Really sorry for the delay guys, my friends abducted me and we've been taking road trips ever since break started. I actually managed to take my laptop and in between driving, I've been working on the story. Okay...WOW, thanks for the reviews guys. I seriously didn't think I'd get so many hits for the story, considering I didn't think it was very good. Thanks again.

Sorry to leave you guys hangin like I did. evil grin Based off of the reviews I got everybody is wondering what is gonna happen with the board of execs huh? Well I guess you'll just have to read on...

Chapter 4

The kiss was hot and lingering. Yet even when it ended Serena was still dizzy, her heart skipping again and again. She'd never been kissed like that in her life. Suddenly, Darien's nearness was a staggeringly frightening experience. This man was her worst enemy, yet lightening bolts of unwanted excitement continued to dance through her. Against her will, she had to admit she found him disturbingly seductive. That revelation was even more disquieting since she knew he'd only been acting.

She wanted to jump up, to run away, but even if her legs had been steady enough to support her, she couldn't move, for he was holding her against him. Blinking, she stared up at his face, confused, wondering why he was restraining her. He was smiling, yet there was a vein throbbing in his temple that belied that pleasant expression. Serena began to have an uneasy feeling that he was hatching some deceptive plan of his own.

A cluster of people was gathering around them, all talking at once. Some were smiling, some were not. One particular woman, Serena noticed, wore a rather sour expression, marring her otherwise pretty features. But it was all such a blur.

There was Mikou's pale, grinning face and Aunt Jeannie's flushed appearance as she patted first Serena's cheek then her own heavy wig.

The first thing that rang completely clear in her mind was Aunt Jeannie's loud remark. "Mikou, dear, it's been just too long since we've seen you. I always felt so badly about the unfortunate way you left the company."

Serena stopped breathing. Jean had blurted out her terrible secret! Her fearful gaze lurched to Darien's face. He was looking at her oddly now, as though he'd never seen her before. She felt a skittering unease, like a spider dashing along her spine. Was he becoming aware that there was more to Serena's lie than merely just letting her dear old grandfather go to final reward in piece?

She felt herself being lifted to stand as Darien stood up and took her hand in his. When her glance darted to his face, again she noticed that he was smiling at the chattering group. "Aunt Jeannie and my housekeeper will see that you're all settled. I'm sure you understand that my bride and I want to be alone, so we'll be staying on the yacht." He gave Serena a loving grin, though his eyes sparked with a less blissful emotion. "If you'll excuse us, we'll see you later."

After one last, damp kiss from Aunt Jeannie, Serena found herself being hustled along the back lawn toward the jungle barrier. When they were out of earshot, she asked, "What's going on? Why did you let everybody think—"

"Why didn't you tell me your sweet, old grandfather was Mikou Aquino?" he interjected. Though he hadn't raised his voice, there was icy anger in his question.

She stumbled, but couldn't halt because he was fairly dragging her along. They entered the darkness of the forest, and she yanked on his hold, but to no avail. "I—I—" She drew a deep breath, working to control the tremor in her voice. "I didn't think it was any of your business," she tried, doubting that he'd buy that.

"You must think I'm an idiot," he growled, halting to glare down at her.

"Of course, I don't!" she retorted, smarting not only from the discomfort in her wrist but from the sharper pain of being found out before she'd managed to do one single thing to help her grandfather. "I never thought any such thing, Mr. Shields. But since you know who Grandpa is, I'll tell you what I do think. I think your grandfather was a crook. I think he swindled Grandpa out of what was rightfully his. That's what I think!"

His expression had gone so furious she couldn't help but wince, but she hurried on. "The truth is, I wanted to clear my grandfather's name before he died. That's why I applied for the job with your family." She lifted he head proudly. "Grandpa's so sweet-natured he thought he'd mistakenly done something wrong all those years ago. My mother told me over and over how sad he was, how badly he'd felt. She swore until her dying day that he never did anything deceitful. Grandpa wouldn't have wanted me to get involved. But I know he's innocent and I wanted to prove it, so I lied to him about being married to you—to keep him from worrying. Happy now?"

