Hello, hello! Alas, I got
struck by another muse.
This idea wouldn't leave
me alone! So please, read,
review, and email! Thanks!

Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: I don't own
Sailor Moon!


Chronicle One

"The Forbidden Heaven." Ah, how I longed for it.

The chance to actually breeze through those deliciously

trashy books was one in a million, and it took a romance driven

genius, such as myself, to concoct a covert plan to actually

arrive at "The Forbidden Heaven" while escaping the customary

scrutiny.


1. Begin at the magazine rack. Hastily peruse Cosmopolitan

and Glamour. Most importantly, remain inconspicuous!


2. Subtly, move onto the Fiction and Literature section,

preferably without tripping or causing a ruckus. May take extra

energy, but it will be worth it in the end.


3. Ever so slowly, slide to Poetry, only one section over from

the destination. Fervently assess surroundings for any suspicious

looking men or anyone remotely familiar.


4. After making sure the settings are secure, scurry over to

"The Forbidden Heaven," grab the latest Linda Howard novel, and

move one's ass as fast as humanly possible.


While reviewing these familiar procedures in my head, I

flipped through the designated disguise book, Beowulf. So far, I

had made it to the Poetry section. Every five seconds or so, I

could scan the aisles. Damn, why that man kindly couldn't put that

disinteresting book on the study of creepy crawlers down and walk

away from my unofficial territory stumped me. I could almost hear

Linda Howard's beckoning words call me. What torture!

Finally, Mr. Creepy Crawler Fanatic walked away, finally

deciding to purchase his find. I was ecstatic, to say the least.

Without wasting a second, I threw Beowulf back to its rightful rack,

dashed over to my haven, and desperately searched for the H's.

There are too many novels, all blending into a big pot of half naked,

gorgeous men and women. My romance senses were going crazy, warning

me that someone was bound to walk past the aisle. Damn it, did the

punks purposefully hide the good Howard's books from me?

"Ah ha!" Like a hawk spotting a lone mouse, I swooped upon

her latest novel, whirled around, and smacked straight into a wall.

Instantly, strong arms wrap around me, pressing me provocatively

against a blissfully hard body.

Staggeringly back, my eyes lifted to clash with an amazingly

midnight blue gaze. A face and a body perfect enough to join that

pot of breathtaking men towered above me. A hand pressed against

the small of my back. Tingles shot up my spine and attacked my lungs,

making breathing suddenly difficult. Who I so delicately bashed into

was not a wall; it was my mortal enemy, Darien Langston. Shocked that

a mature twenty-nine year old woman could still have a mortal enemy?

Well, believe it! Out of all the people I could have ran into in

densely populated town of Tokyo, it had to be HIM. My eyelids

fluttered shut, as if trying to shut out the rising embarrassment

and sexual awareness.

"Serena?" his smooth, tenor washed over me like honey. The

jerk was blessed with the sexiest voice. My eyes hesitantly cracked

open, revealing his telltale smirk. To add to his voice, the most

compelling good looks. It wasn't fair.

"Do I know you?" When in doubt, think of the lamest excuse,

and play it out!

"What? What are you talking about? You know me!"

I considered the possibility of knowing him biblically as

I reflexively wiggled against him, reveling in his masculine warmth.

His eyes darkened dangerously at my actions, and suddenly his hand

slid lower. What the hell am I doing?! Is the lack of sex in my

life turning me so desperate that I am even finding Darien suddenly

appealing?!

I rightfully shoved myself out of his tightening embrace.

"Nope, I'm afraid I don't. Well, would you look at the

time? I better get going! See you later, Darien!" I called over

my shoulder as I darted away, gathering all the horsepower my

petite body could muster.

Operation Forbidden Heaven had miserably failed.




Two weeks after that incident, I took every route possible

to eliminate the chance of me bumping into Darien. I'll readily

admit that it is pathetic that a grown woman who lived on her own

and managed a decent job was acting so immature. After all, I've

been in more embarrassing situations, like the time when I walked

out of the bathroom with toilet paper attached to my heels or the

instance when….okay, digging up the equally embarrassing past was

not helping my situation. Anyway, I needed to get over it. It was

one small incident that he probably forgot. Guys never remember

anything anyway, right?

