After the Fall

by Lisa Bingham

  Before he could finish, she wriggled free, taking his hand and leading him from the tiny living room to the bedroom beyond. She’d left a lamp on at her dressing table and the soft glow spilled into the corners with a golden glow.

  Once at the bed, she sat on the edge, rolling down the first stocking and then throwing it over the end of the footboard. Within seconds, the other followed. Then she finished unfastening her merry widow and draped it on a chair. The silken tap pants were held with a single button, and it was an easy enough matter to free the fastener, dropping the last of her scanties before climbing into the bed and pulling the covers around her waist.

  Gilhouley wasted no time in ridding himself of his own shoes and socks, then pushed his pants and underwear to the ground in a single movement. Then with a grin that was pure Gilhouley, he slid into the bed beside her.

  No words were needed or exchanged, just sighs of pleasure and ardent murmurs as Gilhouley drew her close, their skin seeing to meld together, their bodies fitting in such a way that could only be divine. And with each stroke, each nudge, each kiss and caress, their passion grew to a fever pitch that could no longer be contained.

  When he settled above her, Rosemary moaned at the delicious weight of him, her body opening up, her hips settling into position. And when she felt the first intimate nudge, she wrapped her legs around him, urging him to fill her aching void, knowing that if he didn’t, she would expire on the spot.

  And then, he was thrusting into her, plunging deep, causing her to grip his shoulders so tightly her nails dug into his skin. A groan of pleasure burst from her lips, once, twice, as he continued to thrust over and over again, stoking the fires within her until she cried out with her release, her body pounding in echo to his own as with one final plunge, he froze, trembling, his body shuddering with his climax.

  Later, much later, she lay with her back to his chest, his body spooned against hers. She was drained, but more content than she could ever remember being. For the first time, she felt cherished and protected. Safe.

  “I have to go to the hospital sometime soon,” she whispered against her sudden weariness.

  “Can it wait an hour?” he asked, his lips against her shoulder.

  “Mmm,” she answered sleepily, nodding against the pillow. She hadn’t had a good night’s rest in weeks, but she felt as if she could sleep for a month.

  “I’ll wake you in time.” Gilhouley said against her ear, his voice low and deep.

  “Mmm.”

  She was ready to surrender completely when a sudden thought jarred her back into wakefulness. “Gilhouley?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What’s your first name?”

  She felt him smile against her temple.

  “Riley. Riley Patrick Gilhouley.”

  “Riley,” she whispered, her own mouth tipping in pleasure.

  Then she fell fast asleep.

  A hand touched his shoulder, and he was instantly awake.

  “Take this,” a voice whispered.

  Squinting, he saw that he was being given a small, white pill.

  “What is it?”

  “Quinine.”

  “How…?”

  “Kilgore had work detail in the garden all week. One of the kids from the village snuck up beside him and asked about you.”

  “About me?”

  “Yeah. Kilgore said you were down with malaria and the kid ran off. He didn’t think any more about it until the kid showed up again today and handed him this.” He held up a small bottle. When he shook it, the pills inside barely rattled because it was nearly full.

  Dear God, a full bottle of quinine.

  “Now take the goddamn pill before somebody sees what we’ve got.”

  He quickly slid the pill onto his tongue, then took a swig from the canteen. Settling back on his pallet, he closed his eyes and prayed the medicine would work quickly.

  “Oh, there’s one more thing.”

  He blinked, focusing on the darker shape of his friend.

  “The kid that gave the quinine to Kilgore said to tell you the medicine’s a gift from the padre.”

  “What?”

  “That’s word for word what Kilgore told me. The medicine’s a gift from the padre.”

  For the first time in years, he felt a spark of hope. Just a spark. But as it caught hold in his chest, a low laugh burst from his throat.

  “Hey, that means something to you?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that means something. To all of us.”

  It meant help could be near.