One dark brow arched skeptically. "You little fool," he chided coldly, the very coldness of his tone dismaying. "Do you expect me to believe a wild accusation from one man's disgruntled, clearly prejudiced, daughter?"

"If you're so sure it's all that wild, then prove it. Order an audit going back to the very beginning—if you dare!" she challenged.

"Don't be ridiculous." He turned away and began to pull her toward the yacht again.

She was totally dumbfounded now. What in the world was he doing with her, allowing the marriage lie to go on? "Where are you dragging me?"

"To our honeymoon suite."

"Wh-what?" she panted as they exited the forest onto the beach. "I don't understand. Why are you doing this—especially now—now that you—"

"Now that I know what a conniving, lying phony you are?"

She became indignant. "I'm no phony. I am a chef."

He laughed bitterly. "My mistake, you're a liar, a conniver and a chef."

"What do you intend to do with me? Make me walk the plank?" she asked as he tugged her up the steps and along the dock.

"That would be my first choice. But nautical law frowns on such practices today."

"What, then? Are you going to chain me up and make me your prisoner?"

"An appropriate description." He grasped her around the waist and hoisted her onto the deck. She landed on shaky legs, but managed to twist around to face him as he bounded aboard. He indicated the entrance with a jerk of his head.

She balked. "An appropriate description of what?" This time her voice hadn't been nearly so self-assured. The anger in his eyes made her shiver with foreboding. What do you intend to do with me?"

He eyed her levelly, his rage evident in the flare of his nostrils. "What the hell do you think I'm going to do with you?"

She shook her head, bewildered. One idea nagged, but she rejected it. Back there he'd pretended to be married to her. All those strangers, plus Grandpa and Aunt Jeannie, thought they were newlyweds. But surely he didn't intend to keep up that pretense. There was no reason why he should. She'd have thought he'd be delighted to expose her as the embezzler's granddaughter he thought she was. "I—I don't have any idea what you're going to do," she admitted faintly.

"For the next week, darling," he said, his voice hard, "we're going to be a happily married, honeymooning couple.

Her heart flip-flopped as he confirmed her worst fear. "No…"

The grin he flashed was devilish, but devoid of humor. "Oh, yes." Shocking her to her core, he lifted her into his arms and carried her down a short hallway. Before them, the master suite door stood ajar. He didn't even slow down when he got to the room's entrance, merely kicked open the barrier with a thundering bang, and stalked inside.

She gasped in fear when he tossed her on the bed. "What do you think you're doing?" Scrambling away from him, she hopped to the carpeted floor on the opposite side. "There are laws against rape, you know!"

He snorted derisively. "I love you, too, darling. But for the record, I'm not doing this out of any craving for your body or a desire to join the ranks of married men—far from it." He turned around and headed for the door, but before he left her, he peered back and gave her that same half grin that she'd found so devastating, yet lacking any warmth. "You fell into my lap—so to speak—at precisely the right moment, Ms. Tsukino. Just so you'll fully understand my position, my company is family held, which means only relatives have voting stock. At least up until now. I have the most stock, naturally, since my grandfather started the company—"

"Yours and mine!" she interrupted, contempt ripe in her tone.

His half grin faded. "Nevertheless, once Damon died, the bulk of the stock came to me. I suppose you've heard rumors about the playboy I am."

She sniffed disdainfully. "You're too kind to yourself. Lecherous womanizer would be more appropriate!"

