A chill shot down her spine, the hair on the nape of her neck and arms stood on end.

Jasmine's eyelids fluttered, then flew open as she sat up with a sharp intake of breath, her heart beating an unsteady rhythm in her chest. For a shocking second she could have sworn she sensed a presence staring at her, reaching with an extended arm as though wanting to touch her.

She looked around wildly and found no one, placing a hand over her racing heart. She couldn't be sure if she was imagining it. The thought of being watched, as she slept unaware, caused a shiver to skim over her arms.

Could it have been Sammy?

It was then she realized she was still fully dressed in her burgundy knee-high dress she wore to the lunch with Zayn and sleeping on her satin white bedspread. Even her high heels were still on her feet. She and Sammy used the service elevators to reach the penthouse and went separate ways. The last thing she remembered going to her bedroom and collapsing onto the mattress with her arms spread wide with no intention to sleep but to only rest.

Kicking off the heels she yawned, stretching out like a feline and turns her head to check the digital clock on the nightstand. It said ten o'clock in the evening. She'd slept for hours. Sitting up and stretching her arms above her head with another yawn, she heard something.. . .just a whisper of a sound so faint it could have been mistaken for her imagination. Her eyes latched on to the door of her bedroom which was slightly, cracked open.

Someone was behind the door and erratically panting. Her mind wasn't playing tricks on her. She held her breath and froze like a statue, willing her heart that jump started, to slow in even beats, listening to the defeating silence. Whoever was at her door stood still because she couldn't hear the breathing anymore nor the shifting.

"Sammy?" She calls out, pausing for only a second. "Sammy is that you?"

Her heart resumed its rapid thudding as she quietly scoots her bottom to the edge and swings her legs over the side of the bed ready to stand.

"Hello?" She called harshly.

Jasmine concentrated, ready to hear Sammy jump from behind the door and scare the living hell inside her. She stood swiftly without making a sound and took a step. With a sickening feeling pooling in her stomach somehow she knew whoever was behind her door wasn't about to come out as she waited for an answer. The intense quiet was shattered listening to faint footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Jasmine sucked in a breath listening to the front door of the penthouse being yanked open and seconds later, it shuts with a soft thud. Suspended in a locked state for merely a few seconds, the Adrenalin began pumping in her blood and before she could register what she was doing, she rushed passed the door and ran down the hall to the now closed front door. Struggling anxiously with the handle, Jasmine managed to wrench it open and purely running from instinct, she raced into the hallway wildly searching right than left. Her hands were fisted as her body tensed, readying itself for a fight. She felt her anger rise and the heat rush up her neck and face when she didn't find a living soul in the hallway.

Standing motionless, she listened for any sounds, any indication that somebody might have turned the corner and hid. Her eyes narrowed, ears alert.

The penthouse was the only room on that level. She was almost positive the elevator wasn't used. The hotel was mostly safe and secure. Nobody could enter any given floor except with a pre-programmed card key they scanned to the panel inside the elevator. Every guest had the luxury to swipe and go as the panel read the information and delivered guests to the particular level they occupied.

She took several steps, hesitating at the emergency exit door down at the end of the hallway. Pausing, she cautiously pushed the door open and was met with a hit of cold air, grey stairs, and florescent lights. Jasmine braced herself for the imminent attack of surprise. But none came.

She stood completely still and even held her breath in hopes she didn't alert the intruder of her presence. Merely listening for any sign of movement or the echoing of someone's steps, she kept the door open with one arm. Her eyes glued to the stairwell which steadily wound to the upper and lower levels.

Senses on high alert, she kept expecting to hear something, anything. It was deathly quiet and for once she didn't feel safe in her own hotel. The only floors that were off limits were her penthouse and employee quarters–unless somebody entered using their ID card at the lock-pad. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed at the digital scanner. She did a mental note to check the database for that information and any unusual activity on the CCTV security cameras.

