He doesn’t take his eyes off mine and something so animalistic and feral flows between us that our surroundings fade out of existence. It is only me and him. We’re alone and I have no interest in moving. Lars takes a step forward until we are chest to chest, breathing the same throbbing air.

What the heck am I doing?

I’m here for a purpose and it’s not to flirt with the help. I know that I should step away, and my brain wills me to do so, but my body wants something different. It feels almost as if he is the strongest magnet known to man and I’m a tiny sliver of metal.

Suddenly, the expression on Lar’s face changes. He breaks eye contact and takes a step back. The world around me zooms back into focus, and I have to hurriedly stumble onto the grass edging the gravel road to avoid an approaching diesel truck. It sounds like it has a busted muffler. How on earth did I not hear it coming from a mile away?

The man driving it gawks at me while simultaneously waving at Lars and calling out a greeting. His accent is too thick for me to catch, but Lars raises his hand in an answering wave.

Feeling confused and shaken, I follow Lars into the ring. He stops the horse and stands still for a moment before turning to face me.

“Ready?” he asks, his face now devoid of all expression.

I nod nervously. Why do I have a feeling this will not turn out the way I’d hoped?

“Always start by facing the horse,” he instructs.

I move to obey.

“Then hold both reins in your left hand and gather them with a tuft of mane, tight enough to prevent the horse from wandering off, but not tight enough to make it go backward. Mount it from the left side. Misty won’t mind which side you mount her from, but most horses are adamant about the left side. It’s a habit for them and anything else is unusual. You may be in charge most of the time, but if you do something a horse doesn’t like, they’ll take control, and that’s when you get hurt.”

I clasp my hands nervously. “Don’t I need a mounting block or something?”

He shakes his head. “Just trust me.”

“Okay.”

“Facing the rear of the horse, take the stirrup in your right hand and turn it clockwise toward you. This way, you won’t end up with the leather twisted under your leg once you’re seated. Once you’ve done that, place your left foot in it so that the ball of your foot rests on the bottom of the stirrup. Be careful at this stage not to kick or poke the horse with your foot, or it will start walking forward. Got it?”

I nod nervously.

“Put your right hand on the horn, but don’t try to pull yourself up with your arm. Just use it to balance yourself. Rely on the power in your right leg to spring up then swing it over the back of the horse while moving your right hand forward like this,” he says, demonstrating the movement of grasping the reins. “Just make sure to raise your leg high enough. You don’t want to kick the horse or hit your leg on the saddle.”

“Okay.”

“At that point, all there is left to do is gently sit in the saddle. Go on. Give it a try,” he says. Both his voice and his manner are cool and purely professional.

As confidently as I can, I make my way to Misty’s left. Fortunately, she is calm and excellent at remaining still. I place my right foot in the stirrup and find it almost impossible to lift myself clear off the ground.

Lars clears his throat.

“What?” I ask, irritated.

“Left foot.”

I switch feet and use the handle sticking out of the saddle—the one Lars called a horn—to pull myself upward with my right hand.

“Do a couple of light springs to gain momentum.”

I do as he says and I’m almost upright when Misty decides to rearrange herself. With a frightened shriek, I fall back to the ground, thankfully, on my feet.

“Again,” Lars say.

I give him a hard, unfriendly look. Using all the strength in my right leg, I propel myself upward, but of course, before I can drape myself properly over her, she readjusts herself again. This time, though, I’m ready for her. Even though the muscles of my arms are screaming, I grab the horn tightly with both hands. I’m hanging on for dear life, but for the first time in my life, I’m on a horse. I’m actually on a horse.

“I’m up,” I cry excitedly, looking over the edge of the tall animal. Oh, my God. I am so high up. And this is the height I have to fall off…I don’t even want to think of that.

“Damn, that was a hell of a lot quicker than I thought it would be,” Lars admits, nodding his head approvingly. “Now get off.”

Misty moves, making me sway dangerously.

“How?” I ask.

Lars stands so his chest is pressed against my leg. I lean down to him, hoping he is going to help me get down, but he has no intention of helping me at all.

“First, make sure the horse has stopped moving. Grip the reins, remove both your feet from the stirrups, then lean forward and use the momentum of your right foot to swing off and land on the ground,” he orders.

White-knuckling the reins, I lean forward and swing my leg over the horse. The last thing I expect is for my left foot to get tangled in the stirrup. “Lars,” I scream.

His arms wrap around my waist as he effortlessly pulls me backward. Immediately, my mind reels at his touch, and I am suddenly acutely aware of all his hard muscles pressing into my body.

“Don’t panic,” he says softly.

“I doubt you’d be saying that if you were the one hanging upside down like some demented bat,” I huff.

“You’re not hanging upside down,” he says coolly, but I swear I can see more than a glint of amusement lurking in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” I cry.

“Never,” he says, and easily shifts all my weight to one arm. His unoccupied hand wraps around my ankle. His clasp is sure and gentle, but it doesn’t loosen my foot and I hiss.

