Free Anew: The Epilogue by Josie Litton Page A

not referring to food, as I’m sure Ian
knows perfectly well.
    All the same, he says, “I’ve arranged for supper but we’ll
have to serve ourselves.”
    I resist the urge to squirm under his steady, patient
regard. For an instant, I think I know what it feels like to be the prey of a
bold, relentless hunter. Except to be captured by Ian means to be subjected to
overwhelming pleasure, taken again and again, made to come over and over, and
all the while knowing that I can do the same to him. We truly could not be
better matched.
    With a smile, he catches hold of a stray curl that has
tumbled loose from the soft up-do of my chestnut hair. Tucking it behind my
ear, he says, “The staff will only be around a few hours a day while we’re in
residence.”
    The brush of his fingers against my skin is a sweet, sharp
torment. How I’ve missed his intimate touch. It seems eons since we were
together and now he wants to have supper first? My back stiffens. No way will
we start our marriage strictly on his terms. Nor do I really believe that he
wants to. As domineering as he can be on occasion, he’s made it clear beyond
any doubt that he craves my strength and passion as much as I do his.
    “That’s good,” I say, slanting him a glance from beneath my
lashes. “It seems so long since we were alone together.”
    As I speak, I rest my hand on his thigh. The diamond
engagement ring on my finger gleams brilliantly. It’s joined now by a matching
platinum wedding band with the same antique scroll. A similar ring, wider and
more masculine, adorns Ian’s hand.
     Through the fine wool of his charcoal grey formal wear, I
can feel his powerful muscles tense. Holding his eyes, I lightly stroke a path
toward his groin. My fingertips trace the contours of his already impressive
erection.
    “Does it seem long to you?” I ask as my nails rake him
delicately. “I thought it was long and hard, so very hard.”
    My voice is already low but I drop it another notch. We’re
seated just behind our pilot but he’s wearing headphones and appears entirely
focused on his task.
    Reassured that we can’t be overheard, I lean closer to Ian
and murmur, “The past few nights I’ve been having the most vivid dreams. They’ve
been very…explicit. Every time I woke up, I was so wet and hot that I was
tempted to touch myself. But as soon as I thought of doing that, I realized
that I wanted you to be watching me.”
    Ian’s face darkens. He sounds suddenly hoarse. “For god’s
sake, Amelia…!”
    I can’t help grinning but not for long. His manner is
implacable as he covers my hand with his and moves it back to my lap. “Behave
yourself.”
    “Whatever do you mean? I’m just looking forward to supper.”
    “It will damn well keep,” Ian says and leans forward to ask
the pilot how much longer we’ll be in the air.
    The answer, as it turns out, is long enough to me to be
thoroughly hot and bothered by the time the chopper angles in toward the
landing pad on the private estate two hundred miles north of the city. Distantly,
I remember that the portion where the main house stands represents only a small
part of the whole. The rest is wilderness, a nature preserve encompassing thousands
of acres, dotted with hills and lakes, heavily forested, and inhabited by
everything from tiny flying squirrels to the occasional black bear and wolf.
    A feeling of relief and excitement fills me as I realize how
far we have come from the city with all its complications and demands. Here
we’re truly free to concentrate on each other, assuming that we can throw off
the lingering shadows of everything we have been through recently.
    Being so close to Ian, I’m vividly aware of the scent of
fine wool, clean linen, and a faintly sandalwood soap mingling with the essence
of his supremely fit body--a hint of sweat and musk that makes my senses reel.
As if that weren’t bad enough, I’m all too conscious of the bulge in his
trousers. Why does the pad have to be