Shaking her head in confusion and breathless from the adrenalin still coursing through her veins, Jasmine was wide awake as she re-entered the penthouse with shaking hands, walking straight to the living room. To her surprise she found Sammy rubbing a hand over his face letting out a ferocious sounding yawn. The television was on and the volume was low.

"Was that you running just now?" He asked, still in his suit as if he too passed out when they got back.

Jasmine slumped her body and sagged against a plush chair, propping up her feet on the matching ottoman. "Someone was in here just now breathing heavily behind my bedroom door as I woke up. I ran to catch up with whoever it was and they ran right out of here before I could catch them."

"You're kidding, right?" He asks in disbelief.

"I wish I was. To make things worse, I've had this incredibly weird feeling like someone's been watching me, following me even."

"Bullshit." Sammy says in a deadpanned voice, staring at her with round eyes. "You-you never said anything to me before!"

Jasmine could hear the rising hysteria in his tone. She was still too angry to feel afraid. Her body felt like it was being poked by hundreds of needles that she wanted to fight off. "I wasn't entirely certain. But this little incident just confirmed what my intuition has been telling me all along."

"I can feel the little hairs on my skin sprouting!" Sammy shivered, shaking off the eerie feeling that rushed through his body. "Too bad Coco's getting pampered like the little princess she is at the groomers. She would have barked her little head off. That girl hates strangers. Wait. You don't think this has something to do with . . .Russo, do you?"

Jasmine blew out a frustrated breath. "I doubt he'd be the one breaking into my home and watching me sleep." But another thought entered her mind. "Or he's trying to shake me up and having someone else do it."

"Ohhhhhh, if that's the case, he's one sick motherfücker!"

Jasmine couldn't agree more, rubbing her temples. This situation was getting worse. The flowers and messages were bad enough but watching her and now breaking into her penthouse was even worse. She shook her head and her eyes.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take. I don't want to go to this stupid dinner you agreed to. He sent the information to my assistant earlier this morning and it makes me sick to my stomach that I have to endure this evil bastard and look like I don't give two shits about what he's doing to me."

"I know this might sound far fetched but what if it's not him? What if some freak is stalking you? Did that ever cross your mind?"

A violent shiver ran through, her mouth growing dry with dread. "I'm going to go out of my mind, right now. That's all I need, another freak after me. Let's be serious Sammy!"

"Listen to me for just a second!" He snapped. "I mean, he doesn't fit the description. He just doesn't strike me as the type to stoop this low. He'd never get his hands dirty like this." Sammy explained, shrugging off his suit jacket, placing it neatly over the armchair, smoothing down the material to free it of creases.

He appeared relatively calmer, standing and shoving his hands into this pant pockets. The psychologist side in him was surfacing. Jasmine wondered if he was aware of how he was changing from his usual quirky, carefree, unpredictable attitude to a more serious, poised individual.

Jasmine nodded, swallowing her anxiety. "Maybe you're right. We cannot prove anything unless we have evidence. I need to make a phone call to security and have them go through the camera footage. Perhaps, they'll be able to give me some answers. Or it might prove that I'm losing my mind no thanks to all this stress I'm under and imagining things that aren't there."

If Sammy was right, and someone else was in her home with different intentions, than she had more problems than she could deal with at the moment. Or she was going crazy. A crushing sense of being trapped descended upon her. She wanted to cry over the events that kept throwing her life into a tailspin.

"Well, we're not canceling the dinner. You can't back out now and act like a coward! The more you avoid him the worse it'll get. You and I are going to that dinner he planned and act like we don't give two shits about what he's doing!"

Alarm and disbelief crossed her face.

"We're going to look like pussies if we don't show. The more we spend in his company, the more we'll learn. He might slip up and say or do something that can gives us a clue about what he's planning. And that information will help us. We have to go to this dinner."