“How much longer?” I mumble and wrap my arms around his neck to take some of my weight out of his arm. Only, once I lift myself, I realize that he isn’t straining at all. He is juggling my weight and undoing the stirrup almost effortlessly. And all I have done is effectively maneuver myself into the warm, masculine smelling crook of his neck. Um…since when do I like the smell of sweat? Still, the man has a delicious neck. Tanned and thick. And smooth. And…my breathing goes up a notch.

“Damn it, what did you do?” he mutters as he tries to free the stirrup tangled around my foot.

“How the hell…” he mutters, as he continues to work the twist.

“I can stand on one leg. Put me down,” I demand from my awkward and humiliating position.

“Hang on. I’ve almost got it.”

Seconds later, the stirrup releases my ankle. As I ease down his body, his hands move to my hips. His touch scorches me and I suck in a quick, shallow breath. The second both my feet touch the ground; his hands launch off my body.

“That’s never happened before,” he remarks, his nostrils flaring. There is a dull flush on his cheekbones.

“I think I didn’t remove both my feet from the stirrups,” I confess as I take a distracted step backward and bump into the poor horse. It startles her and she whips her head around. “Sorry, Misty. Sorry,” I whisper, stroking her.

“Right. Get back on,” Lars instructs.

I know I need to keep trying until I get better at mounting, but I don’t want to fall, or get my ankle all twisted up in the stirrup again. “I’m tired. Can we do it tomorrow?”

“Nope,” he says crisply. “It’ll be harder tomorrow. You’ve got to get straight back on or your mind will build this failure up into something bigger than what it is.”

I rub my arm anxiously. “What if I fall off the other side of the horse? You can’t catch me over there, and I could get seriously hurt.”

“Tamara,” he says in a tone I don’t recognize. “You won’t fall.” He brushes past me and effortlessly mounts the horse, not even taking hold of the reins.

I watch him with new admiration.

“Come on,” he urges, extending a hand toward me.

“Uh…don’t I need to know how to do this on my own?”

“All in good time,” he says with his hand outstretched toward me.

I’m getting thirty-thousand dollars for this. All I have to do is figure out this first step. You can do this, Cass. Without overthinking it, I grab hold of Lars’ big hand. It curls around mine and he swings me up in front of him. To my surprise, I find my balance without much assistance, and once I’m sitting comfortably—or as comfortably as a person can be on a saddle—Lars scoots into me. My breath catches in my throat.

“While I’m up here, I’m going to teach you a few basics,” he says with an odd inflection in his voice.

I twist my head back to look at him and find his disconcerting gray eyes so near it makes me gulp. They are wiped clean of all expression though. I clear my throat.

“You’re already a step up from the people who ride side-saddle.” He moves forward slightly and his body rubs against mine, causing all kinds of forbidden images to rush into my head. I blush furiously and his eyebrows rise. Now he knows how affected I am.

Flustered and exposed, I lash out. “Let’s finish this lesson already. I’m exhausted after cleaning your entire horse barn and getting a fifteen-minute lunch break for my troubles.”

“Calm down. You’ll get your break when we finish,” Lars grates close to my ear.

His anger is easier to deal with. Saying nothing, I hold onto the horse’s reins, but I don’t need to clench them as tightly as I had earlier. I feel incredibly safe with his powerfully muscled legs wrapped around my outer thighs and his rock-solid chest inches away from my back

“To get the horse to move, lift your legs out and prod the horse’s side, but not forcefully. You’ll spook it.”

I do as he instructs and Misty takes off at a slow canter around the ring. With each step and with Lars’ tight grip on my hips, I lose all my nervousness of slipping and falling off.

“Oh, my God, this is awesome,” I squeal excitedly as we finish our first circle.

Lars says nothing but his hot breath billows on my neck. After a few minutes, he releases his thigh-grip on my hips, but it still doesn’t feel like I’ll fall. I adjust myself so that I lean in with each step Misty takes.

“If you want her to halt, pull on the reins,” Lars says.

I do as he says and Misty immediately comes to a standstill.

“Now, how would you feel about riding on your own?”

I hate to admit it, but I don’t want to ride alone. Sure, I’d love to experience the freedom and independence of riding the horse by myself. But the sensation of his legs wrapped around me and his firm chest radiating heat and power behind me are not something I want to give up just yet. I turn my head in his direction and look into his eyes. They’re unlike before. His irises are like molten silver, full of something unnamable, wild, and beautiful. It makes me forget myself.

“Stay close to me for a few more minutes,” I whisper.

For a second, his eyes widen and his pupils dilate, then it’s like a shutter falls over his face. His jaw hardens and his eyes become frighteningly blank. He scoots backward and hops onto the ground without the help of the stirrup, using only the brute muscles of his legs.

“Use the skills I taught you and you’ll be just fine,” he says tightly.

I’m on my own. On a huge horse.

Gently, I prod Misty and she begins to move. She takes one step, then another, and another. I’m riding a horse on my own. Being so high above everything should have been scary—and it was at first—but now that I’ve gotten used to Misty’s rhythm, for the first time since selling my soul to the loan sharks, I feel on top of the world.