The office didn’t officially open until nine, and that gave him two hours of free time before his workday. When he moved from the home he owned into the apartment, the only thing of major concern to him was paying a hauler to move his shed with him. Quint felt like he needed to put his hands to wood every single day. It was more than a hobby, and it was well worth the thousand-dollar fee to haul it from Walterboro to Holtsville in order to have it with him.
And he did get lost in the art of carving. It was a lot like making love to a woman: her body as soft and pliable as the green wood.
Stroking every curve and line, he approached her—and the wood—with his tool, filled with patience and skill. Stroke after stroke. In both making love and in carving, every single stroke mattered. And he was skilled and deft with his tools—all of his tools.
Quint stepped back from the wood to check his handiwork. The widow wanted the frame to have carved images that spoke to her relationship with her deceased husband. He didn’t dare disrespect his skill by using an instruction booklet with patterns and guides. He did it all from pure instinct.
Just like sex.
Glancing up at the clock, he wasn’t surprised to see nearly two hours had passed with ease. He cleaned his sharp tools carefully and put them away before leaving the shed to change into the khakis and button-up shirt he preferred to wear when he was officially “on duty.”
“Good morning, Quantum.”
He paused on the steps that brought him from around the rear of the building. He found Kaitlyn standing next to her car, with her convertible top down. She was dressed in a bright orange silk shirt with long sleeves, which looked like bells, lots of gold and colorful accessories, and high heels. Her jeans clung to her body like skin—completely emphasizing that although she was a little on the slender side, her hips and thighs were bigger. Fuller. Thicker. For a moment he wondered what the view looked like from behind.
“It’s Quinton . . . and you better hope a bird doesn’t use your car as a toilet,” he teased, even as his heart hammered in his chest.
Kaitlyn looked up to the towering trees and frowned as she used the remote in her hand to lift the roof.
Quinton breezed past her.
“Uhm, excuse me?”
He stopped on his path to his front door and turned to eye her.
“My luggage,” she said, waving her hand at the trunk.
“What about it?” he balked.
“They can’t walk themselves upstairs,” she said as simply as if she asked for the time of day.
Is she for real? Quinton rocked back on the heels of his boots as he eyed her. “And your point is . . . because I’m lost,” he told her, feeling his ire rise.
Kaitlyn sighed in obvious annoyance. “I want you to help with my luggage—”
Quint flung his head back and laughed. “Oh, I’m not lost. You’re lost.”
“The movers are at my old apartment loading up, and it takes an hour to get here,” she said, still looking at him expectantly.
Quint literally wanted to shake some sense into her. “On whatever planet you’re from, I’m sure that make sense. Now translate it for earthlings,” he said, his voice tight with rising annoyance.
“I can’t wait for them to get here to get the luggage.”
Quint bit his bottom lip as he eyed her. She was serious. “I’ll help you with your luggage, like a gentleman would . . . if you ask me politely like a lady.”
Kaitlyn sighed and walked over to stand close to Quint.
His eyes dropped to her eyes and her mouth. He forced his vision back up to her eyes.
“Oh, kind sir, would you please be so kind as to help a poor little helpless lady with her luggage?” she asked in a docile tone, faking a Southern belle accent.
She was mocking him. Quint nodded slowly in understanding. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” he told her, in his best imitation of Rhett Butler from Gone with the Wind.
“Why are you so mean?” Kaitlyn asked.
“Why are you so spoiled?” Quint shot back.
A chuckle broke the tension that brewed around them as they stood there glaring at each other. They both swung their heads to the side and then tilted their heads down to find Mrs. Harper, still in her housecoat, with Fifi tucked under her arm, standing there looking up at them with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Is this your girlfriend?” Mrs. Harper asked.
“No!” they both barked out in unison.
Mrs. Harper leaned back a bit from the velocity of the denial.
“Mrs. Harper, this is Kaitlyn Strong,” Quint said, leveling his tone. “She’s moving into Apartment eleven.”
“Oh, nice to meet you, Kaitlyn. Aren’t you a pretty, tall thing,” Mrs. Harper said.
Quint looked on as Kaitlyn extended her hand. Her dozens of jeweled bracelets flashed in the September sun.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, smiling politely.
“And this is my precious Fifi.”
Here we go, Quint thought, covering his mouth with his hand as Kaitlyn bent down to stroke her index finger against Fifi’s chin.
“Hi, Fifi . . . aren’t you . . .” Kaitlyn’s words trailed off, and she looked over her shoulder at Quint with an odd expression.
He motioned for her to let it go, and to his surprise she did. However, she did look a little weak on her feet as she snatched her hand away.
“I won’t take up your time while you’re busy getting settled in, but please come down and chitchat with me soon.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kaitlyn said, although her face said different.
Mrs. Harper walked away and entered her apartment.
“Oh, hell to the no,” Kaitlyn said, rummaging in a bright gold tote. “Was I just stroking a dead-ass dog? Like really, who does that?”
Quint looked on as she squeezed half of a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer into her palm.
“She’s harmless,” he said, moving past her to start taking the designer luggage from the small trunk. “Could you unlock your apartment door?”