"Exactly my point, my rather unscrupulous reputation with women, plus petty jealously over my inherited position in the company, has built up a smoldering resentment toward me from a certain faction of my board of directors. Though I've kept them in caviar and diamonds, that envious faction is crying conservatism, insisting I don't know the meaning of the word, and rabblerousing to get me out as Chief Executive Officer. Their fear tactics have garnered almost enough votes to succeed. But," he added, eyeing her narrowly, flinty determination edging his words, "if they all believe I've settled down with a wife, I might have a chance to swing the votes in my direction and save Shields Automotive Inc from disaster under the management of that maneuvering yes-man, Seiya Braxton."

"You—you mean you're going to pretend we're married just so you can keep control over—over…." She couldn't finish, stunned by the very idea. "And you call me a conniving liar?"

"Millions of dollars and thousands of jobs rest on the board's vote. I won't allow a handful of jealous, overcautious cousins to throw all that away," he growled. "Of course, I'd pretend to be happily married to protect my company and my employees, Ms. Tsukino. Don't be naïve." He paused, his expression stony, then reminded, "If you'll think back, you begged be to go along with this fabrication."

She gulped at the fierce gleam in his eyes and the irate set of his jaw. "But that was only for a few hours!"

"You made your bed, Ms. Tsukino. Nobody said there wouldn't be lumps."

Several tension-filled seconds passed before she found the nerve to protest. "I won't allow you to do this. It's—it's immoral!"

"It may be," he admitted, his tone grave. "But, remember your grandfather's frail health."

"He's leaving tonight," she reminded him haughtily.

"Not after I issue an invitation for him to remain the entire week." He turned to go, warning, "I hope you can play a blushing bride, Ms. Tsukino."

"You wouldn't!" she shot back, but it was too late. As the slamming of the door echoed in her ears, it became horribly clear that Darien Shields was unscrupulous enough to do just that.

She was pacing when the door exploded open and Darien burst in.

Whirling to face him, she threw her arms akimbo. "What a charming way you have of entering rooms. Where did you learn it, executive commando camp?" It wasn't until then she noticed his arms were filled with bags and boxes and women's clothes. "What in the world—"

"You have an hour to be ready for the party," he cut in.

"What party?" A wave of panic began to build insider her again. It was one thing to pretend to be his bride shut up, all alone, on his yacht, but quite another to live such a huge lie out in public.

He dumped the colorful froth of materials and boxes onto the bed and gave her a speculative look. "There's a formal cocktail party tonight. Originally it was to welcome the board members to my home, here. But Aunt Jeannie insists that since she missed our wedding, it must be in our honor."

Serena pulled her lips between her teeth, upset by this latest bad news. "And I suppose, since it fits into your plan to appear all married and settled and newly conservative, you went along with it wearing a big grin?"

He crossed his arms before his chest regarding her with hooded eyes. "Something like that."

"Well—what if I refuse?"

"You won't," he cautioned. "Grandpa is taking a nap so that he'll feel up to seeing your radiant face tonight."

Defeat coursed through her. She seemed to be trapped by her own ill-considered lie. Shifting uncomfortably, she looked away, mumbling, "How could Jean swallow this wedding story? She introduced us less than four days ago on the yacht. When would we have had time to get married?"

He shrugged indolently. "You know her. Aunt Jeannie lives in her own little reality. Once she'd spoken with Mikou, and he'd told her we'd been married for several weeks, she simply scolded me for playing such a trick on her." His brows contracted in a mild frown. "She assumes we met in Miami at some restaurant or theater, and fell madly in love. She's decided that our so-called act on the yacht was perpetrated so that we could announce our marriage down here."

"That's crazy," she said, appalled.

"Nevertheless, it's the story she's been content to pass along to anyone who will stand long enough to listen.

She shook her head. "I can't believe this."

"Believe it, Ms. Tsukino," he warned gravely. "But it's not the end of the world. After this board meeting ends and your grandfather goes back to the home, we'll wait a few weeks then say we got a quiet divorce. No one will be the wiser."

"I supposed…" It seemed like an awful lot of lying, but he was right. That would be the least problematic way to get out of this predicament. Her gaze dropped listlessly to the clothes on the bed. She'd forgotten about them. "Whose are these?" she asked without much interest.

