Nothing cleared the mind, realigned the body, like Yoga.

Victory wasn't a woman who followed the carefully trodden path of others. She'd always preferred to find her own way, blazing a new trail as she went.

Most times, the bold and brazen approach her served her well, but there were times, as tends to happen when navigating uncharted waters, where she'd hit the occasional snag, or speed bump.
Some she'd scraped through, narrowly missing the margin, and others, she hadn't been quite so fortunate, leading to unexpected detours, delays and disasters she'd all but limped from.

But she'd tried to embrace those defining moments, to learn something valuable, burning the lesson into her brain, and most always, never repeating her mistakes. That was life, she mused, everyone had their own story and struggles. No one was exempt from challenges and hardships, or of trials meant to test the very strength of your will.

Much like yoga, if there was ever a better analogy for life, she thought as she moaned into a forward bend. She held there, head to knees, and breathed deep and slow for as long as she could stand it. Life was about breathing through each moment, even when it hurt—especially when it hurt, and finding the balance and the flow as you eased from one transition into the other.

Pushing yourself, finding yourself, opening up to embrace the aches and burn, each time getting a little stronger, a little steadier and more in control, learning from each progression.

And coming out the other side, perhaps winded and sore, but stronger, having seen what you were capable of accomplishing when pushed to the edges of your limits.

She certainly knew something about pushing limits. It was amazing to see how strong she'd been when being strong was her only option. Like when the turmoil and chaos that was life post-Derek almost ripped her world clean in two, creating a mess she had to find the determination and grit to overcome rather than succumb.

Palms set to the floor, she arched her back and sighed as each knot and snarled kink screamed against the low burn. Her body was wound tight as a spring. Too long, she noted, since she'd last had a good stretch, and now she was paying the price.

Easing into downward dog, her calves protested and hamstrings twinged. But as she shifted into plank and then into upward facing dog, Victory felt the protesting muscles, now warmed up, gradually conceding defeat.

Eyes closed, exhaling in a long and slow 'haaaa', she pushed back into downward dog, pressing her chest and heels down, palms to the floor. Tuned in to her body, her breathing, the steady shift and bend, with each new pose, the various parts of her no longer shed bitter tears, and soon she was able to slip away, her thoughts folding out in front of her, clean and clear and focused, as she set her own pace and found a rhythm.

Laundry piling up that needed to be done, tonight, the homemade jams and sauces she needed to make for her mom to take back to Aruba in a couple of weeks.

Gage's wicked mouth.

Don't forget to put upcoming venue meeting with Niobe in calendar.

She should send her father to a golf course for the day while she and her mom went dress shopping with Niobe later in the week. Remember to Google 'best golf course in Toronto' when she got home. Squeeze in an appointment at PNC for a mani/pedi.

Gage's teeth scraping over her bottom lip.

Assholes who screwed up on delivery orders, sending Vivaldi instead of the purple Peruvian potatoes and black truffles in lieu of the requested white.

Gage's ass...

Probably better to think of something else, she told herself as she eased into full lotus, dabbing at her face to mop up the trickles of sweat. But when nothing else as appealing came to mind, she only shrugged. Well, no harm ever came from looking.

The sexiest part of a man's body, without doubt or question, had to be his hands. And Victory woke up the next morning unable to get those of the deliciously mysterious Gage out of her head. Strange, since she hardly knew the man, but last night she'd had the sort of wild and scandalous dreams that made her body sizzle with expectancy.

Besides, thinking wasn't the same as doing and just because a wild and kinky dream was the source of all her morning aches and pains, didn't mean she planned to act on it.

Or did she?

Should she?

And where would Gage fall, she wondered, which side of the line would he stand on between a move for the best or the worst? Would he be something she'd have to survive and endure? Her gut said no, but that didn't mean the fear wasn't still there, tickling in the back of her mind. It was the same sort of unease she experienced whenever a man with a pretty face caught her eye.

The wondering, the questioning, the doubts...nasty little critters that steadily eroded her peace of mind.

Unable to slip back in to meditative calm, Victory scooped up her towel, water bottle and strolled out of the hot yoga room and sighed against the sudden blast of cool air from the AC pumping into the main facility. She scanned the stretch of cardio machines, heard the whirl of the treadmill and the beat of sneakers pounding at a steady jog, saw the hunched shoulders of a woman peddling madly on a stationary bike in a bright pink ensemble, wearing more makeup than Victory did in a month.

Lower down was the weight room and over the buzz of cardio she heard the clanking of metal plates slapping with each screaming rep and thanked god she was blessed with a healthy metabolism and great genetics that didn't require her to count calories or bulk up. She had a great tone and natural shape that a healthy diet and a few hours of yoga could easily maintain.

Shuffling down the stairs, she tried to set aside all thoughts of Gage when her eyes lifted.

He stood in the front lobby of Area Fitness, blonde hair wind swept around a strong neck and broad shoulders. He looked every bit as delicious as she remembered. For a moment she debated circling back to the ladies change room, freshening up a bit when his head swiveled in her direction, eyes smiling behind a pair of gold-rimmed copper-lensed shades. Too late. Shouldering her yoga mat, Victory strolled towards him.

"Hello, again." Popping the top of her water bottle she sipped, long and slow. "Looking to join a gym?"

She was aglow. Face flushed and eyes bright. Sweat glistened on her soft, creamy skin and it took considerable amount of restraint to resist allowing his eyes to travel and appreciate her figure on display in slinky yoga sweats.

