Untouched A Cedar Cove Novella

before. We don't have people over. Ever. It's an unspoken rule of the house, a way for us to contain the damage. Contain mom.
    Juliet doesn't reply, she just mumbles, staring at the ground. "I, um, should go." She finally blurts, then takes off for the door.
    She leaves without looking at me, without saying goodbye. I feel a bitter wave of disappointment crash through me.
    I fucked it up.
    Just like I always do. I drove her away. I had her in my arms, and I ravaged her like some fucking animal. Oh god, she must hate me now.
    "Emerson." I look back. Brit is watching me with a concerned look on her face. "Em, are you ok? I'm sorry I barged in," she adds quickly. "But the door was open, and--"
    "It's not your fault." I tell her gruffly. The words catching my throat, and I stride inside, slamming the door behind me.
    The fault is mine. It's always mine.

J ULIET
    He kissed me.
    No, Emerson didn't just kiss me, he consumed me. He devoured me. And I couldn't get enough.
    I lay in bed all night awake, replaying the kiss over and over in my mind. The feel of his body, rock hard against me, the relentless sweet plunge of his tongue in my mouth. I shiver, heat pooling through my body, my skin prickling with awareness just at the thought of him.
    It's too hot in here, I can't breathe.
    That's because he took your breath away.
    I leap up, crossing to the window and open it wide. The night air is cool and refreshing, but it's still not enough to soothe me. My whole body feels swollen, my breasts aching, my thighs tight. I strip off my oversize T and slip back between the sheets, naked under the cool cotton. I feel it slide against my body, cool where his hands had been so hot, and my stomach trembles all over again.
    God, but that man can kiss.
    I lay back, eyes shut, remembering the look in his eyes when he reached for me, the dark intensity that turned me molten inside. Even now, I feel a shock of electricity spark down my body, imagining him right here under the covers next to me. His touch. His lips. His hands...
    And then I remember the expression on his sister’s face when she found us together, and the rush of shame is so bad I have to roll under my pillows and silently scream with embarrassment.
    What the hell was I thinking? I'd known the guy all of eight hours, and I was this close to pulling him down on the hard wooden porch and giving him my virginity right then and there, to hell with the consequences. What must he think of me? Nothing good, that’s for sure: he didn’t even try to come after me, or get my number, or even ask to see me again.
    And why would he? A small voice of doubt whispers. I was crazy. I was possessed. I was acting like a stranger, like some girl I didn't even know.
    My thoughts whirl around my head all night, but as I finally drift into sleep, I realize the strangest part of the whole thing, why despite all my insecurities and disbelief, I feel a warm glow bathe my whole body. Because the truth is I didn't feel like a different person. When I was holding Emerson, kissing him, aching for his touch... I've never felt more like myself. Juliet. The girl inside of me.
    I was free.
    When I wake the next morning, Emerson’s kisses feel like a dream. A dangerous, tempting dream. I push the lingering memories away and leap out of bed, determined that despite my moment of total madness last night, I’m not going to fall to pieces over this guy—no matter how drop-dead gorgeous he is, or how his kisses undo me. I’m not going to spend the rest of my summer obsessing over him like some lovesick puppy, riding by his house, or hanging out in town panting for just one glance.
    I could be just another in a long line of summer kisses; one of the millions of girls a guy like that must have waiting. I don’t know what he wants from me, and I sure as hell don’t know what I want from him.
    Except to kiss him until the world ends.
    I spend the next few days ignoring the voice in my head whispering his name, and throw myself into summer activities with mom instead. If she thinks it’s strange that I suddenly want to hang out with her, she doesn't say it. She happily takes us off fruit picking, and driving out to the beach, and browsing the tourist stores in the beach towns nearby. Whatever free time is left, I spend in the tiny photography studio, setting up my materials and developing my first rolls of film. I focus on the tasks in front of me, pretending like it’s not Emerson’s face I see drifting to