Page 39 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“That’s amazing. I’d love to help.”

“You might want to know what you’re signing up for before you commit. It would mean running the whole fundraiser. Logistics, vendors, volunteers. Imagine chaos on steroids. You make it successful; you get the raise. One you earn fair and square.”

He watched her process it, watched that defensive edge soften just enough.

“Deal.”

CHAPTER 15

“Wow,” Sutton said, leaning against the front desk. “I’ve seen men use that voice on dates, but this might be the first time I’ve watched someone sweet-talk a spicy cat out from under a desk.”

“Trying to sweet-talk,” he corrected. “But she isn’t playing nice.”

“Funny,” Irma said. “Didn’t know there was a female this side of the Colorado River who wouldn’t come running when you start whispering sweet things about handling a temperamental pussy with patience and the right touch.”

Sutton had heard that whisper the other day at the barbecue when he’d been coaxing secrets out of her. The reminder that he used it on all females was a blow to her ego.

Speaking of blows: she was sitting on a secret that could level his entire world, and instead she was standing here keeping score on his flirting technique like it was a scouting report.

Priorities, Sutton. Get some.

“Not all women,” he said and Sutton tried her hardest not to blush. Because she knew he was trying his hardest not to make eye contact.

What a mess.

Trying to get closer to the wet and pathetic looking kitten, Colter got on all fours and crawled under the desk. The position put his spectacular ass on display. As he reached up, he exposed a thin sliver of lower back—his muscular and rock-hard back. Not to mention his front, which in spite of his blue scrubs, showcased the outline of a chest that told her just how fit he was.

A man crawling on a linoleum floor to rescue a cat that clearly hated him. There should be a word for how unfairly that worked on her.

“You’re in good hands, baby. Just come to daddy.”

Hiss. Hiss.

The kitten roared like she was a lioness instead of a three-pound, soaking wet furball, claws out and eyes blazing with pure indignation.

“I got you,” he whispered, his voice gravelly, and Sutton wondered what it would be like to be gotten by a man like Colter Callahan.

“That a girl,” he said and crawled out from under the desk. Cradled against his chest, nuzzling his neck was a little tuxedo kitten, who was now purring contentedly.

“What’s her story?” he asked Irma.

“The person who dropped her off came with a litter of kittens she found in a taped-up box on the side of the road. She brought them here to get checked out.”

“Adding to the list,” he growled.

“What list?” Sutton asked.

“The one of the people I’m going to throttle when I find them.”

And there it was again. That protective tone of his that made her lady parts sigh. A woman could get used to that voice. A woman who wasn’t her.

A woman who wasn't currently lying to him about the small human who shared his eyes. That woman. Not this one.

“Is she going to keep the kittens?” Sutton asked.

“She said she can keep them for a few nights until we figure out a solution.

“I’m sure we can get them adopted out at the Paws for the Cause fundraiser,” Colter said.