Page 53 of Hungry As Her Python

Panty. Melting. Statement.

Ugh.

The walk to my front door was far too short for my liking—because of course, now that I’d decided to let him walk me, I wasn’t ready for him to leave.

I turned to face him and nearly swallowed my own tongue.

He was barefoot, wearing only a pair of black sweats, his skin still glistening faintly from a shift.

The moonlight slid over his chest, lighting up the ridges and valleys of muscle in a way that should’ve been illegal.

His hair—those ridiculous blond waves—looked like he’d run his hands through them right before walking out to find me.

I inhaled, and warm breezes mixed with the sharp green scent of the grass and that deep, heady musk that was all Conrad.

“Um, thanks for this,” I murmured, wishing I had any excuse to keep him standing there.

Unless.

“Hey, are you hungry?”

The corner of his mouth tipped up again, but his eyes—Goddess, his eyes—were all heat and singular focus.

“Hungry? Me? Always, Sugar.”

The words were harmless enough.

The way he said them was absolutely, one hundred percent not.

“Good. I had Petyr bring home some lemon bars from the bakery earlier today.” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, trying not to fidget. “I’m, uh, trying out a new recipe.”

“Oh?” His voice dipped even lower, like he already knew he had me where he wanted me. “Lemon’s my favorite.”

“Is it?” I tilted my head, pretending it was news to me.

But I’d known.

Of course I’d known.

I paid attention when it came to him, no matter how hard I tried not to.

“So, would you like to come in and try a couple? Let me know if they’re up to par?”

There.

The invitation was out there, hanging in the night air between us. The rest was up to him.

If he said no, I’d survive. Probably.

If he said yes, well, my robe wasn’t the only thing about to come undone.

“Oh, I don’t know. You said this was just a walk, Maribella. I wouldn’t want you to think I was being pushy or anything.”

His tone was all mock innocence, but those raised brows and that smirk told another story entirely.

“Fine,” I growled, throwing my door open with more force than necessary.

My robe swished around my thighs, and I stomped—yes, stomped—up the walkway.