The perks of being a model included showing off designer collections, the lavish parties, meeting celebrities. Jasmine's favorite part was the being in the background watching all these people interact and paying close attention to the details.

She was dressed in a lace cocktail dress of deep fuschia that reached her knees and hugged every inch of her body while she held a black leather agenda book clutched beneath her arm surveying the guests and making sure every thing ran smoothly for the evening. The lavish party the hotel was hosting was for a group of Victoria Secret models, their agents and the company officials.

The entire ballroom was draped in fuchsia colored silk, tables adorned with ostrich feather centerpieces while simple gold chairs framed the round tables. Pink lighting reflected the the walls leaving every corner lightened like a oasis. The white led dance floor stood center of the large room accommodating guests to a night of dancing. Surrounding the tables and dance floor were areas furnished with modern white sofas and chairs for those that didn't want to mingle or dance creating a casual homy feel for relaxation.

She was mid conversation with the banquet manager when she glanced away momentarily–a regular habit of hers where she rapidly scanned her gaze over the guests as she spoke. She had to look twice, not believing her eyes, completely stunned into speechlessness when her eyes landed on the last person she expected to see. A look of shock worked its way across Jasmine's face as an immediate angry flush reddened her cheeks. Coal black hair, black as the devil's, gleamed in the lights. Tall with a powerful physique, he dwarfed most men in the room. Her stomach plummeted all the way down to her feet when saw him.

The world goes still.

Impossible.

He moved with a self-assurance that seemed to claim his own with every inch of the ground beneath his feet. A man who looked so indomitable, his savagely beautiful face and powerful body making every female head turn and glance at him twice. His dynamic presence seemed to fill the entire ballroom, demanding attention. He didn't even have to try. He did it with such ease it was hard not to stare.

Cristiano Russo himself stood across the room having just entered the ballroom. She never thought she'd see him in such a short amount of time. A week hadn't even passed since that day in Hyde Park.

What the hell was he doing here? So the flowers and the messages weren't enough? He had to come and make his torment known in the flesh and blood, on her territory, no less.

Excusing herself from her forgotten conversation, she moved along the outskirts, keeping her eyes on him in the shadows. Jasmine finally paid attention to those around her and listened to the whispers of the God-like Italian. To her annoyance the whispers came from the women.

Their eyes begged to be noticed by him. Their smiles were full of promises of all the naughty things they'd want to do to him. They worshiped him like he was a rare piece of art. The combination of his devastating good looks, obvious innate sexuality brought out the hunting instinct in more than a few of the young ladies starting to cluster around him.

He certainly was swoon worthy, aside from his behavior–she'd admit that much to herself. Any woman with a pulse practically drooled when they saw the devastatingly handsome Italian. The dark haired beauty she saw with him at the park was on his arm. Jasmine couldn't believe her eyes, continuing to watch from a safe distance. What disgusted her the most was when, even with that girls arm linked with his, women passed him their telephone numbers discreetly. Others favored him with inviting eyes and a sway of their hips or a tilt of their heads. He of course noticed the attention, covertly sending some of them a wink or a small smirk.

What a bastard. The dark beauty on his arm was standing there looking like a piece of furniture. The man had no respect. He had no shame. She was the one who should have his undivided attention.

After a few moments, the woman left his side and began mingling with other guests. Jasmine wonders what he was doing in her hotel. Was the girl he came with a model? She had to be from the looks of her. Devastatingly beautiful, with slender legs and a perfect body–from her distance it was impossible to make out her features in order to recognize if she'd ever seen her in the lingerie magazine or the annual Victoria Secret Fashion show.

Jasmine redirects her attention back on Cristiano, watching him move to the bar and come away with a glass of champagne, as he scans the room, eyes flashing in the dim glow of the ballroom. He appeared so sophisticated and powerful standing there all alone as she takes a moment to really look at him without distractions. She takes in his form–the broad shoulders, muscular arms that bulge slightly at his perfectly tailored tuxedo. The 5 o'clock shadow, chiseled jawline and piercing eyes.

He looked like a million bucks. Money goes a long way in making a man attractive but there was just something about the way he held himself that spoke volumes. His aura screamed danger and so much confidence it oozed from him.

As she moved slowly for the next thirty minutes, as clear across the room as possible, every few minutes her eyes searched for him, keeping an eye out while checking with staff before slipping away for the night. Jasmine was just about to go, sparing one last glance in Cristiano's direction finding him, cloaked in the shadows observing the crowd and cradling his drink in his hands.

Jasmine sighed, scanning the guests one last time feeling restless, eager to leave before she was recognized. But fate had other plans, it seems. Sparing one last glance at the dark devil, she went wide-eyed. As if he sensed the beckoning of her gaze from across the room passed all the heads, voices and music, Cristiano's gaze practically seared her soul with his piercing dark eyes. The color ebbed from Jasmine's face, leaving her pale and faint while her heart leaped to her throat and she struggled not to reveal her discomfort.

His stare was fixed on her.

He never moved.

He never changed his neutral expression.

Their eyes locked across the room as though transfixed. That dark stare of his immobilized her.