“So I won?” Kaitlyn asked, looking smug.
Quint paused and then started loading the luggage back into the trunk.
“Okay . . . okayokayokayokay . . . I’m sorry,” she screeched, turning to head up the stairs. “No elevator, huh?”
Quint ignored her—except for a quick glance to see that her bottom was full and round and shapely, like the base of a pear.
All those good looks wasted on a spoiled, self-indulgent airhead with more ass than manners.
He took the stairs two at a time, not even flinching under the weight of the bags.
“This room will be my closet, so could you put the bags in here?” she asked, pointing to the guest room. “The rest of my clothes are coming with the movers.”
The rest? Quint did as she asked, not even shocked that she needed an entire bedroom to hold all her clothes. His ex had all her clothes scattered throughout every possible closet in their house—including his and Lei’s. And to his way of thinking, his ex and this woman standing before him were one and the same.
“I have to get to work,” Quint said, ready to get out of her presence.
“Okay,” she said, pressing a folded bill into his hand.
Before she could turn away, he held her hand with the money sandwiched in between their palms. “I’m not a bellhop,” Quint told her, his voice hard and his eyes locked on hers.
Kaitlyn wiggled her hand free. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said softly. “I was appreciative of your help.”
Quint pushed the money into her hand. “Then just say ‘thank you,’ Kaitlyn.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Quint turned and left the apartment, closing the door securely behind him.
Kaitlyn hurried over to the window and peeked through the slats of the wooden blinds. She eyed him before his body disappeared as he descended the stairs. The man hated her. Absolutely detested her. Why?
She shrugged. All t
hat fineness wasted on a rude asshole.
She turned from the window and placed her hands on her hips as she circled the living room. When she moved into her old apartment, she’d hired an interior decorator to buy her furniture and accessories and set up the whole apartment—even her closet. By the time she slid her key into the lock, all she carried was her purse, and she was home, sweet home.
Now?
Kaitlyn sighed. The $10,000 cost for an interior decorator was so completely out of her budget. The cost for the moving company to pack up her old apartment, load the truck, and then unpack everything was high enough; and that had come from her little stash of emergency cash.
That was back when my emergency was a trunk sale.
Her cell phone rang and she raced over to where her bag sat on the windowsill. Her foot gave out from under her and twisted, sending her tumbling to the floor. She kicked off her heels in frustration and jumped up to her feet just as the phone stopped ringing.
When she finally pulled the iPhone from the inside pocket, she saw it was her father’s cell phone number. She turned and pressed her ass against the windowsill as she looked down at the phone. She raised her thumb to call him back, but then she decided against it.
She really missed her parents, but she had to make them regret their decision. Kaitlyn knew if she stuck to her guns, then guilt would send them running back and dying to keep her in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed.
Right?
But again she raised her thumb above the touchscreen keypad. It would be so easy to call him. So easy.
Kaitlyn did swipe her thumb across the screen, but it was to pull up her photo gallery. She smiled at the picture of her parents on their front porch, laughing together. They loved each other. Anyone could see that. And they made sure their kids always felt loved and wanted.
“Until now,” Kaitlyn muttered, closing the photo.
She went back to the guest bedroom and began unpacking those items she had carried with her. She hung them in the small closet, waiting until the moving truck arrived with the dozen waist-high rolling racks she had bought to line the walls of the room, turning it into a huge walk-in closet.
Kaitlyn was pairing up her shoes, when she heard the metallic rumble of a truck. Barefoot, she padded out of her room and to the window to see her moving truck pulling into one of the empty parking spots. She dashed back into the guest room to slide her feet into a pair of flats before leaving the apartment. The door swung closed behind her.
“Shit,” Kaitlyn swore, trying the knob and finding it locked. For a moment she let her forehead lightly drop against the door before she went down the stairs.
“I’ll be right with you, fellas,” she told the burly movers as they raised the tailgate of the truck.
Kaitlyn knocked on Quint’s door and then knocked again. The door suddenly opened and he was standing there in low-slung khakis as he pulled on a crisp white shirt. Her eyes dipped to take in the athletic definition of his upper body.
The broad shoulders.
The ripped chest.
His narrow waist and eight-pack.
His chocolate skin was like a thin covering over pure muscle. And not bulky, oversized, steroid-fueled muscles. Just the body of a man who was physical and active and built for action.
Is the lower half as good as the upper half? . . .
“Kaitlyn,” Quint said, closing his shirt and buttoning it up.
She shifted her eyes up to him. “So you work out?” she asked, feeling her pulse race.
Quint looked at her impatiently. “Is there something I can help you with?”
That cooled her ardor.
Good looks. Check.
Great body. Double check.
Attitude? Negative.
“I locked myself out,” she said.
Quint patted his pockets. “Let me get my keys and I’ll be right up.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “Because my movers are here.”
He looked past her to the large truck and all of the contents inside it. “Uh . . . that would be hard to miss.”
“Smart-ass,” Kaitlyn muttered under her breath. Then she turned to face the movers. “Right this way, fellas.”
She headed back up the stairs and leaned against the railing as she watched the men begin to unload her furniture. She checked her manicure and looked up, just in time to spot Kaeden’s wife Jade’s yellow Jeep Wrangler roll into the parking lot. The bright color was hard to miss.
