The Bride Wore A Forty-Four by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page A

"We're almost to
shore."
    She picked up the oars and used them to push
the boat to the shoreline, then she climbed out and dragged the
craft's nose onto the beach. She reached for him, and he didn't
wince when he moved. The cut on his hand had stopped bleeding, and
he'd managed to wash the blood away as they'd crossed the lake,
with strips of the T-shirt and lake water.
    He stepped onto the shore.
    She couldn't help but slide her arms around
his waist, and his came around her as if the action were reflexive.
Resting her head on his chest, she said, "God, this has been a
nightmare for you. All of it."
    His good hand in her hair, he whispered, "The
nightmare would have been if I'd lost you. Have I, Kira?"
    She lifted her head slowly and met his eyes,
let them probe hers. "Even if I never remember another thing, I
know that what we had was real, and it was good. And that I want it
back."
    His eyes roamed her face for another moment,
and then he lowered his head and kissed her. His mouth covered
hers, and then his tongue nudged her lips apart, and she opened to
him, eager to explore the feelings he stirred in her. She held him
harder, tangling her tongue with his, as her heart pounded and her
breaths stuttered. And when she arched against him, she felt him,
hard, and pushing back.
    She opened her eyes, drawing her mouth away
from his, and whispered, "I want to make love to you, Michael. Just
as soon as your hand is patched up, I want us to—"
    "Hand, hell." He scooped her into his arms,
took her mouth even as he carried her further across the shore, and
into a meadow of tall grasses and wildflowers. Dropping to his
knees, he laid her down in the grass, stretched out beside her,
kissing her jaw, her neck. His wounded hand lay on the ground above
her head, but the good one ran over her cheeks, and then her
breasts, and then her belly. She wanted to touch him, too, and
quickly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down from his shoulders.
She ran her palms over his chest, and the fire inside her burned
hotter.
    Michael managed to lift up the top she wore,
one-handed, then he pushed it higher, exposing her breasts to the
night As he fondled them he whispered, "God, I've missed you, Kira.
The feel of you. The taste of you." He kissed a path down her neck,
across her chest and breasts, and then he suckled her, and she
clutched his head and whimpered in pleasure. His hand moved lower,
between her legs, rubbing there, until she arched her hips off the
ground. He responded instantly, easily unzipping the pants. She
pushed them down as far as she could reach, then wriggled them the
rest of the way off, and kicked them aside. She lay there, naked,
and he rose up a little, so he could look at her. He stroked her
thighs until she parted them, and then he put his hand between
them, rubbing, spreading and exploring her.
    She put her hand over his, and pushed him
deeper, arching her hips, rubbing against his fingers, closing her
eyes. She moved her own hand to the bulge of his pants, then,
stroking him until he groaned. Then she unfastened the button,
carefully lowered the zipper, and shoved the pants off him.
    Impatient, he backed away, only for a moment
When he came back to her, he was as naked as she, and when he began
to caress her and suckle her again, she clutched his hips and
pulled him to her, wrapping her thighs around him, tugging him
until he slid inside her. Then she closed her eyes and whispered
his name. "Oh, God, Michael. Yes."
    He drove into her then, beyond restraint, she
thought. He drove the breath from her lungs and filled her so
deeply she cried out and moved to take him into her again and
again. He kissed her as he plunged into her, pushing her closer and
closer to heaven, and when she exploded around him, he clasped her
hip in his hand, holding her to him to take even more. Her body
shattered, shuddered, convulsed, and she moaned in pleasure, then
held him hard as he spilled into her.
    He held her tight in his arms while her