Untouched: A Cedar Cove Novella Part 1

UNTOUCHED.

MELODY GRACE.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

This book wouldn't have been possible without the support, cheer-leading, and trouble-shooting of a ton of people. A huge thanks to my family, for being awesome, and especially my mom (even though you refuse to read the smexy parts!). Thanks to my kick-a.s.s agent, Rebecca Friedman, and my incredible friends and happy-hour crew: ED, JSC, NNS, LB, GM, JB, EC. You rock! To my new, fabulous indie friends: Emily Snow, Lauren Blakely and Monica Murphy, and all the amazing book bloggers, tweeters, and facebook friends who made the Unbroken launch a dream come true. You all wanted more of Emerson and Juliet's story, so this one really is my thank-you to you for being so supportive!

xo Melody.

JULIET.

There was a time I didn't believe in fate.

I read all the fairy-tales, watched movies with star-crossed lovers, but to me it always seemed like the coward's way out, a way to never make a real choice about your life. When something big happened, or a change came along, I would watch people say, "it's meant to be," and let it all just happen, like they were driftwood tumbling in the tide, powerless to stop for one second and decide if it was really what they wanted.

I listened to my friends talk about soul-mates, and I couldn't understand. How could they act like it was beyond their control, as if they were just pieces of a bigger puzzle, with no say in anything at all?

I didn't realize: sometimes fate is the hardest choice of all.

That summer, I was on the edge of everything: my future, adulthood, a life of my own design. I'd waited to so long be free from the secrets of my past, it was almost within reach. Just one summer, and I could be gone forever, shed my skin and start fresh somewhere. Be someone new.

And then I crossed the county line into Cedar Cove, and everything changed.

Because that's the thing I didn't understand about fate: there's always a moment when you do have a choice. Standing there in the shallows, watching the wave roll in; feeling its power, knowing it might pull you under, but believing the water will carry your weight all the same.

It's an act of faith. A miracle.

But you have to decide: give yourself up and surrender to a force far greater than you will ever understand, or turn and walk away-live the rest of your days safe on dry land, knowing that when it mattered most of all, you weren't brave enough to risk it. You weren't brave enough to love.

Yes, fate was real, and his name was Emerson Ray. He came cras.h.i.+ng into me that summer, sending my plans scattering on the wind, and turning my whole world upside-down with just one wounded smile. I looked at him and knew, there would be nothing easy about our destiny; nothing simple about my surrender.

The only question was, would I be brave enough to take that leap?

EMERSON.

I wake with a pounding headache, lying next to a girl whose name I don't remember.

d.a.m.n.

I lay there a minute, feeling a familiar burn of self-loathing as I try and think back how I wound up here. There was booze, a lot of it, I can remember that much. A buddy's band was playing in a dive bar across town, the crowd rowdy and packed with cute coeds. I told the guys I needed to drive back home, but one drink turned into five, and then...

Everything's a blur.

I glance over at the girl, sprawled naked and face-down on the sheets. I should know her name. h.e.l.l, I should remember what her face looks like, but as usual, I've got nothing.

I take a breath and try to slip out of bed without waking her. It's a low move, just bailing, but I learned the hard way, it's worse if I stay. She'll want to go for breakfast, snuggle up to me, and make hopeful plans for dinner sometime, when everything in me is screaming to run. So, I let her sleep as I hunt for my jeans and s.h.i.+rt on a messy floor.

The room is small, with photos plastered on every wall. I pause by the door to check the ident.i.ty of the girl, smiling out from her high-school graduation shot. She's pretty, I guess. Bright smile, an innocent face. Someone's daughter, someone's sister.

I feel sick, and it's got nothing to do with my raging hangover.

I look over at her body, still slumped, unconscious in bed. I should leave her a note or something, I know. But what would I say?

'Thanks. I'm not going to call.'

No. Better to be gone, so she can write me off as the bad mistake I really am, and get on with forgetting me.

I let myself out and head down to the street. It takes me a moment to get my bearings, but then I see my truck parked up the block. I clamber up in the cab, still wincing from the pounding in my head. I search through the junk on the pa.s.senger seat for a bottle of water, and then I find them: black lace panties, torn at the edge.

Suddenly, it all comes back to me. The flirting over shots. The way she whispered in my ear. How I gave in and kissed her hard and fast, hating myself all the while, but hoping all the same that this time with this girl I'd find some escape, a way to forget my life, just for a little while.

