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She eyed the small cable car with trepidation. Its walls were only hip-high and there were very thin looking sheet-metal doors on the sides. No seats, no roof, just a high post in each corner. Rafe rattled a door open, stepped on board, and drew her toward him.
"Don't worry. It's safe."
"I'm not scared," she muttered, willing herself to believe that a flimsy box plunging almost vertically down a steel rail was not in the least hazardous. "I've seen nicer ones."
"It's only for the construction work at this stage. The proper weatherproof cab with seats isn't far off."
She nodded at that, imagining how many loads of timber and fittings must have traveled up and down this way.
As though reading her mind Rafe said, "We used a chopper for the big stuff. A tough job for the pilotthere are tricky updrafts off the sea."
He crowded her against one of the corner posts and slid an arm around her waist before he pushed a green button and sent them whirring downwards.
Sophie was grateful for the arm, not that she'd admit it. She grasped the post and tried to ease away from his too-close chest. His grip was inescapable. She was trapped there, head tucked under his chin, far too aware of his body as they dropped toward the huge expanse of slatted timber. His heart beat steadily in her ear. His cologne displaced the ocean's salty fragrance. Then she heard a rumble of laughter deep in his chest.
"I'm not." She could feel her face heating with a telltale blush.
"Could have fooled me."
"You've probably done this dozens of times."
"Hundreds. It's not far. It's perfectly safe."
But I'm not, she thought as flickers of sensation rampaged low in her belly. She felt so sexy. So deliciously damp and strangely swollen.
For heaven's sake stop it, she begged her twitching flesh. Okay, he's gorgeous. But he's a possible client. Keep it that way and you'll get Camille back sooner.