Chapter One

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry!" Justin apologized after literally smashing into a supple body much smaller than his own.

"Accepted." She said rudely, wiping off the liquid that had spilled out of her glass. She gave him a downward glance, rolled her eyes, and turned back to her martini.

Taking offense to her actions and becoming irritated, Justin made the move to introduce himself to further display his admission of guilt.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met. I'm Justin Timb-"

"I know who you are. I don't live in a cave." She replied, yet again her rude tone irritating him.

"Look, I was polite and apologized for bumping into you. I don't appreciate or deserve your attitude." He inwardly cursed himself. He always had to be right and speak the last word. If it wasn't for his arrogance, he'd be twenty feet from this woman by now. But no, he just had to prove that he was right and she was wrong.

"Oh, the poor Pop Prince has been disrespected. I should feel so ashamed!" He could tell that she wasn't on her first martini by the way her body slightly swaggered as she insulted him.

"You don't even know me, Lady." Disgust showed evidently on his face and he turned to walk away. Her voice piercing over the loud music stopped him before he even took a step.

"What's not to know? You're an all-American-handsome, virginal, flawless specimen of a man without any emotional, physical or mental problems, am I right...or is that just what they make you out to be?" Her words infuriated him and gave him the unmistakable urge to put her in her place. He'd make her feel very bad about herself by the time he was finished with her.

"All-American-handsome? Yeah, so I've been told by millions of women. Flawless specimen? Hardly. Lack of emotional, physical, or mental problems? Another Negative." Justin moved in close to her and placed his lips at the edge of her ear, "And I'm anything but virginal."

The low pitch of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She felt embarrassment at the obvious knowledge that he knew the effect his words had had on her body. With an evil smirk of victory, he let his lips barely touch the tip of her ear and spoke in the same seductive tone, "Maybe by the end of the night you'll be giving me the chance to prove how adulterated I really am." He turned and walked away from her, not looking back and letting his words linger in her mind.

"What a bitch." He muttered to himself. He hoped she was drowning in her own panties by now. She deserved every bit of his cruel teasing, he thought. Of course it never occurred to him that when he "sexually punished" women, as he called it, he was really just fueling their fantasies and intriguing them even more.

He knew of his affect on women. He wasn't in the dark about that; about how he could make a female feel about her sexual desires, and in such cases like this one, he had the ability to use it as a defense mechanism. Not to his surprise, it worked amazingly well every time he used it.

Shrugging the situation off, he walked up to and sat down at the bar and ordered his usual. The amount of people surrounding him was nearly overwhelming to him, and he figured he might be ordering a few extra drinks just to get through the night. Then again, he didn't need to stay, but this was his only escape from a lonely hotel suite. It didn't really matter where he was, however. Even with the surrounding people and the growing number of women who had started to notice him since he had walked in, he still felt as lonely as he did in those empty hotel rooms.

The bartender slid his drink in front of him, and he graciously thanked him. The first swig of the amber-colored drink tasted like a complete soul renewal. He closed his eyes and reveled in the lingering feeling for a moment. It was bitter and strong but the drink served its purpose.

By his second swig, he felt a tapping on his shoulder and he mentally prepared to either greet and thank an enthused fan or politely decline an offer from a strange woman who only wanted him for the man he portrayed himself to be on stage. To his dismay, he had to do neither; it was her.

"I just wanted to apologize for my behavior back there. I'm really sorry. You're right, I don't know you, so I have no right to criticize or insult you." She stood and waited for some type of reply to her apologetic confession, a slight grin on her face.

He looked at her for a moment. Apparently his cruelty worked too well. Now, here she was trying to act on the sexual desires he'd ignited in her with such malicious intentions.

"What's your name?" he asked her. As much as he hated to admit it, the evident effect he seemed to have on her was beginning to intrigue him. On top of that, he was also beginning to notice little things about her like the way the center of her full bottom lip glistened more than any other part of her mouth, as if it were beckoning for attention, and the way her strapless shirt clung dearly to and perfectly outlined the roundness of her breasts. He caught his eyes before his glance to them lingered too long. He mentally shook away the filthy thoughts starting to accumulate in his mind.