But whatever I was looking for, I didn't find it. And it's morning now, and nothing's changed. I'm still the no-hope kid of two messed-up losers who had no business being parents in the first place. I'm still stuck in some nothing small town, working three jobs to keep us all afloat. Still doing everything I can to make sure my younger siblings don't wind up like me.

s.h.i.+t.

I grab my cellphone, already feeling a rush of guilt as I dial my little sister. "Hey, Brit, you OK?"

She answers sounding p.i.s.sed, but I don't blame her. "I'm fine. What happened to you?"

"I'm sorry I didn't make it back like I said." I lean my head back to rest it against the seat, closing my eyes against the harsh glare of morning light. "Is everything OK there?"

"I don't know," Brit drawls. "There was a party, I wound up cras.h.i.+ng at Keira's."

"Brit!" I exclaim, angry. Ever since she turned fifteen, she's been pus.h.i.+ng hard at the few rules I try to lay down. "What did we say about your curfew?"

"I don't know why I have to go home if none of you do." Brit replies, and although her voice is petulant, I hear a tremble in it.

d.a.m.n.

"Mom didn't come home?" I ask, and I know the answer, even before she replies.

"Nope."

The guilt gets worse as I imagine Brit alone in the house, waiting for Mom to stumble through the door in Lord-knows-what kind of a state. No wonder she went out partying rather than wait up all night for someone who might not come home. "What about your brother?" I ask.

"Ray Jay bailed in the morning, said something about a friend in Mobile." Brit is silent for a second, then adds in a small voice. "Can you get some cereal on your way home? There's no food in the house."

"Sure," I promise quickly, "I'll pick up some groceries before I head to work. And, I'm sorry, OK? I should have called."

"Whatever." The sullen tone is back in Brit's voice. "I'm heading to the beach with some people later. Don't wait up."

She hangs up, leaving me feeling like the worst d.a.m.n brother in the world. Brit likes to talk tough, but I know that under everything, she's still just a kid. A kid who shouldn't have to deal with this s.h.i.+t, not if I can help it.

I quickly call my boss back at the bar and let him know I picked up the supplies he ordered, then I start the engine, and hit the road back to Cedar Cove. It's an hour's drive, and I throw on a mix CD full of angry rock songs. Even though the noise makes my head pound even harder, I need the noise-anything to drown out the guilt and shame trailing me, every mile I put between myself and last night's meaningless conquest.

It's a cloudy day, and as I head onto the coastal highway, it starts to rain: a grim drizzle, spattering against the truck windows. Despite the weather, summer season's already started, and soon the road home will be packed with tourists and their rental cars, heading out to enjoy the small beach town for a few weeks. For now, it's empty, save me and the car up ahead: a beat-up old Civic driving fast above the speed limit. I ease back and follow behind in lane, letting the music rattle through my brain, trying to numb the dirty, sleepless morning-after feeling itching in my veins.

I shouldn't have done it. The bar, the booze, the girl. None of it. I've been there so many times before: a different place, another girl, and it always winds up the same, with me sneaking out the morning after, feeling like a piece of s.h.i.+t excuse for a human being. I don't know why I keep trying, when I know how it's going to end. I guess I still have this hope, that one of these days I'll find it: that elusive escape. Some moment of peace. A way for the world to make sense-and someone who understands it.

Understands me.

The music goes silent at the end of the mix, leaving my thoughts way too loud. I reach over to find another CD.

Suddenly a bang sounds from the road.

What the--?

I look up in time to see the car in front spin wildly out of control-skidding on the wet highway, heading straight back towards me.

I yank the wheel around, swerving with everything I've got. Time slows as the other car skims past, just inches from the truck. I feel a shot of adrenalin racing through me, hanging on the edge as I desperately try to control my spin. I can see the pa.s.sengers in the front of the other car as it careens past, but I can't make out their faces. Then the truck hurtles off the road and I slam to a stop in a bank of sand and mud.

Silence.

I catch my breath, heart pounding in my chest from the near miss. d.a.m.n, that could have been bad. A head-on collision, in this weather? We're lucky n.o.body drove off into the bay, or worse still, wound up with their brains splattered over the winds.h.i.+eld from impact.

I shut off the engine and climb down, checking to see if the other car is OK. It's come to a stop askew on the side of the highway, so I turn back to check out my damage. My truck is buried hood-deep in a sandbank. It doesn't look too bad-the sand cus.h.i.+oned the impact, but now, there's no way I'm getting it out without a tow truck. All this, and I should have been at work an hour ago.

