Red Hot (10 page)

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Authors: Niobia Bryant

BOOK: Red Hot
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Kaleb stared at her for a long time. “So wisdom is one of the pluses of marrying an older woman who is still sexier than most women half her age?” he asked.
“Most?” Zaria asked as she climbed off the bed and stood before him as she did a full circle.
“All,” he assured her, looking pointedly down at his dick hardening between his muscled thighs.
Zaria straddled his hips and pushed his upper body down onto the bed.
“The baby—”
“Shush, he's not here. The twins are babysitting at their house,” she said, speaking of her twenty-one-year-old twin daughters, Meena and Neema.
Kaleb raised his strong arms over his head and let something way better than Calgon take him away.
C
HAPTER
7
Quint sat up straight in bed. His heart pounded and a fine sheen of sweat coated his muscular frame. He looked around in the darkness as he struggled to bring his pulse rate down.
It wasn't an easy task.
He dreamt that his daughter had run away to try to live with her mother and she never made it to Hawaii. She had gone missing.
His heart still pounded, as it had in his dream, as he thought of all the scenarios, all the possible causes of her disappearance.
Throwing back the thin sheet covering his nude frame, Quint sat up on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees as he ran his hands over his bald head.
“Damn,” he swore aloud.
Quint rose in the darkness and walked across the room into his bathroom. He flipped the switch to bask the small room with light as he positioned himself before the commode. As he relieved himself, he looked up; his eyes locked with those in his reflection in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw. The truth was always hard to accept, and the emotions were clear in the lines etching his handsome face.
It wasn't fear but guilt.
Quint bent down to flush the toilet, deliberately not looking back in the mirror as he turned off the light. He slid on a pair of boxers and left his bedroom to walk down the short hall to ease Lei's door open and peek his head in. She was lying flat on her back, arm and leg hanging off the bed. Mouth wide open. She was completely asleep and unaware of her father's worries.
Easing the door shut, he made his way back to his bedroom. The clock on his nightstand read 2:28
A.M.
as he climbed back into bed and pulled the sheets back up to his waist. He lay back and crossed his muscled arms behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.
Life had a funny way of going by so quickly that a person never saw the wrong turns, never acknowledged taking the wrong road at the fork. Not until it was too late.
He hadn't been the best husband—thus his divorce. He could accept that because his ex, Vita, hadn't been the perfect wife either. But to admit that he hadn't been the best father to his daughter was a difficult pill to swallow. Very difficult.
In the last two weeks since Hurricane Kaitlyn landed at the complex, her influence and presence in his daughter's life was unmistakable. Nearly every day Lei rushed to finish her homework and chores to beat a fast trail upstairs to Kaitlyn's apartment, aka the fun zone. When she discovered Kaitlyn wasn't at home, she would be visibly disappointed and steadily looking out the window until she saw that obnoxious-ass red car of hers parked in its spot.
His relationship with his daughter had always seemed to be a good one; and although he knew as a father that talking about fashion and make-up or playing with dolls would never be at the top of his chosen to-do list, he hadn't realized just how much Lei missed all of those girlie things and more since she came to live with him.
Now Quint felt selfish, like he had put his life ahead of his daughter's; and that's not what being a good parent is about. He just pushed his head in the sand and assumed he was doing his part because he was there—unlike her mother. It should have been obvious that Lei needed a female presence in her life.
He was there for his daughter every day. He took her shopping or to the movies or they just chilled at home. He talked to her. He questioned her. He loved her and admonished her. He thought it was enough.
Now he knew that it wasn't. It couldn't be. Not when she was stuck to Kaitlyn like paper to glue.
Now, just two weeks after the new tenant had moved in, and Miss Kaitlyn was Lei's favorite person:
“Miss Kaitlyn is so smart.”
“Miss Kaitlyn is so funny.”
“Miss Kaitlyn is so pretty.”
Miss Kaitlyn said this.
Miss Kaitlyn said that.
The last thing he wanted was for his daughter to be influenced by the person he believed Kaitlyn to be:
Vain.
Irresponsible.
Lacking direction in life.
Spoiled.
Like Vita.
His ex-wife's selfishness led her to no longer want to be or participate in her daughter's life because a man with a bigger bank account offered her a life of leisure on an island usually reserved for vacations. And Vita was so lost that when he reminded her that her daughter needed her, she was completely oblivious to the logic in that.
“Even a dog raises its puppies.”
Kaitlyn's words flung at him in anger still rang with truth.
He recalled the vision of her face completely lit with anger as she verbally served him his own ass on a platter. Even as her words had angered him, he had thought,
She's even prettier mad.
An urge to kiss her quiet had come in a rush. And it surprised him.
And when he grabbed her wrist to keep her from storming away from him, her skin had been soft and silky beneath his fingers. That had not surprised him at all. He figured a woman like Kaitlyn was soft and silky all over.
Especially that ass.
And in the last two weeks, they had made a game—or rather a challenge—of verbally topping the other. Barbs between them were the norm. He enjoyed their back-and-forth. It was a challenge to see if he could top her, like a chess match.
And there were plenty of opportunities, for the woman called him for the most simple things, which completely exasperated him. Changing lightbulbs. Asking if the complex offered maid services. Requesting he call the owner to have a pool put in. Stating her self-cleaning oven wasn't working . . . when, in fact, it was just that she didn't know how to do it. He had done more tasks and fulfilled more of Kaitlyn's oddball requests in the last two weeks than all the other residents combined since his time there had begun.
