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“I tell my employees that on time is late.”

She gives me a shrewd look. “Is that the only reason you’re early?”

“No.”

Margo blinks at me. “That’s… honest.”

“I’m always honest.”

She narrows her eyes. “That so?”

I take a step forward, and when she doesn’t step back, another.

“I’d love a chance to prove it to you.”

She giggles, the sound musical, making my heart throb in my chest.

“That’s actually cute, Marcus.”

I scoff. “I don’t think anyone has called me cute since I was ten.”

“Were you a cute ten-year-old?”

“I was a little ten-year-old,” I admit.

She blows out a breath. “Little? No way.”

I nod. “Yes way. I didn’t get a growth spurt until I was sixteen. Went from five-foot-seven to this in under two years.”

“Jesus.” Margo makes the sign of the cross, almost absentmindedly.

I raise an eyebrow.

She looks down, clearly embarrassed.

“My mother beat it into my head to make the sign of the cross after cursing.”

“Do you do it every time?” I ask, amused, my grin spreading.

“Not every time,” she huffs. “There are times when it’s not… feasible.”

Like in bed.

I don’t say it. Don’t want to push too hard. But the thought of her dirty talking in that husky voice of hers makes pleasure settle in my abdomen.

I spread my hands.

“So. What do you need? I’m yours to command.”

In more ways than one.

Margo quirks an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that.”

I lean in closer. “Why not? It’s true.”

She flushes slightly, her cheeks reddening.

“Well, I’ve got some boxes of butter and milk in the trunk. You can help me bring them inside.”