My mediocre day was going smoothly until the heavens opened

up and it began to rain. It was nothing extreme, unless I counted

the fact that I was carrying my fly-attracting, dirty laundry down

to the cleaners. Hollering a few expletives that'd make a hooker

blush, I broke into a sprint and rudely weaved through the bustling

masses of downtown Tokyo. Along the way, I received varied reactions:

whistles, middle fingers, pointing fingers, and blank stares. Let

them look at the half crazed blonde running down the street!

Finally, I arrived at the cleaners. Under the awning, I

heaved a breath, panting heavily from my marathon. I hadn't

exercised since the last Ice Age, and it definitely showed. My

lungs were screaming for air, my legs were begging for rest, and

my hair was shrieking for a comb.

"Well, what do we have here?" a familiar voice teased.

No, it couldn't be.

"Get away!"

"Ah, so you do recognize me? I guess that little

rendezvous at the bookstore was a quick bout of amnesia."

"Would you just leave me alone?" I grumbled, reaching

into my sopping laundry basket and casting whatever I found at

him. Unfortunately, it was one of my sheer, Victoria Secret bras

I bought while in a hopeful mood to nab Mr. Right. Needless to

say, Operation Sexy Serena was a pathetic failure.

Darien plucked one cup off of his face and allowed it to

dangle off of his lean fingers. He rubbed a hand over his jaw

thoughtfully, his eyes boldly switching from the bra to my heaving

breasts.

"Not a bad size, I'm actually impressed," he winked.

Fate wouldn't be so cruel, so sadistic, so…then again, yes

it would.

"Well, we won't start going into your inadequate assets!"

snapped I, snatching the lacy undergarment. Tossing my drenched locks

over my shoulder, I stalked into the cleaners. Barely refraining

myself from banging my head against a dryer, I chose my usual washer

and began to load my sodden clothes.

Let's review my tragic life.


Facts: I am a twenty-nine year old woman who possesses the same

amount of sexual experience as I did ten years ago. In other words,

I am an established member of the Singles Club.


Problem: I need to find Mr. Right before my ovaries turn stale,

but I just can't seem to find him. Or possibly, he is evading his

fate of being forever bonded with me. Therefore, I turn to

romance novels to pretend that I am in the arms of some handsome

lover who sets me aflame. Yes, I am pathetic.


Reason: May be due to my lack of couth and experience, inability

to flirt and to say the right thing at the right time, and to go

on would only make me burst into self wallowing tears.

Solution: Consider joining a nunnery? Plenty of rejected old maids

there.


I jolt back to reality when warm lips brushed against my

ears, hotly whispering, "If I ever get you flat on your back, I'm

sure you'd hardly consider my assets inadequate." My jaw dropped

and my cheeks turned the color of a tomato. My back straightened,

but that only brought me closer to his muscular chest and toned body.

The unaccustomed heat surged through my body like a wildfire, and

for the life of me, I couldn't respond for the next two minutes.

When I could, I whirled around and prudishly retorted, "I outta slap

you senseless across your face."

"I outta kiss you senseless."

Sending him a scathing glare, I return to my laundry. He

shrugged and does the same, choosing the open washer right beside

mine, when there are plenty available in the nearly deserted cleaners.

I gritted my teeth. Often, the jerk teased me with sexually charged

jokes, knowing how much they irked and flustered me. I could handle

bitchy customers, pressure from my boss, looming deadlines, but when

it came to men and how to appropriately respond to such an odd,

unexplained species, I was clueless.

"I had no idea Linda Howard was such a talented writer,"

Darien nonchalantly remarked. I stifled a gasp of shock and forced

myself to fight a rising blush. The man knew exactly what buttons

to push, and push he did.

"Yes, so I've heard."

"I recommend her latest novel. It is a very suspenseful

mystery and very…hot."

