Page 63 of Hungry As Her Python

The way his big, warm body was curled around mine—like I was something precious, something worth keeping—made it almost impossible to remember why I’d sworn off “forever” in the first place.

And that was terrifying.

Because the last thing I wanted was to hand my heart to someone who could break it.

The phone rang again, but Conrad slept through it like a professional cuddler who was paid by the hour.

His entire body was coiled around mine in a way that made me question both physics and human anatomy.

Arms locked holding me in place.

Legs tangled with mine.

Chest to my back.

And somehow his chin was hooked over my shoulder, all without cutting off my oxygen supply.

The man had Python skills even when he wasn’t in scales.

Seriously, he was the best snuggler ever.

I flipping loved it.

So did certain parts of my anatomy, if the warm, tingly hum between my thighs meant anything.

The phone rang again.

Conrad didn’t even twitch.

Whoever was calling was persistent, though.

Wiggling my booty (purely for the sake of escaping, not because I liked the friction, probably), I slithered across the big sexy beastie and snagged the phone.

“Hello?” I whispered.

“My Witchy, you must come. There was small fire?—”

“Petyr! Oh no!”

My heart lurched.

Images of charred ovens and scorched lemon bars flashed in my head.

Blasted arsonist jerk wad.

Why was someone so intent on messing with me and my bakery?

“Hey, give me the phone, Love,” Conrad murmured, his voice thick with sleep and something darker.

He plucked it from my frozen fingers like I was a toddler who couldn’t be trusted with the good silverware.

“Petyr? Yeah, it’s me. The boys are on their way. Is anyone hurt? Good. Got it. Yep, I have her.”

Those last three words—I have her—hit me right in the sternum.

And in the gut.

And somewhere lower.