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“You told me it wasn’t for you.”

“I lied.”

I hope it’s enough. Of course, it isn’t. I can feel her staring through me.

“And? Did you…”

She trails off and a bolt of anger spears through me.

I meet her eyes.

“I was faithful to her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I⁠—”

“I know what you think of me,” I say, voice strained. “I know what everyone thinks of me. That I’m some heartbreaker. But everyone I sleep with knows my intentions.”

“And what are they?”

“What?” I stare at her and she stares back, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What are your intentions with me, Cole?”

I don’t speak. Can’t. My heart is in my throat.

Margo takes a step forward, tilting her chin up at me, arms still crossed.

“Because I’m not going to be a notch on your bedpost.”

“I didn’t say⁠—”

“Then tell me. What is this to you?”

My throat works. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not good enough.”

She turns and I grab her wrist, pulling her flush against me.

“You’re not a notch on my bedpost. You never will be. Okay?”

Margo looks up at me, brown eyes searching my face.

I think for an instant it won’t be enough. That she’ll push me further than I’m willing to go. My heart pounds.

But then she nods, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a slight smile.

“Okay. Let’s do the black-frosting roses. I’ve got the pastries cooled on the rack.”

Relief makes my shoulders sag. I’ve just now admitted to myself that I want more than a few nights with her. I’m not ready to admit any more than that.

“How many?” I ask, dropping her wrist.

She doesn’t move away. “Forty-eight.”

I grin, my heart rate finally slowing.

“We have our work cut out for us.”