  Chapter Four

  At first, John had been relieved that the redheaded woman—Glory Bee?—had fallen asleep. As long as she was out, he didn’t have to worry about carrying on a conversation. He’d never been much good at small talk. And with darkness pressing in on the windows of the truck, he wouldn’t have the usual subjects of the weather or the surroundings to pass the time. That would leave politics or exchanging personal tidbits, and he’d rather have his fingernails pulled out one by one.

  So he’d driven as carefully as he could, avoiding the potholes and slowing down for ruts and washed out roads so that the American wouldn’t be disturbed. But what he hadn’t counted on was the way the swaying of the truck altered her position. She’d started with her head tucked against the window, but as the truck bounced and shuddered and swayed, she’d begun to lean to the left, farther and farther, until she hovered in mid-air. Then suddenly, she sagged sideways, drawing her legs up onto the seat and resting her head on his thigh.

  “Hell,” he muttered to himself as she rooted around for a bit, then fell back into a deep sleep. What was he supposed to do now?

  A heat filled his cheeks and he was grateful for the masking darkness. John hesitated for a few minutes, then tentatively prodded her with a finger.

  “Miss?”

  The woman offered no response, so he shook her ever so slightly.

  “Miss…Glory Bee?”

  This time, she muttered something unintelligible. But rather than moving back to her original position, she moved her head, seeking a more comfortable position, then slid her hand beneath her cheek, thereby gripping his inner thigh.

  Startled, John nearly drove off the edge of the road. Swearing, he centered the vehicle in the narrow lane again and took a deep breath. “Bloody, bloody hell,” he muttered to himself.

  Again, he debated what to do, but since the woman was so exhausted, he feared that if he tried to wake her, she might begin rooting around in his lap again and…

  So he tried to keep his mind away from the woman altogether. He counted to one hundred—in English, French, and Mandarin. Then he began to hum tunes, recite poems, and yes, even fell back on the all-too-familiar scriptures. All to no avail. He couldn’t avoid the warmth of her skin seeping into his.

  Sighing, he let her sleep, fearing that waking her might prove more embarrassing for them both. But when he turned into the washboard road leading to the plantation, he knew that he was going to have to do something.

  In the end, the decision was taken from him. As soon as he turned off the motor in the Wilmot’s drive, she woke, lifted upright and stretched, apparently unaware of the havoc that she had caused John for the entire journey.

  “Wow,” she said in awed tones as she peered through the side window. From this vantage point, the house was bathed in moonlight, so much so that the decorative wrought iron railings and scrollwork looked like icing on a wedding cake. “This is some place. Wilmot must be rolling in dough.”

  Her frankness caught John by surprise and he couldn’t help laughing.

  Realizing her mistake, she covered her mouth with her hands. “I shouldn’t have said that, right?” She sighed. “Sorry. I should be on my best behavior, with Wilmot being your friend and all.”

  “Not friend. Boss. I’m Wilmot’s foreman.”

  Her brows rose. “Really? Jeepers. Then I’ve really stuck my foot in it, haven’t I?”

  She looked so honestly contrite, a
nd that expression, combined with her tousled red hair and pink cheeks, gave her the appearance of being little more than a girl. But the figure outlined by her simple dress was anything but girlish.

  “I’m Glory Bee O’Halloran,” she said holding out a hand. “Glory B—“

  “Double ‘E’,” he supplied.

  She flushed. “That’s right. I already introduced myself. Sorry. Between the boat ride here and the scramble of rehearsals, I’ve grown a bit scatterbrained, but I promise I’m not usually like this.” She frowned. “Well, not always.”

  When she finished speaking, she regarded John with an expectant look. It took a few seconds before he realized that he hadn’t supplied his own name.

  “I’m John. John Macklin.”

  He shook her hand, one that was so tiny and slim, he feared he might crush her. But she was stronger than she looked, returning the gesture with a firm grip.

  When he spoke, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re not from around here, are you? You sound…I don’t know. British or—”

  “New Zealand. I was born in New Zealand.”