Before she could answer him, her eyes stared into his a moment too long; she felt it. She also felt that spark of interest he wasn't hiding very well, or was he even trying to hide it? She had to admit that she found him completely attractive; there wasn't a woman in the world that didn't. But the little stunt he pulled moments ago wasn't one that she was willing to easily forget. She wasn't some easy tramp placed on this Earth for his amusement; she wasn't some crazed fan whose emotions he could fuck with as he pleased. She was a grown-ass woman. But if he wanted to play childish sexual games, she was all for taking the house.

She slowly pulled a lock of her rich, dark hair behind her ear, and let her hand subtly slide down the outer curve of her breast before she reached her hand out for his.

"Gabrielle is my name." She said, pleased at the fact that his hand quickly responded and took hers into its own palm to participate in the formal introduction.

"Nice to meet you." He said, feeling confident at the sensation of her pulse quickening because of the pressure his wrist placed on hers.

"You, too." God, this man was sexy, and confident...a little too much of both. But that still gave him no right to treat her like he did. The smile that was on her face quickly faded at the revelation, and she could tell he sensed her negativity toward him.

"What?" He asked, in reference to her foul expression out of pure curiosity.

"Nothing. I mean, I was just thinking...about what you did to me back there." She noticed that their hands were still shaking each other's and neither one of them made the move to stop it. She watched a smug grin cross his face; she knew he was enjoying the fact that she brought up his inappropriate conversation manners. She mentally called him a bad name and felt disgusted with him.

"I'm sure you were." His overconfidence showed.

"It's not something to be proud of." She snapped and snatched her hand away from his, "and I wasn't thinking about it in the way that you were hoping I was." Her rude tone was back and she crossed her arms over her body, almost challenging him to give a retort.

"Are you sure about that?" Man, what the hell did he get himself into? He should have never even apologized to this woman in the first place, and now look at what was happening. He didn't know how much longer he could keep up this cocky act he was putting on. Anything to turn this woman away would be helpful, but he was running out of ideas.

"Yes, I'm sure, you arrogant bastard."

"Hey, there's no need for insults, that's what got you into this situation in the first place, remember? I was trying to be a gentleman and apologize for bumping into you, but you turned out to be a bitch. You deserved what you got!"

"What - an arrogant, conceited asshole throwing his testosterone in my face, that's what I deserved?! I can definitely tell you're a male; you have 'dick' written all over you."

God, he was sexy when he yelled, she thought. His reaction to her yelling was even sexier. She cursed herself for falling into this man's spell. He was a woman-hunter, that's it. Just out to seek his prey, hunt it, and kill it for sport alone. There was no depth to this man, she told herself. But whatever amount of depth, or lack there of, that he had was failing at turning her off to him. She had to remove herself from the situation. With one last look of disgust toward him, she turned her back to him, but was instantly pulled back by his strong hand.

"I don't care who the fuck I am, you still have no right to talk to me like that. I'm not an asshole, damn it, and my intent was not to throw my masculinity in your face."

"Oh, really? Then what was your intent?"

"Never mind that. Look, I'm sorry for whatever you think I did to you, but you deserved it. I'm done fighting with you, people are starting to watch." Gabrielle turned her head around and realized he wasn't lying. People from all directions were watching; some blatantly, some subtly. Nonetheless, they were watching. Her anger still wouldn't subside.

"I don't care; I'm not finished with you." This time she didn't yell.

"Yeah, I can tell you're not done with me." Once again that smug smirk resurfaced.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She placed her hands on her hips and waited for an answer. He chuckled at her attempt to be stern. She was kind of cute when she was mad, he thought.

"Come on, let's get out of here. That way you can keep yelling and I can get away from all the spectators." There was still a slight chuckle to his tone. He placed his hand on the back of her elbow to lead her toward the exit, but she snatched it away from him.

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Well then you're just shit outta luck, sweetheart, because I'm leaving and I know you're 'not finished with me yet'." He grabbed his coat off of the stool next to him and walked toward the exit. He turned to give her one last look and shrugged his shoulders, then disappeared.

She rolled her eyes and her body went limp in defeat. She took the last swig of her martini, cursed him one more time and followed him out the door. When she finally reached fresh air, he was nowhere to be found; not even a sight of that maroon leather jacket he was wearing.