"A local boutique delivered several cocktail dresses for your approval. What you don't want will be returned.

"I don't want any of them," she said glumly. "I'll wear my own clothes."

His humorless chuckle drew her glower. "Ms. Tsukino," he began, directing a cool gaze her way. "How many evening gowns did you bring on this cruise? He scanned her shorts-clad form dispassionately. "I don't intend to argue the point. Even if I did, there isn't time. You'll wear one of these."

His condescension irritated her, but she tried to compose herself. He was right about one thing. She didn't have any formals in her locker downstairs. Actually, she had only had one dress on board and it was more suited for a nice brunch than a cocktail party. With a resigned sigh, she walked to the bed and stared down at the jumble of fabric and boxes. "Okay, just go away. I'll be ready in an hour."

"My clothes are here. There's another bathroom. That can be yours."

She wasn't sure she'd heard right. Twisting around, she gaped at him. "You don't expect us to share this room while we change clothes?"

He'd opened a closet door and was retrieving a tuxedo. "Unfortunately, there will be servants coming and going on the yacht from time to time, not toe mention Jean's eccentric behavior. If we're to make this ruse believable, we're going to have to share this bedroom." Her jaw dropped in indignation as he calmly went on. "I'll sleep on the settee, if that's what bothering you. As far as the bathroom goes, it's quite large and has everything you could need. I won't disturb you in there."

"How gallant!"

When he'd retrieved his clothes, he eyed her, and for a fleeting second she thought she saw amusement flicker in his glance. "I'll be as gallant as your lie, and my corporate problems, allow me to be. It that clear enough—my love?" He turned away and entered his bathroom. The door clicked shut at his back, leaving Serena to gawk incredulously after him.

An hour later she was staring at herself in her floor-length bathroom mirror. She'd never worn expensive clothes before, and was in awe of the feel of the silk slip dress she'd decided on. It was like being draped in a gossamer scarf—all over. So airily soft, so—nothingness. The black silk was actually more of a lining for the delicate black lace outer layer. She felt like there should be another entire layer—possibly a turtleneck, long-sleeved floor-length tweed suit. But, no. Apparently this skimpy attire was what fast-track people thought of as outerwear.

She scanned herself from her threadlike straps and modest show of cleavage on down along the curvy dress to a hem that seemed obscenely short, exposing as much thigh as her uniform shorts had. There had been a pair of sheer, black hose and a garter belt in with the jumble of things, and she'd slipped them on. She'd forgotten to bring any shoe boxes into the bathroom, so she had no idea what she'd end up wearing on her feet.

She inspected her lite blonde hair. Defiantly, she'd opted to wear it as she newly usually did, pulled back in a ponytail at the nape. Wispy bangs fell into blue eyes that were now wider than usual in fearful anticipation. Several unruly wisps hung loose before her ears, and she couldn't decide if she was happy about that or not. Just how unruly did the smart set allow their hair to be? She touched a loose strand, trying to decide if she should smooth it into place or not. Finally, irritated that she'd even momentarily cared, she left it dangling. Maybe she had to pretend to be Darien Shields's bride, but it wasn't her duty, or her desire, to please him!

When she opened her bathroom door she was startled to see Darien standing on the opposite side of the bed, trying his black tie. He looked arrestingly elegant in his tuxedo jacket and slacks, and her breath caught in her throat. He glanced away, his hawk like features serious. With an almost imperceptible squint of his eyes and a sideways movement in his jaw, he observed her for several heartbeats.

She tensed, feeling like a cornered animal in a hunter's crosshairs. He disapproved of what he saw! She was too skinny, too plain, her hair was too frumpy. Everything must be totally wrong, for his expression seemed troubled. She pinched her lower lip with her teeth, trying to prepare for his critical outburst.

After another second, his eyebrows rose a trifle and he went back to tying his tie, "You're on time," he murmured.