A flash of motion catches my eye: a girl is hurrying away from the other car, away from me, like she doesn't even care she just nearly ran us both off the road.

I feel a flash of anger and start after her. "Hey!" I call through the rain. She doesn't turn, or even slow down, so I break into a jog after her. "Hey, wait up!"

I grab her arm and pull her around, her arm slight and soft under my grip.

"What?" She yanks back like she's been burned. "What the f.u.c.k do you...?" Her words die on her lips as she stares up at me.

I stare back taking in the soft pink of those lips, and then, slowly, everything else.

She's young, eighteen or nineteen maybe, but radiating this fierce energy, like she's wound way too tight. Her face is pale, heart-shaped and framed with tangled curls of dyed-black hair, but it's her eyes that seem to sear right through me: thick-lashed jewels that lock fast on mine, not even blinking.

Suddenly the pounding in my head stops. Everything stops. It's like she can see through me, like she sees everything I am.

I can't look away.

The moment spins out for an eternity, everything else just fading away, like we're caught in the eye of a storm. My chest tightens with a feeling I don't recognize, some kind of recognition.

But that's crazy. I've never met this girl before.

Sense finally breaks through my weird daze and I drag my eyes away. It's like breaking a circuit: whatever weird sensation just flooded through me disappears. Now I'm just stuck on the edge of the rainy highway, feeling like a total dumba.s.s.

"Where are you going?" I demand, still holding onto her arm. "You can't just walk away from this!"

She pulls away, looking confused.

"Are you listening?" I bark again, still on edge. What the h.e.l.l just happened? I'm not the guy who drifts off like that-especially not over a girl. Maybe the near-miss shook me up more than I figured.

Yeah, that must be it. Almost dying. Not the way she was looking at me, like we'd known each other our whole lives.

I wait for a response, but the girl still doesn't speak. Concern suddenly ripples through me. "Wait, are you hurt?" I ask anxiously, moving closer again. "Did you hit your head?"

I reach for her face, trying to be gentle as I cup her jaw and slowly turn her head from side to side, checking for a bruise or cut. Her skin is soft under my touch, and when her eyes meet mine again, something blazes between us, like a shock of electricity that wakes every nerve in my body and sets them screaming with one thought.

f.u.c.k, she's beautiful.

The girl wrenches away from me, and something slams shut over her expression. Guarded, like she can't get away fast enough.

"I'm fine," she snaps, putting a few steps between us.

In a rush, I realize what a mess I must seem to her: last night's clothes, probably reeking of beer and smoke and h.e.l.l, s.e.x too. No wonder she's repulsed.

"Then you're lucky I don't kill you myself right now." I try and get my head together. "What the h.e.l.l was that back there?" I demand. Anger. Yeah, that's what I need. I advance on her, glaring. "Don't you know you shouldn't drive fast in a storm?"

I expect an apology, maybe even some tears, but instead, the girl's face blazes with fury. "First of all, I wasn't driving," she yells back at me. I step back in surprise. "And second, it was an accident! Our tire blew, it happens. How is any of this my fault?"

She scowls and folds her arms, pulling her T-s.h.i.+rt tight across her chest. The fabric is damp now from the rain, and it clings to the shape of her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I can see the lacy outline of her bra under the thin s.h.i.+rt, and the faint peak of her nipples.

l.u.s.t spirals through me.

I can't stop my gaze from drifting lower, taking in the sight of her all over again. The damp hair tangling over her shoulders, the slim curve of her waist, her long legs, bare below her cut-off shorts, pale skin wet and s.h.i.+ning in the rain. I have a sudden flash of those legs, wrapped around my waist; her soft lips parted, moaning my name.

How would she taste?

The thought whispers in my mind, but I shake it off and drag my eyes back to meet hers. She looks mad as h.e.l.l, standing tough there in the middle of the highway, like she would try and rip me apart with her bare hands if I touched her, despite the fact I'm twice her size.

I try not to smile. She's got guts. "How are you the mad one right now?" I ask, amused. "I'm the one with my truck totally f.u.c.ked back there."

She looks past me to where the truck is buried in the mud. She shrugs, like it's no big deal. "Yeah, well we've got a flat tire and no spare."

I grin at her att.i.tude. "What kind of idiot doesn't keep a spare? We're miles out from anywhere."

Her eyes flash. "Maybe the kind of person who drives in the city, where we have little things like cellphone signal and tow-trucks!"