machine, punching in for a double, and waited as the machine buzzed and hummed, pouring out a dribbling stream of mouth-watering goodness.

Arms banded across his chest, he turned towards the television, mounted overtop a floating fireplace of glass and chrome, and saw his face.

"Fuck." He muttered, snatching the remote from the counter, and raised the volume to catch the tail end of the segment.

"....spotted last night in attendance with his brother, Roarke Donovan, and in the company of Matthias Grayson, Jackson Dekker and Samuel Russell. And while the surprising convergence of A-listers attending the restaurant's soft opening, none was more surprising than that of Ryder Donovan."

Hitting mute, Gage shoved a hand through his still damp hair, snatched his espresso from the tray and stormed out to the terrace where Roarke, Shayne, Sam and Niobe sat in the sun, sharing in a moment of laughter around a table laden with pancakes, sausage, eggs, toast and a pitcher of pink grapefruit juice.

"My, my, my, look who's awake." Roarke shifted in his seat, his arm draped around Shayne shoulders. Both were still dressed from bed, she in his oversized pajama shirt and a pair of leggings, long mane of gypsy curls tousled around her shoulders and grey eyes soft.

Niobe, never less than perfect, was already dressed and polished for her day in navy slacks, ivory blouse and a tangle of gold chains. She'd tied back her length of impossibly long jet hair away from her fine-boned face and large, deceiving doe-eyes.

Unlike his soon-to-be-wife, Sam slung on a pair of sweat pants and a white t-shirt, his eyes still shaded with sleep despite the sparkle of mirth.

"Damn, Gage," Sam beamed. "Aren't you a sight in the morning?"

Feeling particularly snarly, Gage only slumped into his seat, but not before he caught sight of the television again, where his face, through the years of his career in modeling, played like a badly arranged slideshow. And beneath it, in racing white font, was the closed captions of the reporters broadcast, informing that as of last night, the top trending tweets were #RyderDonovan-SexiestManAlive, #MarryMeRyder and #CanIHaveYourBaby,RD?

Following his line of sight, Roarke shifted in his seat, laughed. "That segment's run every ten minutes for the last three hours."

His scowl deepened. "Should have just stayed home," he muttered, ruefully slapping a pile of pancakes on to his plate he then slathered with syrup.

"Surprised you didn't." Roarke agreed. "But then I should have known you'd had your eye on Victory. She's one hell of a woman, and were I not already happily married, you might have a fight on your hands."

"Hey, get in line." Samuel contested with a smirk and a wink when Niobe jabbed a playful elbow into his ribs. "Against me, the Donovan men never would've stood a chance."

Feeling not the least bit jovial, Gage slid a look between Samuel and Roarke, his glare ominous. "I can kill you, y'know. I have spare friends."

"Ah," Roarke's grin spread, bright and wide, "but you only have one brother. You need me. More's the pity."

"Guess we should take pity and lay off him," Samuel snickered, nipping another slice of bacon from the platter. "You know how snarly he gets before he's got a full stomach. Or when he's gone too long without getting laid. And since he's already scarfed down half his stack of pancakes, I'm rolling with the latter as the cause of his bright and sunny disposition."

Gage's only response to the smart-alecky statement was to flash a bright and contradictory smile, no matter how close to the mark Samuel may have struck. In the background, through the pristine pane of glass, his eyes fell to the wide screen where his face flashed, and beneath it were snippets and remarks that set his teeth on edge.

Scowling at his breakfast, Gage stabbed at his breakfast with a muttered oath. "Should've never went. Should've just stayed away, and now we all know what's going to happen come Monday morning. I'll be splashed across the front page of just about every newspaper for weeks. Thanks to me, all of her hard work will be overshadowed by the media frenzy."

Bemused glances were exchanged around the table while he continued to mutter and brood, but Niobe wasn't the sort to keep her peace and mind her tongue when it was her best friend dangling on the line. Assessing him for a moment, tongue in cheek, she decide now was the time she got the core of Gage and his intentions.