Their eyes clash in silent battle like two people in a staring challenging. One waiting for the other to give up and break the trance. The look he was giving her spoke volumes. As if he was in on a little secret nobody else knew. As though he read her mind, he sends her a lazy, knowing half-smile. Trailing his champagne glass teasingly across his lips, he took a long drink. He lowered his glass from his lips and licks them slowly as his gaze moved seductively over her, a dangerous sparkle in his eyes.

A pair of hungry eyes reflected back at her. Like a hungry lion that happened to find his next meal. Her lips parted on a quick intake of breath.

Jasmine was shocked in place like the statues in Hyde park–the day they were confronted by Cristiano because they so rudely bumped into his lady. It was as if she transported back there in an instant, back at Hyde park, standing there with Sammy when all hell broke loose as the scene replays before her.

They were surprised, when our of nowhere, men looking like bodyguards appeared trying to block their way and confronting them. She recalled the moment one of them towered over her, grasping her hard by her arms roughly trying to stop her from making an escape. He gave her a shake. Her sun glasses slipped off her face as her fighting skills surged forward and did the first thing that came to mind and kicked him in the groin. The man fell to the floor in agony placing both hands over his crotch.

Her heart beating wildly, Jasmine was acutely aware of Sammy somewhere, slightly behind her, fending off the other guard. As she turned she saw him lifting his handbag and hit the man in the face. Her glasses momentarily forgotten, she rushed at Sammy and dragged him back who looked ready to spring like a monkey and jump the guy twice his size. With all her strength, Jasmine pushed him away, screaming in his face to stop, desperately fighting to hold him back from attacking the man.

Panting with exertion, Jasmine knew they needed to escape while their assailants were temporarily derailed. No amount of adrenalin coursing through their blood would help them win the fight. The men held a great advantage, with their brute strength and muscular weight.

Sammy furiously cussed them every word in the book while slowly backing away toward the exit until he noticed her Gucci glasses left sprawled on the floor. The sight of them momentarily shut him up. Ripping out of her grasp he scattered to retrieve them.

"We are not leaving Gucci on the floor for no one!" Sammy insisted, a wild glint in his eyes.

Jasmine was at a loss as to what to do next, looking horror-stricken. From the corner of her eyes she noticed Cristiano and his lady guarded by a third guard, the broad expanse of his back blocking their view, his arms spread wide circling around them protectively. Cristiano was swearing profusely in Italian, angrily pushing against his guard to let him pass.

Confusion filled her. Then it clicked–the comprehension descending over her.

Originally she thought they were the security detail for the restaurant and then realized these men were Cristiano's men–his personal bodyguards. She was so surprised she never spotted them before. It was though they were in the background, unseen and blending in as basic commoners.

By the time Sammy retrieved her glasses, the two men they fought regained their composure and stood, chests heaving, their beefy muscled arms clenching with iron strength promising a good thrashing. They appeared ferocious, huge and barbaric. One of the two said something in Italian. It sounded bitter and harsh, not needing a translation, Jasmine knew it was something insulting.

Sammy backs away slowly, watching the men with his sharp beady eyes and making a grab for her arm again while the other cradled her glasses, his arm bag hanging from his arm.

"Time to scram!" He says.

"You think!?!" She exclaimed.

The entire restaurant was in a riot, the tension rising. People stood not knowing what to do, looking stricken with fright. Some of the men in the audience stood trying to interfere but not knowing which side of the fight to take. The two huge men closed the distance with every step they took backwards. They were ready to attack, taking menacing steps.

"RUN!" Sammy screamed.

Sammy and Jasmine both jumped at the same time, turned and started running like a pack of rabid wild dogs were after them. Sweeping through the swinging doors of the kitchen, they collided with a waiter carrying a large tray. The young man struggled to keep the tray balanced on his arm as Sammy and Jasmine brush past him.

To her utter horror, Sammy stops for a second, let's go of her arm and kicks the waiter in the back. The poor boy, and the tray full of dishes crashed to the floor, colliding into the men, earning them some extra time to make a getaway.

Without a seconds hesitation, they tore through the restaurant.

What a spectacle she and Sammy made as they ran as though their lives depended on it, their hearts racing in terror. They heard a deep roar echo through the park behind them, the men chasing them. With a speed stemming from pure survival instinct, they ran.

They ran faster than marathon runners.

Hands flailing in the air, their footsteps heavy as they pounded the ground. They never stopped racing down the long path, dodging tourists, people on horseback, statues, trees and leaping over dogs forcing themselves onward until at last they made it back deep into the park and reaching the entrance, never looking back once.

Their lungs burning, chests heaving, they quickly waved for a taxi. They never spoke a word until they were safely tucked back at the hotel and inside the penthouse. By then the adrenalin pumping through their blood dissipated, both Sammy and Jasmine collapsed in the living room, each occupying a sofa and sprawled like beached whales.

"Let's take a break from going out for a while." Sammy said after a long stretch of silence, his voice full of exhaustion.

Jasmine couldn't agree with him more. She was planning to give Sammy an ear full when they made it back safe but she didn't have the strength. She hadn't had so much drama happen all in one day then it did her whole entire life. It was a day she hoped will never be repeated.

