I open the door and come face to face with…

Whoa! Oh boy, oh boy. My eyes widen.

Gone are the mud-stained jeans, the worn shirts, and the dusty hats. He looks dangerously—no, make that mind-blowingly—dazzling in a silky black shirt open at the throat; a pair of low-cut, made-to-fit-at-the-hips, ultra-sexy, black jeans; a tan hat, and black cowboy boots.

“Hello,” he says, his eyes stuck to my skimpy outfit.

“Um…uh…I can go change. I didn’t realize we were going somewhere so gorgeous…oh…I mean…so formal,” I say, waving my hands around and trying to hide how flustered I am by his appearance.

“No, you’re wearing that,” he growls.

My eyebrows fly up at his tone.

He looks down at me, a possessive, dominant expression etched into his handsome, sensual face, and something happens between my legs. “Okay,” I whisper. My lips are suddenly dry and I lick them. His eyes become focused on my mouth. The mood changes as strange vibes surround us.

His expression suddenly changes. “Shall we?” he asks thickly.

I blink. What? What the hell just happened? Is he angry? Why? All I did was open my bedroom door. Dumbfounded by the sudden change in his behavior, I nod. Immediately, he starts taking big strides away from me. I tilt my head and watch as he puts as much distance between us as quickly as he can. Okay. This is obviously going to go down as one very strange date. And there’s Jesse expecting me to tell her how good the sex was.

Lars opens the front door and stands beside it, his back tense. “Ladies first,” he says, motioning for me to go forward.

I stop next to him for a few seconds, then shaking my head, I obey him in a rush. I get to the car, wrench open the passenger door before he can reach the truck, scramble in, and slam the door shut. I’m furious. I swear I don’t understand him at all. I did nothing wrong, but he’s angry again. Roughly, I pull my short skirt down as low on my thighs as I can before he jumps into the driver’s seat.

It is then that I notice that the interior of the truck looks freshly cleaned. It also smells of lemons. Compared to the mud-stained seats I saw yesterday, it’s a nice change, and it makes me aware that he did make an effort after all.

“Did you clean your truck?” I ask with a smirk.

“It needed it,” he responds tersely.

That’s it. I’ve had it. I angle my body toward him. “Come on. Out with it.”

He frowns. “Out with what?”

“You’re angry with me. Just spit it out. There’s no point going out on a date like this?”

He looks startled. “You think I’m angry with you?” he asks incredulously.

“Aren’t you?”

“Tamara, where did you get your reputation as a man-eater from?” he asks, shaking his head in wonder.

“What?”

“You seem to have no clue about men and what they’re thinking or feeling.”

“What do you mean?”

“Forget it. I’m not angry. With you or anyone else. I was just…thinking of something else.” He forces his stiff shoulders to relax and smiles at me. “I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just a big fool who wants to drag you off to my bed. Let’s just have a nice dinner, okay?”

Desire stirs low in my belly. He wants to drag me off to his bed? How caveman. How hot. He smiles at me. Oh God, that lower lip. I could suck it into my mouth. Thank God, people can’t read minds. I return the smile. “Okay. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he says.

He switches on the radio. I stare out at the scenic landscape while country music plays in the background. Periodically, I notice him glancing at me from the corner of his eye. Sometimes, our eyes catch and I blush like a schoolgirl. His eyes dart away as if he’s shy or awkward. God, how can someone be so adorable while being robust and masculine at the same time?

We drive through a town and I gaze at the old-fashioned buildings. Nearly an hour later, we stop at a quaint establishment surrounded by an empty parking lot.

“Is this it?” I ask, looking around me curiously.

“This is it.”

I grin at him. “It’s really cute.”

He smiles, jumps out of the truck, and is around to my side before I have a chance to open my door. I hold onto his hand and get out of the truck.

“I know you’re used to bigger and fancier restaurants, but this is the best one in these parts, so I hope it will do,” he says.

“It will make a nice change to what I’m used to,” I say and I’m not lying. I’ve never been to a fancy restaurant in my life or one outside Chicago, so this is very different and special.

I follow him through the doors and the delectable scent of meat barbecuing assaults my nose. I can almost decipher which meats are being cooked at the time, and I can barely contain my excitement. Would Tamara appreciate being brought to a steakhouse? Probably not, but I feel almost sick with happiness at being in this warm, rustic place with Lars.

I can tell Lars is trying to gauge my reaction as we walk through the joint, so I allow my expressions to show on my face—my fascination with the lovely scents, my love for the open brickwork, the wild west decor, the cowboy memorabilia, and my pure delight in being out on a date with such a magnificent man.

We are shown to a candlelit corner seat by a very friendly woman who addresses Lars by name, and though her eyes do slide down my body in surprise, she calls me honey and her smile is genuine enough. While we are looking at the menu, she brings us beers.

Lars orders a burger, but I restrain myself from ordering the largest, juiciest burger on the menu and ask for a strip of grilled chicken instead. I’ve never been a fan of grilled chicken, but old habits die hard. Even as the waitress is taking the menus away, I start to feel the first pang of regret. I should have gotten the bison burger. I push the regret aside and let myself be drawn into a conversation about the new foal until the food arrives.

“What’s on your mind?” Lars asks, chewing his first bite.

“Nothing,” I say with a polite smile. Since when do I hold my tongue?

He doesn’t respond immediately and I continue to look at my dry, unappealing chicken. My attention jerks back in his direction when his beer bottle settles with a firm thud on the table in front of me.

“You have always been open and blunt about what’s on your mind. You’re looking at your chicken as if the damn thing’s been dipped in a toilet. You’re eyeing my burger as if you’d like to murder it, I’m sitting here watching all kinds of unpleasant thoughts swim across your eyes, and you’re telling me nothing’s wrong,” he exclaims.

Obviously, I can’t tell him I didn’t order the burger because it was twenty bucks, and it was force of habit that made me choose the cheapest thing on the menu. “You’re right,” I say, peeling my crop top away from my stomach. “I hate grilled chicken. Your burger looks amazing, and I wish I had ordered that instead.”

He opens his mouth to comment, but I don’t stop there. I’ve held my tongue all night and I’d like to discuss some of my issues. “And another thing is bugging me. You never specified if this was a date or an apology, so I don’t quite know how to behave.”

“I’ve already apologized. This is a date, so feel free to behave like you’re on one.”

I nod slowly.

Lars shoves his plate across the table, takes mine, and puts it in front of him. Now, instead of chicken I have almost all of a juicy burger at my disposal. He takes a bite of my chicken and chews it slowly, pretending that it isn’t one of the blandest things he’s ever eaten.

I laugh. “You’re a pretty cool dude when you aren’t being a pig, you know. Here,” I say, cutting the burger in half and giving him the larger half.

He lifts his hand and the waitress comes back. “Can we have another burger, please?”

As soon as she walks away, Lars turns to me. “Actually, you’ve surprised me. I expected you to have dry chicken and salad. Isn’t that what most celebrities in LA exist on?”

I shrug. “I guess I’m different.”

“And that, Tamara Honeywell, is exactly why I like you.”

And with those words, my spirit feels crushed. I wonder if he will still like me if he knows that I’m not a millionaire heiress. That my name is Cass Harper and I’m in debt to the tune of thousands of dollars.

I’ve got the lemons. I don’t know where to find the sugar, water, and a stand.