"So, you've got your eye on Victory?"

Although her tone was light, cordial, he caught the note of warning that rang underneath it, soft as a bell in the distance, but the message came through loud and clear.

"As it so happens." Gage set down his espresso, raised a brow. "Problem?"

"Only if you make it one." Never one to back down, elbows propped on the table, she challenged his gaze. "To cut straight to the point, I don't know you well enough to judge your character, but I do know Roarke," she gestured to the left of the table where Roarke shared a glance with his amused wife, "as well as your lovely parents. And my gut is hardly ever wrong."

Finished his pancakes, Gage lifted a plate of toast, and helped himself to a couple slices of rye, then handed it to her so she could select a slice of white and a second of twelve grain. "What's your gut saying about me?"

"That you'd be good to her. For her. Victory could use a little 'good' right now." Setting down her toast, she slathered marmalade on the twelve grain, butter on the white, then sandwiched the two. "And a word of advice? Be direct. Don't sugar coat or dance around a subject, she doesn't like that and won't trust you, if you do."

"Good." Gage scooped a pile of eggs next to his links of breakfast sausage he'd just drenched in syrup. "I don't like to do either."

"Glad to hear it." Her eyes shifted over him a second time in scrutiny. "And don't always look so perfect."

"Excuse me?"

"Put together. Glossy and primped. Like you've stepped off a photo shoot, or from a magazine cover. You're too handsome, balancing it out with a bit of scruff makes you appear more real. Honest. It'll keep her relaxed and comfortable around you."

"If you knew my brother, than you'd know glossy and primped are two things he's never strived for." Roarke teased.

She was quick on the draw, he thought, but Gage had always been more astute, more observant, and a master of reading through the subtext to touch the heart of what it was most people tried not to say. This isn't about me, he realized.

"Who was he? The guy who broke her heart?" Stabbing a forkful of scrambled eggs, he lifted his gaze just in time to catch the wary surprise to flicker across Niobe's face.

She was going to deny it, that much was plain as the morning sun, but there was a reflective pause where her thoughts shifted, and she leaned towards him with in measured response, neither confirmation, nor denial, just straight deflection.

"That's a story best to come from her."

"Duly noted." He took a swig of his juice. "So how come you didn't invite her to join our little Sunday brunch gathering?"

Another hesitation, another pause, this one quirking along Niobe's brows in a way he found even more curious. He's struck another tender spot, and this one ran much deeper.

"She's...committed. Every Sunday. Sort of a routine, weekly thing."

"Oh?" He kept the tone and single syllable casual, unobtrusive, the sort of thing that generally worked when seeking to pry for more without pushing, but Niobe merely pressed her lips together, shook her head.

Not ready to share, he thought. Women, when it came to their girlfriends, were resilient and knew how to keep secrets. He had to respect that, even if it left him fumbling blindly in the dark and without a foothold.

"How's her day looking for tomorrow?" He laughed at her puzzled expression and added, "Don't give me that look. Your reputation has preceded you and I am more than aware that you are well-appraised of everything there is to know about everyone who is and isn't at this table. So tell me, Ms. Pierce," Gage lifted a bite of sausage, popped it into his mouth, "has she got any flex tomorrow for lunch?"

Shifting in her seat, Niobe took time to swallow her mouthful, weighing her options. Denial would have been best, and easy. Smart. But he'd touched on a matter that elicited a great deal of pride. And pride would forever be her Achilles heel.

Smiling with a measure of pity, she waved her glass, "Tomorrow is no good, booked solid with me, bouncing around to a couple of potential wedding venues." She reached across the table as she said the words, her eyes softening as Samuel linked fingers and kissed the back of her hand, his eyes on her, full of joy and adoration.

It was seeing firsthand, that sort of blissful happiness, to make Gage so acutely aware of what he was lacking in life. The twinge of emptiness was sudden and a sensation he didn't particularly care for.