She was more than a little startled by his minimal comment. "I—well, except for shoes." She busied herself rummaging through the boxes and uncovered a pair of black pumps, hurriedly slipping them on her feet. To her surprise, they fit. When she looked at Darien again, he was watching her, his expression unreadable.

With a nervous shiver she couldn't explain, she glanced away. "I'm ready."

"Why aren't you wearing any jewelry?"

She blanched, going defensive. "I foolishly allowed Queen Elizabeth to borrow my diamond tiara."

His contemptuous frown made it clear he wasn't in the mood for sarcasm. Without comment, he bent to the bed and began to riffle through the mound of discarded dresses. Serena watched him, unable to keep herself from scanning his dark black hair and strong profile. Her gaze slid from the crisp, white collar of his formal shirt and black tie, across broad shoulders encased in expensive black silk, to the white rosebud boutonniere in the lapel.

She even admired the precise correctness of his French cuffs protruding from his jacket sleeves and the square, golden cuff links that sparkled and flickered in the light. He looked so stylish and cultivated. Even his black shoes glimmered with a million-dollar sheen. He looks just like a bridegroom! her mind wailed.

The magnitude of her lie hadn't really hit her until this second. She was going to have to convince not only her grandfather, but a whole lot of very savvy people that Darien Shields had actually picked her to be his life's partner. Unconsciously she touched her hair, wishing she'd taken more care with it. She was sure to look like a country bumpkin on his arm. She was petrified that even her ailing grandfather would see through their deceit once he saw them together.

He straightened, coming up with a black velvet case. Opening it, he scanned the content for a moment before extracting something small and sparkly. Snapping the case shut, he tossed it back on the bed and came over to her.

When she took a safeguarding step away, his expression grew rankled. "I'm not going to strangle you, Ms. Tsukino," he assured her tiredly. "Stand still."

She saw that he was holding a pair of earrings, dainty yet exquisite. Each one had an inch-long strand of diamonds dangling from one larger round diamond that she guess to be at least two carats in weight. "Are these—real?" she breathed as he attacked them to her earlobes.

"Why are you planning to steal them?"

His fingers were a warm contrast to his cold tone. She shot him a thoroughly annoyed look. "You know, I could grow to loathe you!"

He lifted his hands away from her face. A crooked smile touched one corner of his mouth as he drew something from his pocket. "Give me your left hand," he commanded quietly, taking her fingers in his without waiting for her to comply. Before she realized what he was doing, he'd slipped a pair of rings on her finger. The first was a simple platinum wedding band, the second, a fabulous square shaped diamond. "Loathe me all you please in private, Ms. Tsukino," he said as he released her. "But in front of my board of directors I expect you to be convincingly adoring."

As she stared at the wedding set sparkling from her left hand an unanticipated sadness enveloped her heart. Every woman wanted this—a wedding ring. But she'd gotten hers from a man she'd just told she could easily loathe, and he'd only grinned at her, insisting he didn't care. It was all such an ugly sham. If it weren't for her grandfather's delicate health, she would snatch the costly rings from her finger and fling them in his insolent face. but she couldn't do that, and she knew she couldn't—and what was worse, Darien Shields knew she knew it.

She was drained; her heart wasn't into arguing anymore, and she shrugged. "I'll pretend to adore you in public," she promised through a dejected sigh. As she faced him again, she was surprised that he was blurred by unhappy tears. Fighting them back, she forced a tight smile, whispering thinly, "But in private, you and I will know the truth, won't we—darling."

The evening was passing in a strained haze for Serena. Darien's home was spread out over a large area, and she hesitated going too far from the from the great room, for fear she'd get lost in the tangle of hallways never to be seen again.

