Untouched A Cedar Cove Novella

wide, but I can't help it. Eagerly, I drink in the sight of him: worn white shirt pale against his golden tan, muscles taut and straining under the fabric. He's wearing faded jeans, and flip-flops, Ray-Bans on, and all the windows down. I can’t help but bring my camera up, and snap a photo, right there.
    He looks like summer, like everything good and bold and dangerous in the world.
    Mine.
    The world whispers in my mind, but I push it down. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Juliet, I warn sternly. You don’t know what this is.
    “Hey yourself,” he grins, easy, and slides his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me in for a long, lazy kiss. My heart is racing as I taste him, mint and coffee, and something else, something all Emerson.
    Last night was hot and hard, but this is slower, languid. He teases my mouth open, his tongue finding mine as his fingers gently twist in my hair. I exhale, sinking into him, the sun beating hot and the stereo playing something that sounds like summer.
    “Hey,” I whisper again, when we finally come up for air. “I missed you.”
    I hear the words leave my mouth and freeze, embarrassed, but Emerson's smile only grows wider.
    “You ready?”He puts the truck back in drive, and then slings his right arm around my shoulder. I snuggle closer, reveling in the touch of him.
    “Ready for what?” I ask, as he turns out of town.
    “This is our first date.” Emerson announces.
    “Really?” I laugh. “I thought we were a long way past that.”
    Like, three bases past.
    I blush at the reminder, and I can tell from his wolfish grin that Emerson's thinking the same thing.
    “A girl like you deserves a real date,” Emerson declares. “Not just groping in the dark somewhere.”
    “In case you’ve forgotten, I kind of liked the whole groping in the dark thing,” I say, amazed at my boldness.
    Emerson laughs. “Only kind of? Sweetheart, if that was you kind of liking something, I can’t wait to see what happens when you love it.”
    “You'll just have to find out then, won't you?” I tease.
    “Oh, I will. Believe me, baby. I've got plans for the two of us.” Emerson gives me that look again, dark and wild. He curves his lips into a teasing grin.
    I feel a rush of anticipation, so strong I have to catch my breath and look away.
    “So, where are we heading?” I ask in a new voice, fighting to keep my heart from bursting straight out of my chest.
    “I know a spot, inland, there's a place to swim, and sunbathe. Private,” he adds.
    “Let me guess, it's your regular hookup spot,” I say, feeling a stab of disappointment.
    “No.” Emerson's reply is simple and honest. Without looking away from the road, he takes my hand and lifts it to his lips, grazing the skin of my knuckles with a kiss. “You're the only one, Jules.”
    I feel warmth blossom in my chest like sunshine. I kick my feet up on the dashboard and sit back, in the thrilling safety of his embrace.
    The miles fly by, in a haze of closeness and music and cool summer breeze, until Emerson turns off the highway and down a dusty back road. We drive out into the country, fields and overgrown woodland getting thicker as we head into nature, with not another soul around. About ten miles down the track, Emerson pulls off the road and parks up by the grass. He hops down, and comes around to get my door, lifting me to the ground.
    “Wait,” I say, reaching up to loop my finger over the top of his T-shirt. “Got to tip the driver.”
    “Yes ma’am.” Emerson grins. He lets me pull him down to meet me, finding my lips with his, cool and soft and sweet. I lean back against the truck and just revel in the kiss, so simple, out here, away from it all. We’re alone with the birdsong, and the wind in the trees, with all the time in the world.
    Finally, I let him go. Emerson fetches a blanket and a beach bag from the bed of the truck, and then takes my hand and leads me out through the woods. We follow a dirt track winding through the trees, with wild-flowers growing and leaves shading the path. “You’ll love this place, it’s the best-kept secret in town,” Emerson tells me, pausing to help me over a fallen log. “Locals only, no outsiders allowed.”
    “Do I need a special pass then?” I laugh.
    “Nope. I’m local enough for the both of us.” Emerson winks at me.
    We follow the path another ten minutes or so, until we reach a clearing in the trees. I gasp. The swimming hole is edged with reeds and moss, cool and