And now, coming back to present, she repeated the very same actions that lead her away from Cristiano countless times before–she was running away from him.

Jasmine slowly maneuvered herself farther and farther away, until she could just make out the top of Cristiano's head above the crowd. Inching closer to the exit because she was not ready to face him, she could still feel his gaze following her. Summoning all her strength not to run out of the ballroom, she clenched her teeth together, glanced away and strode quickly out of the reception. She told herself the reason she was avoiding him at all costs was for fear that he might suspect the truth, but even now, as she clung to the excuse she knew it was a lie.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jasmine walked in a fast pace to the service elevators the employees used and pressed the button repeatedly as it would help summon its arrival. Darting a quick look over her shoulder she found herself alone. Relief flooded her body, her racing heart calming down. The doors softly opened and she practically jumped inside, repeatedly pressing the fourth floor button which would drop her off to her office.

Only, the nightmare couldn't possibly get worse.

As the elevator doors closed, olive fingers slipped through the small crack. At first they resisted and shuddered wanting to close as she desperately pressed at the button signaling to close the door. Gripping both doors they were pushed wide apart by no other than the man who followed her.

Cristiano.

"We need to talk," he says.

The angled slant of his cheekbones cast shadows over his features and his mouth was grim and unsmiling. His powerful body tense. For a moment, she swayed with the sheer shock of seeing him in the same elevator, in the same confined space.

Alone.

He recognized her from the restaurant. Thats why he was confronting her. Jasmine could feel the panic boiling up inside her.

"Not here," she said, her throat so dry that her words sounded strangled pressing her back against the wall. She couldn't be alone with him. God only knew what he was planning. The man was unpredictable and very dangerous from what she'd observed because if someone like him had a back-up of bodyguards following him around only meant trouble.

There was a pause while their eyes clashed in a silent battle of wills.

"No," he snapped now standing with legs parted and fists clenched to his sides. "We will do this now." His face was hard like granite and eyes just as cold flickered over her from head to toe shamelessly. As if he had the right. As if she was his possession and he owned her. "You've lost weight." He noted, changing his tone and appearing calm.

She cut him a cold, hard glare feeling her heart miss a beat, unsure if it was caused by disappointment, anger or something else entirely.

The massive double doors of the elevator close behind him with a light ding. Seconds later, as it makes it decent, his fist slams the red stop button and the entire elevator shuttered with a lurching movement, followed by complete and deafening silence as it came to a hard stop. Her eyes wander to the digital screen on the illuminated panel above his head.

He backed her into a corner and she knew it.

Jasmine needed to remind herself she was dealing with a man for whom control was key. His charm was his gun. His smile the barricade.

Thick tension entered the air. She could feel it building like a violent thunderstorm. Just act calm. Don't act ashamed or intimated, she told herself. But nothing could stop the accusation from entering her eyes recalling his terrible, propositioning words nor the flowers he sent to torment her.

"I have nothing to say to you." She says, folding her arms across her chest, giving him her dirtiest look.

His eyes flicker to her crossed arms, a move that accentuated her cleavage. She blushed furiously but refused to be intimated by his stare.

"Ah but cara, I have much to say to you." His eyes meet her eyes once more, his expression closed.

The man was hard to read. His voice was controlled yet she sensed he was holding back as though he placed walls around himself. How odd, she thought. This man's mood changes gave her whiplash.

"I'd rather be stuck in here with the devil himself than some arrogant, egotistical sex maniac!" She snapped, her grey glacial eyes shooting ice.

Cristiano's dark eyes narrow. "You dishonor me with such a description!" He declared furiously.

Jasmine smiled triumphantly, "Have I struck a nerve. . . Mr. Russo? It's the truth after all."

"Perhaps, I was mistaken about you. . .Brave, strong-willed, smart. You move beautifully, Yasmina," his voice was wicked, soft, almost like velvet watching her with an expression of quiet intensity. "You are as graceful as the wind, and as shy as a dove, and yet I sense steel inside you. A real woman in every sense of the word." Cristiano takes a few steps toward her, hands in his pockets casually.

She realized he must have been watching her covertly before she spotted him. Her cheeks flooded with heat. It didn't appear like he was confronting her because of what happened at Hyde Park.

"That's not what you thought not so long ago, you silver-tongued liar!"

He bent his head towards her ear and Jasmine felt dizzy at his particular scent washed over her senses and suddenly she wanted to weep at the way he treated her and the impact of how hurtful and humiliating his words made her feel. He shattered the innocent side of her that still hoped and believed in fairy tales and heroes. Where men were chivalrous and unselfish.

A small part of her wished he were one of those men.

"Oh, cara, don't you know you're irresistible when you're angry?" The corner of his mouth lifted.

That cheap charm again snapped her back to reality. Jasmine had the urge to roll her eyes.

"Does that line work on the all the ladies? Because it's very pathetic."

The insult struck a nerve it seems, sensing his body language change as she moved away from his close proximity and gave her some breathing space. The air was becoming uncomfortably warm and stuffy.

"And you're all I've thought about since that night." He growled facing her and inching closer again.