As she plastered on a smile and tried to listen to the small talk of several bejeweled corporate wives, she had to admit that Darien's island hideaway was an open, airy treasure. There were multitudes of skylights and picture windows well suited to the many tropical plants and flowers that filled and enlivened the place. Right now, a bright moon and a thousand pinprick stars could be seen above her head, so lovely and peaceful over the drone of conversation.

As she nodded, half listening to a discussion about fashion trends, she let her gaze and her mind cruise. The low, sleek furniture, cushioned with slubbed white cotton, looked as though it, too, had been part of the architectural design. The house was an eloquent composition of bold lines and angles, its stucco and rough beams all painted a monochromatic white, while the floors were irregular slabs of shiny black slate, a vibrant counterpoint to the light tones of the rest of the dwelling.

Shimmering works of modern art gave drama to stark walls. Adding additional touches of texture and color, were tasteful black marble carvings, Byzantine stone bowls, Italian wrought-iron candelabra and rustic copper planters. It was all so formidable and splendid, yet there was a chill about the place—like a museum rarely visited, dusted yet neglected in some basic way.

This was no home for Darien, no haven. There wasn't a single family photograph, no trite yet lovable mementos, no signs of warmth or affection anywhere. She wondered about this parents, who they had been and why they'd lived here—and why their son had not?

Serena's glance fell on the gorgeous man that was Seiya Braxton, Damon's business antagonist. He was standing beside his thin, pinch-faced girlfriend among a group of several other couples. Seiya, appearing to be in his early thirties, looked to be quite the charmer. His smile was infectious, and even his manner was seemingly well-liked.

Yet after he'd come over and hugged her and schmoozed over her for the fourth time, Serena began to think that he was either being exploitively doting or he was very forgetful. She wondered if Darien might have had a point about the man being manipulative. In her opinion, he might also be half-witted. She hated to admit there was anything about the slightly older man that bothered her. After all, she was on Seiya's side and hoped he'd take over the reins of the company.

But poor Seiya was certainly running a pale second tonight. This party was on Darien's turf, and it was his evening to charm the board. He'd left her about ten minutes ago to "work the room," as he'd put it. Now he was being Mr. Charisma. Mr. Accessible. Mr. Settled-Down-Conservative. How he did all three so well, she couldn't imagine.

She'd never seen corporate politics in action, but she felt tension crackle in the air between the Braxton faction and the Shields camp. She now could see, firsthand, that she was a throwaway pawn in a multimillion-dollar power struggle, and was way out of her league.

She didn't know the rules for playing the cutthroat game, Survival of the Richest, but Darien obviously did. She'd watched him as he'd moved among his guest, laughing and talking. There was a striking, confident quality in him that people were attracted to. Yet, when necessary, he could emanate a charmingly believable humility. She had to give credit where credit was due. Behind that captivating façade was a brilliant, hard-nosed strategist who knew what he wanted and planned to have it.

She caught sight of him by chance. Or was it really all that much by chance, since he stood a head taller than every other man in the room, or half in Seiya's case? He was conversing with that attractive woman she'd seen him with several times. What was her name? Ann Something. She only knew that the woman was the widow of one of Darien's cousins, and now controlled his voting stock. Watching Darien grin at the woman, Serena could tell her was working her—whether it was for votes or something more carnal, she couldn't be sure.

Ann looked to be in her early thirties, and had the sort of well-rounded figure that readers of any adult male magazine would appreciate. Tonight she was hiding none of her assets in a red, crushed-velvet bustier and long, skinny black skirt that sported a slit all the way to her hip. She had a semi long haircut that came as close to Serena's friend Lita's hair as a bottle of hair dye could provide. She grimaced to herself. What a malicious thing to think! What did it matter to her if this Ann person was standing there stark naked, completely fake and doing a bump-and-grind seduction in front of Darien? It was of no interest to her at all!

She felt pain, and realized she was clutching her hands in a ball, her nails digging into her flesh. Deciding she needed to do something, keep busy and take her mind off this whole, awful fraud, she excused herself from the cluster of wives, mumbling something about getting a glass of sea grape punch.

