Waking alone in a woman's bed, after a night of record-breaking sex, wasn't exactly how Gage had thought to start his morning. But upon reading Victory's adorable little message, promising him dinner—and dessert—at her place later tonight, he decided—what the heck, he could forgive her this once for giving him the slip.

After putting in a long day onsite at the hotel, later that evening he found her in the main dining room, moving fast and with all the urgency of a fighter jet operating in stealth. When she saw him, Victory bulleted over, took his hand, and charged straight through the back doors and into the privacy of her office.

"Hey." Behind closed doors, she pressed her lips to his in greeting. "I'm a little behind," she began. "We've been rammed since doors opened, and—" He stopped her by drawing her into a long, warm, indulgent kiss.

As her pulse quickened with a little throaty purr, and when her fingers curled in his shirt, sliding towards the edge of her restraint, he eased back.

"I've been thinking about that all day." His lips curved in a sort of wicked smile that made her legs weak. She had to lock her knees underneath her to keep them steady.

"So have I." She admitted, sliding her hands up to his chest.

"Am I in your way? If you've got too much going on to slip out early, I'll understand."

"No," Victory linked her hands with his. "No, things are finally slowing down. In fact, if you want to come with me to check in on Belinda before we head out?"

"Sure," Gage jerked a shoulder. "Would be cool to see your team in action. As she shrugged out of her chef's coat, his gaze fell to a length of aluminum wedged alongside her desk. Lifting in his hands, his brows winged up with a surprised laugh. "I didn't take you for a baseball girl."

Shouldering her purse, Victory smirked. "Dad's idea of a joke. Says every restaurateur or shopkeeper should own one. Keep the hoodlums at bay. Come on," she reached out, took his hand and led him out and into the fray.

Action proved too gentle a word. Everywhere around him in the kitchen erupted with belching flames, voices, clattering dishes, and was nothing short of sensory chaos. Slowing down, she'd said. What constituted slowing down in his mind obviously differed vastly from hers. Steam rose from the range—the air thick with heat and tension—and billowed between ears.

At the pass, expediting and shouting orders, a tiny little figure stood in chef's white, shouting and cursing steadily in a rather impressive voice that boggled the mind.

"I've got halibut all day, where's my lamb?" She boomed and when a pixie-sized hand slapped against the counter, Gage swore he felt the earth shake. "You need more time? You have sixty seconds. My window's dying; you're dragging the table, Joe. Move your skinny ass!"

A few plates were brought up to the pass and she bent, almost nose to the dish, inspecting and tasting for quality control.

"Those mashed potatoes are perfect, Matthew, keep it up. Amy, love the risotto, and Joe—where's my fucking lamb! Oh, hey boss."

And just like that, Gage thought with amused bafflement, the raging barely five foot Korean tyrant, morphed into a picture of demure innocence.

"I just wanted to let you know I've made a couple cuts, so Greg will be handling Peter's duties, for the rest of the evening. If you need him, get Becky to bring him back, otherwise he'll be working the bar."

"Sure," Belinda bobbed her head and a short, choppy ponytail stuck out like a shark's fin. "Not a problem and—Joe, seriously! Lamb! You want my foot up your ass? Will that make you move faster? How long?"

"Sixty seconds, chef."

"You've got ten!—Yeah, no problems boss," Belinda beamed sweetly, stuffing tiny hands into large coat pockets. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"No, looks like you've got everything under control." Victory smiled brightly. "Cracking the whip on the troops. I'm so proud."

"Yes, well, I learned from the best." Belinda laughed, and then slid narrowed eyes that nearly sliced an unsuspecting Joe in half. Gage eased back a step as she rolled up her sleeves. "Have a great night, boss, I've got to go and shove my foot up someone's ass."

#

Once home, Victory turned on the lights, rubbed a hand over her face.

"God I am wiped," she admitted, flopping across her couch as Gage strode into the kitchen in search of glasses. Uncorking the wine, he brought it over and set them down with the bottle on the coffee table, allowing the vintage a moment to breathe before pouring.