Jasmine opened her mouth to argue, but no words would come out. She didn't have the energy to argue and relying on Sammy was her only choice in the meantime. She didn't have any control of anything that was happening to her nor any clue on what to do. She wanted it to end and for Cristiano to go away so she could feel normal again.

"Whatever." Jasmine shook her head in irritation and looked away, happening to glance at the television. The news was starting. "Turn up the volume would you?" She gestures to the television and the remote laying on the sofa he had occupied.

"Lord have mercy! Not the news again! If I wanted to be tortured, I'd watch re-runs of The Wendy Williams Show" Sammy complained.

"Sammy." Jasmine said expectantly, nodding at the remote. Very reluctantly he raised the volume.

"We have breaking news. . . As we have reported, the police have been closely monitoring the shocking killings of young women spreading in the city. This is the work of a single suspect and it leads to the Casanova Killer. Yes, ladies and gentleman, he's struck again. Police discovered the body of another mutilated female. Rose Binafiz was pronounced dead on the scene. This ongoing investigation has baffled officials and–"

Jasmine repressed a shiver as the screen went blank. Her eyes met Sammy's frantic expression.

"My heart dropped down to my ass!" He exclaims, with accusing eyes. "After tonight, I ain't watching no damn news!"

"Give me the remote, Sammy!" She demanded, rising. "I want to know if they've learned more about the killings!"

"I got ninty-nine problems, and another dead bitch ain't one! The last thing you and I need is more paranoia. Don't let this shit get to your head. You have enough to deal with."

"I'm living in the very city this freak killer is in. Who wouldn't want to watch the latest news about what's going on?"

"The wrinkles in your forehead will get stuck if you don't stop frowning." He notes, watching Jasmine's face relax as she ripped the remote from his hands.

She powers the television back on but the newscasters moved on to another story. Sending him a glare over her shoulder, she switches the channel. Re-runs of the Oprah Winfrey show was on. With a frustrated sigh, she moves on to another channel trying to get her mind off her slowly building anxiety.

"Wait a minute." Sammy nears the television. "Wait, was that Oprah? Long live the Queen!" He drops to his knees in front of the television and spread his arms wide. "I love Oprah more than she loves bread. Go back to the channel! Go back!"

"No." She simply replies and stops at a channel with the Queen of England's image popping on the screen.

"All this stalker shit is making you loose your damn mind. Who do you think you are cutting off the Queen of America like that?"

******

Jasmine rolled over and stared up the darkened ceiling. She didn't need to look at a clock to know that she should have been asleep hours ago. She couldn't stop thinking about the intruder in her room, the Casanova Killer or Cristiano.

Before they went to bed, Sammy insisted they block the front door with furniture just in case their previous visitor was stupid enough to come back. Afterwards, he muttered a prayer, "May Jesus be my fence." And made the cross sign over his chest. He was obviously just as spooked by it as she was.

She turned on her side and stared at the curtained window, wondering if it was part of Cristiano's plot to scare her by sending someone to her home. She certainly wouldn't put it past him. Like Sammy said: he'd never get his hands dirty.

Her fingers plucked restlessly at the quilt that covered her. How was she supposed to sleep when her entire life had been turned upside down?

Tossing and turning, Jasmine managed to slip into a restless sleep at almost three in the morning.

Jasmine walked into a dark room as if under a spell and closed the door and found Cristiano watching her, a questioning expression on his face as if he couldn't believe she was in the same room. He was sitting in a chair next to a window, legs crossed, looking as though he belonged there. She stalked toward him, recklessly unaware of how badly she wanted to hit him and punish him for Zayn and herself, punish him for all the shitty things that have happened to her since she set eyes on him, and lastly for wanting him.

"Why do you persist on torturing me? Why won't you leave me alone?"

He let her approach, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward like someone in control. Jasmine walked up to him and he settled back in the chair he sat on, letting her crowd his space and come between his thighs.

Waiting.

"Why?" She asked again.