"No," Gage confessed, handing her a fresh towel from the stack folded atop the reception desk he leaned against, "but Niobe mentioned, rather casually over breakfast Sunday, that I'd find you here."

"Did she?" Victory sipped again and made a mental note to strangle her best friend for not giving her a head's up. "So you decided to casually stroll on through my neck of the woods? A chance encounter?"

"I'm a man of action. I leave nothing to chance. Besides," he shrugged, a lift of shoulder that sent the rest of his muscled landscape to ripple beneath his bleached cotton shirt, buttoned low and half-tucked into the waist of his jeans. "I'd like to take you to lunch, an apology for stealing your thunder with the media."

And he had, she thought, not that she'd held it against him for long, but even now what little might have lingered, eased with a smile at his concern and Victory started to think she was getting a handle as to which type of move Gage Donovan would present.

"Sounds intriguing, but," she glanced down at herself, swept out her hands for emphasis, "in case you failed to notice, I'm a sweaty mess."

"And beautiful, regardless of your current state of dress, but, I also happen to know, again courtesy of Niobe, that your condo is just around the corner." He said with a devilish sort of grin at seeing her so neatly cornered. "I've booked a table at Tappo for one-thirty. Should give you plenty of time to shower and change."

"Tappo." Victory took another sip to try to hide her smile. He certainly had good taste, and she had to admire a man with an appetite and appreciation for good food, great wine and exceptional women. "What if I already have plans? A date?"

Gage smiled, bright and fast as he stepped in closer and reached out to take her hand, linking fingers. The pad of his thumb skimmed over the back of her knuckles and their eyes connected. Held.

"Cancel. I'll make it worth your while." He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed them against her smooth skin.

Now Victory did laugh. "Alright." She slipped her hand from his grasp, gave his firm chest a playful shove when he narrowed the space between them a degree further. "One-thirty. I'll meet you there."

Ignoring her shove, Gage leaned in close enough to breathe her in as he whispered against the curve of her ear, "I will wait in eager anticipation."

#

Since the man had a way about him that turned her legs to Jell-O, it took her twenty minutes to walk home. Another thirty to shower and change.

And change again.

The weather was warm, the breeze pushing through her open bedroom window was soft and refreshing, so she opted for a pair of casual jeans, slim and fitting stonewash, with a lavender blouse and turquoise teardrops framed in gold at her ears.

Her hair was wavy from the humidity, but it gave both shape and body. Beach hair, as she'd like to think of it, framing her heart-shaped face and eyes—highlighted with only a little mascara emphasizing their almond silhouette. She still had a healthy glow in her cheeks from an hour of yoga and dabbed on sheer gloss to give her lips a bit of sheen.

Standing in front of her full-length mirror, Victory assessed her reflection from all angles. She looked elegant yet effortless, casually put together without trying too hard. Perfect.

It took another ten minutes to make the walk to Tappo where she found Gage seated on the patio, drinking a glass of white, his sunshades pushed back from his handsome face. She took a moment to appreciate the curves and planes of that face. The strong contour of his jaw, the straight nose and flat brow. The kind of subject a photographer would kill to have an hour to explore with light and lens.

Even just sitting there, he exuded something that was all rugged sophistication, drawing the surrounding eyes to him with his magnetic allure.

As she stepped into the patio where she was greeted by a bright and bubbly server, undoubtedly baking in head to toe black, his eyes found her and filled with the warmth of a smile before it travelled to his sculpted, firm mouth.

"Hello, again." Victory lowered into the seat the server pulled out for her and accepted the lunch menu and glass of white Gage poured.

"You look lovely." And she did. Pretty and bright as summer itself. Her cheeks aglow, skin lightly sun-kissed and brown eyes, almost amber, illuminated in the afternoon sun.

"Thanks." She sipped, tried not to sigh. The chilled flavour was bright, rich with a touch of sweetness that was inexplicably refreshing on such a beautiful and hot summer day. "This is delicious." She confessed, setting down her glass. Elbows propped on the table, she bridged her fingers with a smile. "You certainly do have a nose for wine."

"One of my many talents."

"And I could use a man of your talents. In my restaurant. Perhaps you wouldn't mind staking out our house wine list? Even make a few recommendations?"

"I'd be more than happy to." He reached out a hand to take hers, skimmed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. "I'm glad you accepted my impromptu invitation for lunch. I was concerned you might find it too...brazen."

"Oh, not at all. I like brazen." She winked. "I have no problems with a man who speaks his mind. In fact, I prefer to be direct. At all times. Cut through the bullshit."

"Is that so?" Gage turned her hand over so his fingers could trail down the length of her palm and back, eliciting devious little currents to linger in their wake. "Well, I'm glad to hear it because I, too, prefer to be direct. I have no time for bullshit, either. Besides, honesty is so much more interesting."

"It is," Victory agreed, sipping again from her glass and admiring him over the rim. "I had a dream about you last night." How's that for honesty? And she was pleased by the momentary spark of genuine pleasure and surprised shock that rippled in the stunning blue of his eyes.

"Did you?"

"Yes. A particularly interesting dream I'm deciding whether or not I want to make a reality." She held his gaze for a beat, almost challenged it in a playful sort of fashion, letting him see the truth in her eyes instead of saying the simple words. They stared at each other, gaze lingering, for one throbbing moment, as something deeper than simple interest sizzled between them, dangerous and tangible as a live wire.

And as his fingers, circling the inside of her palm, stilled, the smile toying with the corner of his lips changed from curious to intrigued without missing a beat.

"For my sake, I sincerely hope you do."