As she maneuvered her way toward the far-off dining room, she became more conscious of the music from the small, hired band that drifted over the low rumble of conversations. There was a definite island rhythm to the tunes they played, though the melodies were familiar. "Because of You" by Kelly Clarkson had just begun and, as usual, she heard a quaint reggae beat to it that hadn't been in the original recording.

"I think we should dance," came a voice at her back.

She shifted her head to see Darien smiling down at her. His loving expression startled her and did strange unbidden things to her insides. Before she had time to respond, he took her by the hand to lead her to the center of the room where a few other couples had begun to say to the plaintive strains of the music.

He drew her against him, his hand warm at her back. "Loosen up, darling, We're supposed to be in love." He smiled down at her. "You're as tense as a Victorian virgin on her wedding night."

She stumbled to a halt, dazed by his bluntness. "I—I beg your pardon?"

He bent to whisper near her ear. "We're supposed to be hot for each other." He nipped at her earlobe fro the benefit of onlookers, and Serena's knees went watery. Luckily he was holding her, so she managed to remain standing. "Bat your eyes. Giggle," he urged, his breath tickling her nape. "You know—like foreplay."

The blood drained from her face and she couldn't seem to help herself from stiffening any further.

He straightened, studying her openly for a moment. "You're not, are you?"

"Not what?" she asked, oddly breathless.

One brow rose as though in skepticism. "A vir—"

"That's none of your business," she interrupted, her voice rising several octaves, even in a whisper. Aware her sharp retort was practically an admission that she was, she hurriedly bluffed, "But—naturally, I'm not!" His torso, pressing against her breast, was too warm, too male, for her piece of mind. Still she tried to smile seductively, even fluttered her lashes, insisting," Really, I'm not."

He was moving her about the floor in a slow, sensuous dance, their bodies molded together like the most devoted lovers might be. His aroma filled her senses, so mellow, warm and woodsy. His fingers splayed out against the small of her back, another disconcerting area of scintillating warmth she was having trouble dealing with.

He said nothing for a long moment, nodded to someone who'd made a passing comment. She relaxed a bit, grateful that his upsetting cross-examination was successfully past.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see her grandfather sitting next to Jean on a small couch. He looked as out of place in his rented tux as she felt in her borrowed dress, yet he seemed happy, and his color was good. She was grateful for that, at least.

Jean was wearing another warm-up suit, her only concession to the fact that this was a formal occasion was that it was made of pink silk and her sandals glittered with rhinestones. She was also wearing a different wig. This one, a flowing platinum model, Serena thought of as "The Dolly Parton."

Detecting movement, she noticed Aunt Jeannie was waving at her. Reinforcing her flagging smile, she waved back. Both Grandpa and Jeannie seemed so pleased by the match, she was sick at heart for what she was doing. She'd only meant her little lie to ease her grandfather's passing. If she'd had any idea it would all blow up the way it had and spin so crazily out of control, she would never have lied in the first place.

Yet, caught as she was, unable to undo what she'd started, she had no choice but to try as hard as she could to loosen up, to press herself to Darien in an enticing manner, pretending they were a happy bride and groom.

With deep misgivings, she knew she must get back to gazing into his eyes. When she flicked her unwilling glance to his face, she had a shock. He was watching her, a corner of his mouth curved knowingly. He knew she'd been lying about her sexual experience. She hadn't fooled him at all! "I never would have guess," he murmured, his vivid blue eyes alight with taunting laughter, "from the way you kissed me."

She could barely manage to keep from squirming beneath his amused scrutiny. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she hedged through a faltering smile.

His deep chuckle tingled against her breasts, further shredding her already tattered nerves.

That is the end of chapter 4….5 will be up shortly. Again I'm really sorry leaving you guys hanging like that. To make it up I will have 5 and 6 up at the same time by the end of the week. Until next time, peace out! KACI