Hello, hello! First, SO
sorry for not updating in
such a looong time. I 
appreciate all the feedback
though, don't get me wrong!
But, alas, I got struck
by another muse. I usually
hate starting projects
with something unfinished,
but 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