"Tuesday?"

"Shopping with her mother and I, and Wednesday," Niobe leapt in, seeing the question form in his eyes, "she has dress hunting and cake tasting."

Frowning, Gage hunched in his seat. Poked at his eggs. "She can't be busy all week."

"She might have a narrow window on Thursday. I'm taking her parents out for lunch and some shopping."

For the first time that morning, Gage's mood brightened. His hopes soared. "Thursday. Thursday could work."

"Actually," Roarke cut in, "don't you have—?"

"I'll make it work." The glare he sent his brother dared him to say otherwise. "Should I send her an email?" Almost as soon as he'd said it, Gage frowned, winced. "That would be so lame. What sort of a dick asks a woman out via email?"

"Or you could just surprise her. Keep it light and spontaneous. She's always been a fan of the unexpected." Niobe offered casually. "If you happen to swing by Area Fitness, where she'll be, around 11:45 as she's wrapping up her morning yoga. You might just catch her. A chance encounter," her eyes softened with a romantic gleam, "that would lead to lunch reservations at a quaint little Italian bistro. Actually, if I am not mistaken there's one within a stone's throw of her condo, an easy fifteen minute walk from the gym and home."

Gage mulled the idea around in his slowly awakening brain, no longer bogged down with the snarling, sleepy haze of fatigue as the espresso, pancakes and the thought of seeing Victory again, slowly recharged his system. Even if he had to wait another four days.

"What if she makes plans?" He wondered. "A lot can happen between now and Thursday."

"Yes." Niobe picked off the crusts from her toast, and nibbled on the long strip, the gleam in her eye bright and conspiratorial. "But I wouldn't worry. I'll see you're covered."

Sitting a little straighter, he drummed his fingers against his thighs. "You know, you're a little scary." His eyes shifted to Samuel, shook his head with a smile and mild sympathy. "Poor idiot, you never stood a chance."

"Not for a minute." Samuel agreed, pausing to give the love of his life a loud and affectionate kiss, then sat back and grinned like a fool, madly in love and wildly happy. "When this woman sets her sights on something, she has the honing capacity of a heat seeking missile."

"Hate to break this up," Roarke said, scrolling through his phone as he stroked a hand at the base of Shayne's neck in a gesture that always made her want to curl her toes and purr. "Matthias just sent an email saying the inspectors giving some push back before signing off on completion. So, gentlemen, I think we should take breakfast and adjourn to Mercer's home office to get this under control."

Because his moods were soaring that not even the thought of dealing with a bureaucratic, snot-nosed paper pusher could spoil it, Gage bounced from his seat, plate in one hand, what was left of his double espresso in the other.

"You sneaky little bitch!" Shayne laughed, when they were alone, and scored Niobe points for keeping expression calm and eyes deceptively blank.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, deny all you want, missy," Shayne poked a finger at her in challenge and leaned forward with an interrogating arch of her brow. "But I've seen your moves in action once before, remember? I know exactly what you're up to." She bit into a ripe strawberry, eyes narrowed.

"I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about." Niobe batted her lashes, pouring a second glass of fresh grapefruit juice. "And even if I did, so what?

"Are you sure setting them up is a good idea? Brother and friend to her silent partners, mixing business with pleasure and all that? Makes for murky business."

"For anyone else, yes," she agreed, "but this is Victory and Gage. Two mature, level-headed individuals who won't let a healthy case of lust get in the way of the bottom line."

"And what if Victory isn't so agreeable to this set up?"

"I know my best friend," Niobe answered with a stubborn jut of her chin that would brook no statement to the contrary. "And I'm an excellent judge of character. When I see two people so brilliantly suited, it's my civic duty to give them a nudge in the right direction."
"More like a shove." Shayne substituted dryly.

"Yes, well," she shrugged delicately, dark eyes glinting, "Vee will thank me later."