Page 29 of Hungry As Her Python

Who did that, anyway? Who went out of their way to destroy personal items in a place of business? And why, for fork’s sake?

“Bella?”

I was still mulling when a deep voice spoke right behind me.

“Aghhhh!” I yelped, jumping so hard my magic shot out in a burst of pink-and-white glitter that materialized into—yep—more hardtack.

Conrad froze mid-step, hands raised.

“Sorry for scaring you, Sugar—uh, Maribella.”

Sugar? Goddess, help me.

My heart did a full triple axel.

Why was he back?

Wasn’t it bad enough he’d already fried my brain earlier with that smoldery concern and big, protective presence?

“Um, someone called about some noise,” he said, stepping closer, “and I decided to check before I went off shift, make sure you were alright. Are you?”

“Am I what?” I asked, because apparently my brain had exited the building.

“Are you alright?” he repeated softly, like it mattered to him in a way that made my chest ache.

He was close enough now that I caught the faint scent of smoke, cedar, and something darkly warm that was all Conrad.

My traitorous eyes tracked the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth.

My magic hummed under my skin, desperate to close the distance.

I pressed my lips together before I did something truly stupid.

Like grab his shirt, drag him against me, and give the entire street a live demonstration of why Witches and Pythons were a combustible combination.

My heart was practically pounding out of my chest at Conrad’s sudden appearance.

And really, was it legal for a man to look that good when half my bakery still looked like a crime scene and my hair was doing a frizzy halo impersonation?

“Bella? I needed to check on you myself before I went off shift after that noise complaint. So, are you okay, Sugar?”

“Huh?” I asked brilliantly, because apparently coherent thought was no longer my thing.

He smiled slowly then, and he stepped closer.

He was all broad shoulders and infuriatingly calm male confidence.

And I was hard-pressed not to melt into a puddle of goo at his boot-clad feet.

I pressed my thighs together, trying not to imagine how good he kissed, and did other things.

Hell, I was hanging on by a thread here, people.

Seconds away from giving the magical surveillance cameras a real show.

Yowza.

“You work fast,” he said, scanning the shop with his cop eyes.