Free When a Rake Falls by Sally Orr

touch when applied by an attractive male specimen. Everyone heard stories about the successes of London’s rakes and libertines, and she had always wondered why women would fall for that sort of charm. Now, sitting here, undergoing a thorough petting, she developed a better understanding of the power behind masculine wiles. Her rapid heartbeat became too fast to distinguish individual beats, and every inch of her skin falling under his touch tingled. Nevertheless, logic dismissed her reactions as a natural female response to…the rubbing started again, and her world swirled in a dizzying haze.
    He repeatedly rubbed her torso under her breasts with their hands encased in soft fur. Within seconds, she felt a pleasant ease she had never experienced before. When he first had started this “chafing” routine, she blamed her response on the altitude, but it did not take long before doubts rose in her mind. Now those doubts had decidedly flown. She had never studied passion, but she was no fool. Passion was whispered about, and every good student of science naturally observed the details of everyday life. She, of course, had paid attention, but even she was awed by the intensity of her physical response to his touch—a response she mistrusted, because her intellect had no control over it. Therefore, she could be led astray and into difficulties where she possessed no skills to extract herself.
    Parker continued to play her like a fiddle.
    Was he aware of her body’s response to his immediate touch? She let out a small chuckle. Of course he knew . The chafing stopped, and their joined hands rested on her belly. She waited, then lifted her head a little and noticed his eyes were closed, probably in sleep. The sight of his whisker growth visibly darkening his cheeks lured her to reach out and pass several fingers over the roughness. She forced herself to glance away. Why did Parker engage her passions? Or were his actions an innocent way of ensuring warmth? Either way, she did feel warmer.
    Parker slowly collapsed to his right, pulling the oilcloth away.
    A gush of icy air cooled her left side. “Parker, are you asleep?”
    No response.
    He appeared to be in a rather uncomfortable position, so she concluded he had fainted from the rarefied air. Examining him, she found a regular heartbeat and steady breaths. Thank heavens . She tucked the blanket under him to keep him warm. Then she checked her instruments and recorded their altitude, temperature, and humidity. They had climbed higher than she had expected, which explained his lack of consciousness. They were currently losing altitude, so she didn’t think releasing gas was necessary. He would likely wake soon.
    She decided to take scientific advantage of the rarified air and retrieved a bottle of water from one of the boxes on the floor. The bottle was designed to evaluate the chemical composition of the atmosphere. She stood carefully, so as not to disturb the blanket, grabbed the bottle, and pulled the cork to empty the water over the side of the balloon. This would ensure that only air from their current altitude would enter the bottle. Then she capped the bottle, labeled it with the current altitude, and wedged it back into the basket for transport. Once the bottle was received at the laboratory, it would be opened underwater and the air trapped in the inverted glass measured for the amounts of oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon.
    Before she returned to the warmth of the oilcloth, she also examined the terrain below, but it was too dark to distinguish any distinct features. She had heard crashing waves earlier and now only a few lights were visible in the distance, so more than likely, they were well over the Channel but had not yet reached the shores of France. She listened closely for any noise that would betray a dangerous loss of elevation, like the sound of waves, but all she heard was the soft rush of the wind over her head. This observation, the