At that moment, I dropped the detergent measurer into the

water and released a very unladylike curse. Gripping my basket,

I counted to one thousand and one, five hundred sheep, and every

mammal on the earth to relax before I responded with a strangled,

"I'm not into mysteries."

"I should have known that," he turned towards me, leaning

one narrow hip against the washer.

With a predatory glint in his hypnotic eyes, he easily

returned my hateful glare, hopefully packed with plenty of threats

to his life and manhood.

"How could have you known? Just because you used to be

bed buddies with Rei doesn't mean we're friends. Actually, I think

you're a cocky bastard."

"Is that so?"

"In addition, if you ever go near me again, I'll punch your

face in." Not the most sophisticated response, but it would do for

now. My arch nemesis clearly found this amusing, because he threw

back his magnificent head and released a deep, sensual laugh that

beckoned those irritating tingles.

"What a shame, because I can think of so many other things

you could do to me."

Eying him like a sultry seductress, (I had diligently practiced

the act after watching seasons of those pretty vixens on Days of Our

Lives) I teasingly moved forward until I was less an inch away from

his deliciously warm body. His eyes automatically dropped to my mouth

when I slowly licked my lips and purred, "You're absolutely right.

I could…castrate you." Proud that I had won this match, I began to

retreat to my corner of the rink when he wrapped one solid warm

around my waist. I struggled against his advances. Whoever said

turnabout was fair play should be tortured…

"You know, it's no wonder you can't find a steady boyfriend,"

he mumbled against my mouth. He winced when my body, clearly with

a mind of its own, ground against his pelvis. I tried to unglue

myself from him, but I felt so right and blissful in his embrace.

As corny as it might sound, there was a sense of belonging in his

arms, but the realization scared me worse than an angry hive of bees.

"You arrogant son of a –"

"Beneath the obnoxious mouth and attitude, you're just a

virginal tease." I barely registered what he was saying, the

sensation of his lips brushing against mine and his body

plastered to me was absolute heaven. But wait, what did the

loathing bastard label me?

"I am NOT a tease! And I'm not a virgin either!" I

bellowed, shoving heaven trapped in the form of an egotistical

boor away. I stood there, aghast at the notion. Never, in my

twenty nine, quite pitiable years on this earth, had I deliberately

teased a man! There was that one time I was involved with Jacob

Triam, but refused to tumble with him naked until….hmm, come

to think of it, I never slept with Jacob. However, that was only

one instance! Besides, what did Darien know? He was nothing but

a selfish dolt who merely survived on the never-ending amount of

air that filled his bloated head. It wasn't as if he ran a

background check on all my past lovers, which would probably amount

to two, at the most.


1. Who? Agent Sarah Hughes – Virgin tease

2. Criminal background – Enjoys getting men aroused for the

hell of it but refuses to finish the deed.


"I believe your little outburst has gotten the attention of

just about everybody in here," drawled Darien, nodding his head to

indicate the gaping stares that burned curiously into my face.

Forgetting any of the sparse manners my mother managed to instill

in me, I cursed worse than a hardened truck driver, slammed the lid

of the washer down, and stalked outside. Before I could make my

dramatic exit, my arch enemy stopped me with a light touch at the

arch of my back.

"What do you want?" I growled, sparks practically shooting

at my eyes, and hopefully, singeing his perfectly groomed appearance.

"I was never a fan of it before, but I think I'm acquiring

a taste for pink polka dots."

"Whatever." I shoved the doors open, bought two orders of

nachos and cheese and hot dogs from a street vendor with the staring

problem, and eagerly settled down to demolish them. Pink polka dots,

what the hell was that eccentric Adonis referring to? At once,

everything clicked.

I stopped in mid bite and looked down. My pink polka d

otted brassier was painfully evident through my damp, white T-shirt.

I groaned, and began to tap my head against the table. Lightly,

of course, so not to leave a dark bruise.

News at six o'clock: Unidentified old maid is arrested

in downtown Tokyo for attempting to strangle gorgeous jerk,

Darien Langston.



Oh the drama between these two!
Stay tuned for more chronicles
of Serena's charmed/cursed life!
And email, review, email, review,
email, get the picture?

Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com