  Her smile lit up her whole face. “Lordy, how I love to listen to you fellows talk. I’m from Virginia, myself, and I swear most folk there sound like they’ve got a mouthful of marbles. But y’all…well, there’s a lilt to your speech like a whippoorwill first thing in the morning.”

  John’s mouth dropped. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond to that, but Glory Bee didn’t require a comment.

  “Have you lived here long? In the Philippines?”

  “A couple of years.”

  “And before that?”

  He hesitated before supplying, “China.”

  She whistled softly, her lips forming a perfect bow that John felt deep in his gut. “You’ve seen quite a bit of the world, haven’t you?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “This is the first time I’ve been more than fifty miles from my home town. I’m not quite certain if I like all that traveling yet. Heaven only knows I’m not a good sailor.”

  Before John could think of a suitable reply, she twisted in her seat and opened the truck door, then slid to the ground. John followed more slowly, frowning when the front door remained closed. He’d left specific instructions to Kako and Miyoki to stay up in order to meet their new guest, but they had apparently misunderstood and gone home.

  That meant he was going to have to make sure that Miss Glory Bee O’Halloran had been made comfortable for the evening.

  Irritated at the change in plans, John quickly untied the ropes holding her luggage in place and hefted the bags free.

  “If you can open the front door for me, I’ll show you inside.”

  Glory Bee grabbed her purse and her overnight case and went up the shallow steps to the ornate double doors. Twisting one of the knobs, she stepped into the entry hall, where she paused.

  Setting her trunk on the ground, he flipped the switch to the chandelier overhead, immediately flooding the room with twinkling star-like glints of brightness as the crystals shimmered in the breeze blowing in from the doorway.

  “Here, on the main floor, there’s a formal sitting room—” he gestured to the right where a sunken room had been decorated in sleek, modern lines and art deco furniture. Pointing the opposite direction, he said, “Through there is the dining room and the sun room. He pointed ahead of him. “Straight through there’s another set of doors leading out to the pool and the courtyard. To the left is the kitchen, to the right is Wilmot’s study. He has a fair collection of books should you need something to read in order to pass the time. I’m sure Mr. Wilmot wouldn’t mind, but you’ll have to ask Kako for the key. Since the room holds his business files, it’s kept locked.”

  “Will the Wilmots be coming to the Philippines any time soon?”

  She was nervous at the prospect, so he quickly reassured her with, “No. They’ve decided to remain in England. With London being hard-hit and U-boats prowling the Atlantic, they didn’t think it would be wise to travel.”

  Although the house was quiet, John called out, “Hello? Kako? Miyoki?” There was no answer, no sound at all other than the rustling of the palm trees outside. He motioned for Glory Bee to precede him up the stairs. “There’s a staff of seven who come and go in the house, including me. There might be a language barrier with some of them. Kako and Miyoki are in charge of the Big House, for the most part. They’re Japanese, but they speak passable English. The others—a couple of maids, an errand boy, and the gardener, are Filipino with only limited English. If you have any problems communicating with any of them, feel free to send for me.”

  “And where do you stay?”

  “I’ve got a little place opposite the house.” He gestured in the direction they’d just come. “I spend most of the daylight hours in the fields, but you can send a message or leave a note under the door if you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  The staircase swooped up, up, in a semicircle. Once at the top, John nodded to the right. “The Wilmots’ rooms are in that direction. You’ll be staying in the visitor’s wing to the left.”

  He pointed to the first door. Stepping inside, he set her baggage on the ground and flipped on the light. “Naturally, if the room isn’t to your liking, there are plenty of others you can choose from.”

  Glory Bee stepped inside. As she gazed around the room, her eyes grew huge and her mouth dropped into a perfect “O”.

  “No, no,” she breathed. “This will be fine.” Then, as if she couldn’t contain herself, she blurted, “Holy, Moses! Would you look at that bed!”