"Here." Lifting her foot, he slipped off her shoe, pressed a thumb against the arch and rubbed until he saw her eyes roll back.

"Oh...my...god," she moaned. "Your hands are dangerous."

"So the ladies tell me," he laughed. "Tough day?"

"In a matter of speaking," she sighed, cracking open an eye to look at him as his fingers worked from the ball of her foot, stroking down to heel and back up. "Had to fire two people tonight."

"Already?" He raised a brow. "Haven't even been open a month. What did they do?"

"Oh, I caught Gail, a waitresses, and Peter, my prized sommelier, having sex in the wine cellar. And while they were busy trying to gather their scattered clothing, I noticed a few wine bottles stuffed inside a bag Peter was trying to hide. Turns out he'd been filching a few of my most expensive Merlots."

"Which ones?"

She slid flaming whiskey eyes to him, her lip curled with a snarl. "L'Apparita. 2006."

Gage winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah," she snarled as he moved his way to her second foot, the one he let go was humming and happy. "He had the nerve to tell me the night before that, three bottles had been accidentally dropped while loading in the shipment. Bastard looked me square in the eye, too, and was stealing from me."

"Takes some serious balls," he agreed. "What did you do?"

"What I wanted to do involved a great deal of violence and would have led to lawsuits and court proceedings, so I simply told them to get the fuck out and they could forget about a recommendation. I don't suppose you're interested in quitting your fulfilling, rewarding and illustrious career to work in my restaurant as my new sommelier?"

"Will I be paid with sex?"

"That could be arranged."

"I'm tempted. How'd they take it?" Gage poured out the wine, handed her a glass.

"Peter didn't even have the grace to blush. But Gail left in tears," the edge in her voice softened at the memory. "Maybe I was too hard on her. She's barely twenty, whereas Peter's old enough to know better."

"Thinking of giving her the job back?"

"Hell no. But I might rethink the recommendation. Kid's trying to work her way through university and needs a job. I'll sleep on it. Where are you going?" she asked when Gage rose.

"You've had a long day and I'm sure you're tired," he smiled.

"Yes, I am." Hooking a foot between his legs, she yanked him forward so that he tumbled back to the couch. Like lightening, she pounced, straddling him.

"Why don't you put me to bed?"

#

Standing in the lobby of the Sphinx, Gage sipped from his Tim Horton's coffee, eyes peeling across the length of street, looking out for Victory. He was waiting, nose almost pressed to glass for the third time this week! A startling realization, and one more first in a litany growing as long as his arm.

This sort of compulsion was beyond his scope of experience. For as long as he could remember, woman had always pursued him. Calling or making thinly veiled excuses to put themselves in his path.

And he'd always gone out of his way to steer clear and give them a wide berth.

He'd never given much thought to longevity in relationships. There never seemed to be much of a point with his work taking him all around the world for months at a time. And he'd preferred it that way. The simplicity and freedom of no complications and entanglements. But Gage could feel a change happening within him. And now, rather suddenly, he found himself watching the tender exchanges between Roarke and Shayne with loving envy. Or even listening to Sam and Niobe as they laughed over wedding details and future plans.

Even wondering over the terrifying joy of impending fatherhood as Matthias, a sweating, nervous wreck as Paige veered ever closer to the big day...the jolt of loneliness was only natural, he thought, when those closest to him were sliding into love and attachments, creating families, or on the verge thereof.

Finally, he saw her. She wore faded pale blue jeans and a bold blue top beneath a cream blazer, the sort of simple outfit that was both causal and classy. And made Gage's mouth water.

She wore her hair down, loose silken waves of black silk he wanted to get his hands in, and on the rest of her. Her face, barely touched with makeup, was distracted, but he brushed it off to the early morning hour, and had a feeling the coffee he was holding for her would be a welcomed site at seven forty five. Before he could push out into the street to join her, he saw a man, carting an oversize bear of shocking pink, step into her path.

At first he thought—what a moron—but then saw as she jerked away from him, the surprise and anger that so violently surged in her eyes, the way she pulled back and snapped when that bear was thrust towards her. Something was wrong, he realized.

