Free Anew: The Epilogue by Josie Litton

Chapter One

     
    July, 2059
     
    A s
the helicopter rises from the roof of Pinnacle House and turns north, my gaze
is drawn irresistibly to Ian, my husband, seated beside me. My husband. In
the few hours that have passed since we exchanged our vows, I’ve said those
words again and again to myself, marveling that they can be true. We’ve known
each other such a short time yet I feel that I know him better than I will ever
know anyone else. At the very least, he has my complete love and trust. I’ve
joyfully bound my life to his.
    Yet I can’t help wondering about the coming days--and
nights. After facing so much danger and risk together, we finally have a chance
to be alone, just the two of us, away from all the demands of the outside
world. What will we discover about one another that we haven’t already?
    The possibilities are as delicious as they are tantalizing.
    “You’re smiling, wife ,” Ian says, lingering over the
last word. In the soundproofed cabin of the chopper, I can hear him perfectly. He
brushes a finger gently along my cheek. “That’s good to see.”
    His tenderness strikes a deep chord in me. Instinctively, I
lean closer, craving his touch as much as I crave light and air.
    His amber eyes are heavy-lidded, almost slumberous as he
studies me but I don’t mistake the flare of passion within them. Our need for
each other is always urgent and consuming. All the more so now because we
abstained in the period immediately before our marriage. Our bout of celibacy
wasn’t my idea. Ian suggested it because, he said, it would heighten our
anticipation of the honeymoon to come. If mine gets any higher, I’m likely to
combust.
    I suspected there was more to his sudden interest in
self-denial than he was willing to admit. In the aftermath of the shocking
events surrounding our engagement, he has been unfailingly gentle. A part of me
truly appreciates that. But the rest needs more…. much more.
     “We’ll be there soon,” he says with a quirk of his chiseled
mouth, as though he knows perfectly well what I’m thinking.
     Staring at him, I lose myself in the memory of how that
mouth feels against my skin, sucking at the sensitive spot behind my ear, down
my throat, along the curve of my breasts to my nipples and---
    I break off, breathing hard. Ian, on the other hand, looks perfectly
calm. His dark brown hair, thick and neatly trimmed, gleams with hidden shards
of gold. For our wedding, he was freshly shaved, exposing the leanness of his
cheeks and the strong, square line of his jaw. But now hours later, the shadow
of stubble is emerging.
    My fingers itch to stroke it but even more compelling is the
thought of how that tantalizing not-quite-roughness feels between my thighs. My
legs are pressed tightly together in an effort to still the rampant need
swiftly turning to wildfire inside me. My cheeks flame as it occurs to me that,
as attuned as he is to me, he can smell my arousal.
    Before we left the reception in the garden of my family’s
home, I changed from my wedding gown into an ecru linen dress with a bow
neckline, cap sleeves, and a fitted waist. From the front, the dress is
deceptively simple. It’s only when I turn my back that the long row of buttons
becomes evident. They extend from the dip between my shoulder blades and curve over
my bottom to below my thighs.
    I needed the help of a maid to get into the dress. I will
need Ian’s help to get out of it. The buttons are a tiny payback for the nights
without him but I’m beginning to think that their cost is too high. I desperately
need to feel his skin against mine with no barriers between us.
    “Are you hungry?” The mock innocence of his tone is belied
by the heat of his gaze.
    “Desperately.” I don’t think either of us had very much to
eat at the reception. We were far too busy enjoying the pleasure of being with
friends and family, laughing at the many toasts, dancing, and sipping champagne
between stolen kisses. Even so, I’m