Kaitlyn straightened up in surprise as Jade, Garcelle, Bianca, and Zaria all climbed out of the Jeep. Each of them was dressed in yoga-type clothing and carrying plastic bags. She looked back to the car to see if her mother was with them. She felt both disappointment and relief when she wasn’t.
“Here we go,” Quint said, walking up to the door to unlock it.
Kaitlyn turned to lean against the railing and take in the view of his strong back and tight buttocks covered in his shirt and pants.
Quint turned and she quickly looked up.
He visibly paused as he eyed her, keeping one strong hand holding the door open.
Kaitlyn looked innocent. “Thank you,” she said, while her sisters-in-law noisily made their way up the stairs.
“Kaeden said it’s number eleven,” she heard Garcelle say. Her accent sounded as heavy as Sofia Vergara’s from Modern Family.
Kaitlyn strolled up to meet them. “Hello, family,” she said, smiling begrudgingly as each one hugged her and kissed her cheek.
“You didn’t think we were going to let you move into your new place by yourself,” Bianca said.
Her brothers and sisters-in-law had all called and offered help, but she had refused them. They weren’t willing to give the help she wanted, so she had refused to accept the help they chose to offer.
But now that they had appeared, she was glad to see them and grateful. She blinked away a sudden rush of tears.
“Thanks, y’all,” Kaitlyn said softly, sounding more like the little girl who had grown up on a horse ranch in South Carolina than she had in a long time.
“Your mama is watching the babies,” Jade added, reaching out to pinch Kaitlyn’s wrist lightly. “She wouldn’t come without knowing if you wanted her, but she’s watching the kids and gave us all kinds of cleaning supplies. She misses you, Kat.”
Kaitlyn’s heart tugged, but she shrugged in fake nonchalance.
“Excuse me.”
All of the women looked past Kaitlyn at Quint.
“Oh my,” Zaria said, as she eyed the man.
“Yes . . . oh my,” Bianca and Jade chimed in.
“Good morning, ladies.” Quint smiled a little bashfully. His dimples deepened in his cheeks and softened the hard contours of his handsome face.
“Sweet Baby Jesus and a pair of dimples,” Jade added.
Over her shoulder Kaitlyn eyed him with annoyance before she turned and stepped into her apartment. “Okay, thank you. Bye,” she said with a curl of her lip. Mean self.
“So who are you again?” Bianca asked.
“Nobody,” Kaitlyn snapped, fighting the urge to press her foot to his ass and nudge him on his way. “He was just going about his business.”
He turned his broad back on her and extended his hand to the women, who had all come to block his exit. “I’m Quint Wells, the apartment manager. It’s nice to meet you all.”
Kaitlyn’s mouth dropped open as he smiled and put on the charm for them. He made her feel like a fly that just landed on his food.
“Did you ever play sports?” Garcelle asked, poking his arm with a finger.
Quint preened under the attention.
Kaitlyn wanted to slap the twinkle from his eyes.
“Not professionally, but I run and lift weights and play sports for fun.”
“Yes, yes. It shows,” Jade added.
“Okay, then. Thank you. Bye,” Kaitlyn said so quickly that it sounded more like “okaythenthank youbye.”
Everyone eyed her. W
hat could she say? The truth? Never.
“The movers are trying to bring in my furniture,” she said weakly.
“I have a lot to do. You ladies have a great day,” Quint said as they broke ranks to let him through.
They all looked over their shoulders as he walked away. Kaitlyn just rolled her eyes and turned away from them with a wave of her hand. She wasn’t concerned about any of them actually wanting anything more than a little harmless flirting. They wouldn’t give up their relationships with her fine brothers.
“Kaitlyn, you two would make beautiful bambinos, ” Garcelle said as the ladies finally entered the apartment and moved out of the way of the more-than-patient movers bringing in her oversized, overstuffed living-room furniture.
“He’s married.” Kaitlyn lied to squash all conversation of a Quint-and-Kaitlyn hookup.
There was a better chance of heaven and hell merging than that mess happening.
It was after dark when the ladies took their leave and Kaitlyn was finally able to drop from exhaustion onto her sofa and take a deep sip of wine. She let her head fall back on the couch as she closed her eyes. She had never worked so hard in her life. She broke a nail and stained her favorite shirt before she finally changed into a unitard and comfortable shoes.
After the movers came and placed some of the larger furniture items where she wanted them, that left Kaitlyn and her sisters-in-law to hang pictures, put up curtains, hang her clothes on the many rolling racks in the guest bedroom, clean and decorate both bathrooms, make her bed, and hook up her television.
Kaitlyn sighed as she thought about it all, and she groaned from imagining how much worse it would have been without their help.
Knock, knock.
Kaitlyn sat up straight and wiped the bit of drool from her mouth, not even realizing she had fallen asleep until she was jarred awake.
Knock, knock.
Stretching as she rose to her slippered feet, she made her way to the front door. She opened it to find Quint’s daughter standing there, still in her school uniform of khakis and a polo shirt. She was holding an aluminum foil–covered bowl.
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