  John laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The bed was indeed a sight, large enough for a small army and swathed completely in pink—pink bed skirt, pink satin coverlet, mountains of pink ruffled pillows, and yards and yards of pink mosquito netting that draped from the towering canopy.

  “Make sure you put the mosquito netting over you at night,” John said. He strode to the far end of the room and opened another door. “There are drawers and closet space here for you.”

  He stepped into the hall again and she obediently followed. “The bathroom is here. Since there are no other guests, you’ll have it to yourself. I’m sure Kako and Miyoki have left towels and soap out for you.” He continued midway down the hall to another small landing and gestured down a narrow set of stairs. “If you go down here, you’ll end up in the kitchen.”

  As if on cue, the unmistakable sound of a rumbling stomach punctuated the silence.

  Glory Bee laughed in embarrassment, pressing a hand to her waist. “Sorry.”

  John frowned. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

  “Breakfast,” she said ruefully. “I didn’t have time before the show.”

  John sighed. Kako and Miyoki were supposed to have remained at the house until Miss O’Halloran had arrived so that they could give her the tour and then offer her something to eat.

  Motioning for Miss O’Halloran to follow, he went down the steps, ducking through the low arch, and stepped into the kitchen beyond. He flipped on the lights, and was immediately rewarded with a glare that reflected off the white tile floors, glossy cabinets, and a huge farmer’s table surrounded by straight-back chairs.

  Miss O’Halloran seemed entranced by the room. Her fingers trailed over the counters as she passed a wall of windows that made the space sunny and bright during the day. Her eyes widened as she noted every modern convenience—a huge gas stove and a refrigerator as big as a closet. There were freestanding mixers, blenders, and a small army of electric toasters. There had been times when as many as thirty guests and family members had been housed at the plantation and the kitchen had supplied meals ’round the clock. But tonight, the range was quiet and the hum of the refrigerator was overly loud.

  John had thought that Kako might have set out a plate for their guest, but the table and counters were empty. Yanking open the refrigerator, he found sliced meats and cheeses, glass containers of fresh vegetabl
es, cold roast chicken, eggs, milk, and butter, pies, pastries, and fruit suspended in golden syrup—but no plate left for Miss O’Halloran.

  At a loss, John finally motioned to the contents. “Feel free to make yourself at home. There’s bread in the breadbox and tinned foods in the cupboard. If you need anything and can’t find it, Kako can help you in the morning.”

  Now that the tour was finished, John found himself suddenly eager to leave. The darkness pressing in on the windows made the room feel smaller than it actually was and the atmosphere much too intimate.

  He touched a finger to the brim of his hat, realizing too late that he probably should have removed it altogether upon coming into the house. “I’ll leave you to settle in.”

  He’d taken only a few steps when Glory called out, “John?”

  He turned at the door to the hallway, his brows lifting questioningly.

  Glory Bee wrung her hands together, indecisive about what she wanted to say, but she finally asked, “Have you eaten? I-I mean I really would welcome your company…at least until I can get the feel for things and…if you’d care to join me…”

  John felt something inside him melt. Glory Bee might have traveled thousands of miles to reach her destination, but now that she was here, she wasn’t entirely sure of herself.

  But he couldn’t allow the lines between them to blur. She was an invited guest at the plantation. He was only a hired hand.

  “Sorry. I’ve got some accounts to go over and…”

  She flushed, embarrassed. Obviously, she’d interpreted his words for what they were, a hastily contrived excuse.

  “Of course. I pulled you away from your work, didn’t I?” She held her hands together, fingers entwined in an unconsciously meek pose. “Thank you. For all your help.”

  Again, he touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Good night, Miss O’Halloran.”

  Anxious to put as much space between them as possible, he strode into the hall. He’d taken only a few steps before something pricked at his conscience. Swearing softly under his breath, he returned to the kitchen—and for one split second, he caught Glory Bee O’Halloran with her features naked and unguarded.