Her eyes searched his face, looking for signs of what he was thinking. There was tension in his shoulders, and sensed he was holding himself very still. much like a wolf in the forest waiting to see what she'd do next before he pounced.

"You are bound to me." He says simply, with a hint of chauvinism, holding her stare.

She noticed his jaw clench. His hands rose, resting on her waist keeping her between his legs. His touch made her nearly flinch as if his touch were electrically charged. Her breath hitched. But the way he held her made it feel like she really did belong to him. It was possessive–hot and dominant.

His fingers tighten on her hips as she tried to escape him. But he firmly held her still.

She sensed an eagerness and restraint from him and was suddenly swarmed with fear and pleasure at his touch. It made her feel lightheaded, her nipples tingling inside her bra. As if he heard the call of her desire, his gaze climbed her body, stroked her breasts, her lips before reaching her eyes once more.

A rush of desire pulsed through her at the flare of his nostrils, his hands gripping her hips tightly.

"As much as I want to hurt you, I won't. You are a weakness to me."

She was left winded by his confession.

His weakness?

Since when does Cristiano Russo show or reveal he had an Achilles heel? He didn't seem like the type of man to have one. He always appeared to be strong and in control. Jasmine had a difficult time absorbing his words and yet, she was filled with dizzying joy as her resentment faded.

He held eye contact with her as though he couldn't look away, forging a bond only he could break if he wanted. He jerked her forward so that she fell towards him, falling into his lap on his hard muscled thighs, his eyes leveled with her own. They were so close she saw the pupils of his eyes contract slightly.

They were luminous with desire.

Her heart was pounding so loudly it sounded like it was ricocheted around the room. The electricity in the air is hot and burning. She wanted to struggle out of his hold. She fought to summon some shred of rebellion, wanting to resist. But he smelled so good, felt so warm–the primal attraction between them rising, drawing them together in a sticky web they couldn't get out of.

Jasmine didn't want to let him go. She wanted him. She wanted him to cherish her, ravish her. She wanted to forget the reason why she had to stay away from him.

"You're lying!" Jasmine insisted trying to fight her need. "Why should I believe–"

His hands came up, cradling her head in his large palms before titling his head and plunging his tongue into her gaping mouth in desperation like he was a starving man. Jasmine struggled for a moment, then sagged in temporary defeat. The kiss is hot, hard and demanding. His mouth devouring her, she couldn't catch up with him nor match his fervor. He dominates her fully as if to show her she had no choice but to surrender to him.

Their tongues battled and Jasmine couldn't breath, didn't care if she never drew breath again as long as the kiss didn't have to end. Her nipples pulsed against the fabric of her nightgown and the hardness of Cristiano's chest, and there was a hot, melting sensation in her middle that promised more pleasure. She trembled and gave a soft cry as he bent his head to kiss the pulse point at the base of her throat.

She was lost on a whirl of emotion and physical wanting as his hands roamed her body, arching her back as he began attacking one of her erect nipples through the silky fabric of her nightgown. He teased the point until it sharpened while his hands groped her bottom and squeezed.

Jasmine groaned and let her head fall back. He enjoyed her other breast as though it were ripe fruit and teased her a little longer before trailing kisses along her throat.

"You. Are. Mine. Yasmina." He whispers in her ear, panting the words, breathing them through her until they soaked through her, passed her skin, saturating her blood. "All mine."

His words causes a new influx of desire to pool in her groin and clenching all her muscles tightly deep inside her. She wanted more than words. She wanted him to give her everything he had, everything he was. . .to her.

"I will come for you."

Jasmine woke drenched in sweat early that morning and gave up trying to go back to sleep, laying in bed for the longest time. She was left disoriented, shaken, panting, needing, and wanting more.

The passion and desire she felt in her dream pooled at her center and a throb that had not come to life by another made its place known, drenching her panties. Her skin was so electrified she could no longer stay in bed.