Gage set down the tray of coffee, rolled up his sleeves, and braced for a confrontation.

Victory was momentarily too incensed for words, but when the bright slap of shock wore off, all that was left for a blinding, seething and vicious sort of rage she'd never felt in all her life. So when Derek took a step in for an embrace, Victory gave him a merciless shove, wiping the smile off his smug face.

"Here?" She seethed, shoving Derek again. "I told you to stay away." Hit him, the words vibrated in her head, the need shot down to her hands, curling fingers into fists. And oh, how she wanted to.

"Are you sure you want to keep playing this game?" Derek sneered, lowering the mound of eye glaring pink.

"Hey pal, why don't you back up a step?" Acting on instinct, Gage set himself between them. "You okay?" He glanced over at Victory and thought—wow. All women, when crossed, burned hot, and right now, she was blazing, giving him his first real glimmer of fire beneath what he'd always thought of as her smoky looks and sultry voice.

Gage slid an arm around her waist, and wasn't surprised to find her vibrating with temper. "Can I help you?"

"No. Just leaving." Derek gave Gage a single cautious glance, and then swung his calculating eyes back to Victory with a tight-lipped smile that held more malice than mirth. "Vicky, babe, I'll be in touch."

Gage lingered, watching as he stalked off with the ridiculous over-sized bear trailing in his wake. Dumping the bear into the back of a glossy silver Benz, he peeled out into the street like a bullet, almost clipping a green and orange taxi in his haste.

What, Gage wondered, was that all about?

Because Victory was stiff and rigid as lumber, he swept a hand up and down her back. "You okay?"

"Fine." But she bit into the single word with such vehemence, he instinctively wanted to gird his loins. Then she whipped those flashing brown eyes up at him and he thought, damn, how could a woman so violently incensed still be so sexy?

"Didn't look like nothing," he mused, easing back a step, just in case she thought to use him to vent that simmering fury. Though the idea of hauling an angry woman upstairs for a morning of furious sex did have its merits. The brief fantasy had the faintest hint of a smile toying at the edge of his lips.

And it was that hint of a smile to send the edge of her temper tail spinning towards the truly dark and volatile.

"Why are you here?" she seethed. "Don't you have something else to do other than poke your nose where I don't need it?"

"I know you're upset, and I get it if I've stepped on a nerve," Gage warned with a spark of his own temper ignited, "but don't make the mistake of roping me in as your punching bag."

The beat of silence that stretched out between them tolled like a warning bell telling him to back off, and her to ease up. Yet both of them stood poised, almost revving to provoke the other and damn the odds.

But sense and cooler heads prevailed. He was right. She was angry, and taking it out on him for no reason other than he was just there. And a man.

Dammit, she was not going to be that woman.

"Sorry," she sighed, the sound full of weary impatience. "That came out wrong."

"Damn right it did." Irritation bubbled in his voice but Gage was quick to stomp out most of it. No point, he thought, in kicking her when she was clearly already down. But there was nothing he could do, he thought, about the scowl. "Are you seeing someone else?"

The question caught her off guard, but he saw the stunned surprise and the jolt of disgust and knew he'd drawn on the wrong conclusion.

"God, no." Fingers pressed to her eyes, Victory shook her head. And this was why she hadn't wanted to get involved with Gage in the first place. The past, as she was learning, no matter how neatly buried, never stayed that way for long.

"Look," she dropped her hands, reached out to take his. "I've got a long day ahead of me and need to get in there. I'll call you, okay?" She pressed into him for a kiss, more dismissal than desire, and was gone without so much as a backward glance.

Stumped and a little pissed off, Gage thrust his hands into his pockets. Women, he thought, were a constant source of mystery and a never-ending study in frustration. Whatever happened, whatever he'd had the misfortune of witnessing was already driving a wedge between them. And that simply wasn't going to fly.

But he'd let it go for now, then circle back and deal with her later. Give her maybe a day, or two, to sort herself out.

One way or another, she owed him an explanation, and Gage would see that he got it.