And the other residents loved ribbing him about Kaitlyn giving him such a hard time and keeping him on the go. The word had spread that they had started clashing, and everyone was sitting back to enjoy the fireworks.
They just didn't know he was two seconds from putting her over his knee to deliver the behind cutting she obviously never received when growing up.
One of the older tenants knew her family. They were a wealthy ranching family from right there in Holtsville. She was the only daughter
and
the youngest child. Everyone who knew the Strongs knew that the baby girl got what she wanted and when she wanted it.
That little tidbit offered to him plenty of insight on her attitude of entitlement.
And Quint swore to himself that if she tried to tip him one more damn time, he was going to lay hands on her behind.
An image of a nude Kaitlyn bent over a bed, with her buttocks high in the air, taunting in a sexy voice,
“Go ahead and spank it, Quint”
forced him to turn on his side and bunch up his pillow to force sleep.
Kaitlyn already bugged the hell out of him in his waking hours. He refused to let her dominate his sleeping hours as well.
Brrrnnnggg.
Quint's eyes popped back open at the loud and intrusive blaring of the telephone ringing. He snatched the cordless off the base before it could wake up Lei.
“Hello,” he barked, glancing at his clock again. It was three o'clock in the morning.
“Uhm, hey, Quint—”
He stiffened at the sound of Kaitlyn's voice.
“This is Kaitlyn.”
No shit, Sherlock,
he quipped sarcastically in his head. He remained quiet.
“I just got home and my garbage disposal isn't working, and I poured hot water in it and now it's making a noise.”
Quint sat up in bed. “Your what?” he asked.
“Garbage disposal.”
Quinton dropped his head into his free hand. “You do realize everyone else in this building is asleep?” he asked.
“Humph. Not everybody! And I'm just gonna leave it at that and keep it none-of-my.”
He frowned. “And keep it
what
?”
“None-of-my . . . short for none of my business . . . but I will say that old dude is dead wrong for creeping and sneaking and freaking like a little
rat.
”
Mr. Hanson.
Again he was amazed by her ability to make him want to laugh with her and strangle her at the same time.
“On my way up, Kaitlyn,” he said, and then hung up.
Quint pulled on some sweatpants and a wife-beater shirt before slipping on a pair of his athletic sandals and grabbing his mini toolbox.
“Where in the world was she out to until three in the morning? That's what I want to know,” he muttered to himself as he left the apartment.
The September air was chilly at night and goose bumps raced up the length of his exposed arms as he rushed up the stairs. He had just reached the second landing when he spotted Mrs. Hanson unlocking her front door, obviously home from her night shift.
She was a medium-build woman, with a soft, pretty face and a ready smile. “Mighty
late
for a handyman,” she teased with a little laugh. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Wells.”
“Night, Mrs. Hanson,” he said, hoping her work schedule kept her too busy from spreading the news that she had spotted him at Kaitlyn's door at that time of the night.
Most of the tenants didn't know how to keep a secret. He was surprised the news hadn't spread yet about her husband cheating with their married downstairs neighbor.
Kaitlyn opened the door before he could knock and reached out to grab his wrist to pull him inside and down the hall to the kitchen.
“See?” she said, waving her hand at the sink, which was indeed making odd gurgling noises.
Quint first allowed himself to take in her heavy makeup around her eyes and her hair styled in spikes. She wore a gold sequined suit, featuring shorts, and its short length was just shy of proving to the world she was a female. Her legs. Her full legs went on forever, and they were made all the more a sight to see in her skyscraper heels.
“You're quite
bright
tonight,” he commented, slightly sarcastic, even as the sight of her made his heart pound in his chest. Hard. Fast. Undeniable.
Kaitlyn struck a pose. “I had to go all out. My friends threw me one helluva good-bye party. I danced all night. My legs hurt.”
As he bent down to open the door to the cabinet under the sink, his eyes inadvertently shifted to take in her legs as she stood over him.
“Good-bye party? You should have invited me. That's one party I wanna be at.”
“Well, tough, because I'm not going anywhere. They just think I am. Unfortunately, I'm stuck in this . . .”
Quint leaned back to look up at her.
Kaitlyn gave him the fakest of smiles. “Well . . . this
wonderful
establishment you run,” she said, obviously exaggerating.
“This ‘wonderful establishment' you're tearing up,” he popped back, leaning forward to use his wrench to undo the trap on the kitchen plumbing.
“Whateva, Quin-ton,” she said, stressing the syllables of his name.
“So where do your friends think you're going?” he asked, his voice echoing under the sink.
“Italy for school . . . but I don't want to talk about that.”
He shrugged.
“Why do you hate me?” she asked.
Quint leaned back from under the counter and jumped back a bit to find her squatting down next to him. His eyes dropped down to her womanhood pressed against the seat of her shorts and between the backs of her full thighs.
“Kaitlyn, yo, you taking my picture,” he said, averting his eyes as he felt desire for her flame up.
And that made him feel like a pervert.
And then that made him edgy and annoyed.
“Huh?”
“That means I can see your money shot. Stop sitting like that,” he snapped.
She laughed. “There is nothing bad luck about
any
of that,” Kaitlyn told him before she rose to her feet.
Quint finished loosening the trap and then rose to brush past her and empty the grease and bits of food into the garbage can outside her back door. She quietly watched him as he replaced the trap and then ran steaming hot water down the drain.
“You have any bleach?” he asked. “I mean, you do know how to wash clothes, right?”
When she never answered, he looked over at her and she was just standing there staring at him.
“The bleach.”

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