SYLER MCKNIGHT: A Holiday Tale

by Brent, Cora

  The feeling remained long after she sighed and returned to the kitchen.

  12

  Talented Hands

  Katrina

  “Mom, maybe it’s time to consider driving again. You still have the Land Rover in that big shed, right?”

  “No. I gave it to Medusa, a sculptress who needed a way to get back to Florida since she was afraid to fly. I really don’t have any use for a vehicle. I can order anything I need online and anyway I’ll be closer to the center of town once I move.”

  I turned the wheel of Gemma’s minivan down the icy unpaved lane that led to my mother’s house. She’d walked all the way to Gemma’s this morning with a basket of eggs under one arm and Danielle under the other.

  The kids were all ecstatic to see her and it was heartwarming to see how she fussed over them, praising their displayed artwork and encouraging them to pet Danielle. I raised an eyebrow when she set the chicken down on Gemma’s hardwood floor but if Gemma didn’t mind then I couldn’t really complain.

  Syler was standing by and noticed my grossed out expression. He snorted with laughter and I wrinkled my nose at him. We hadn’t spoken privately since yesterday’s ‘always thought you were beautiful’ confession. Frankly, I didn’t know what to do with that information. I didn’t even know if he was serious.

  I kind of wanted to know.

  Syler was many things to me. He was my best friend’s perennially exasperating brother. He was the guy who’d long ago given me a night of crazy, euphoric sexual ecstasy and then trampled my heart the very next day. He was an important part of the family I loved and in many ways considered my own. He was my history. He was my nemesis. He was in my life and he probably always would be.

  And now that we were both staying in the same house, there were times when we’d lock eyes and I’d feel a connection that rattled me down to my soul. It wasn’t just physical.

  Well, it was partly physical. That damn boy was sex on a mother fucking flannel stick. But so were a lot other men in the world and I’d never had any trouble finding one to get my kicks when I needed them.

  My mother said she couldn’t stay long and I was relieved when she scooped up Danielle before the chicken left something worse behind than a trail of limp feathers.

  The mild weather of the day before had ended and the forbidding grey skies had returned. Syler volunteered to drive Annika home but Gemma tossed me the keys to her minivan and told me to take my time.

  Now, as we pulled up close to the front door, Annika kept Danielle snug and warm in the comfort of her lap. I doubted there was another chicken on earth that had led such a pampered life. I could swear those beady red eyes were gloating. No wonder the thing had lived so long. It had absolutely no incentive to die.

  “Are you sure I can’t talk you into letting me pick you up for Gloria’s Cookie Capers tomorrow?” I asked.

  She shook her head and stroked Danielle’s sparse feathers. “No, thank you. It becomes too much, all those people.”

  Annika had never really enjoyed the spotlight, not even when her career was in its prime. Her withdrawal from the wider world began after her third failed marriage, when she abruptly decamped from New York City and moved to Maple Springs after a friend took her on an upstate drive to see the fall foliage. A few years later I was resentful as hell when I was shipped up here for good after proving my personality was incompatible with highbrow boarding schools. But looking back, I was grateful that I had the chance to live an ordinary life. I was lucky to have Maple Springs. As for Annika, she was more at home here than she’d ever been in a glitzy Manhattan penthouse.

  “Katrina, would you like to come inside and spend some time with Gidget? I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  I hadn’t planned on being gone long. And I didn’t relish the thought of encountering Dustin again or fussing over a stupid squirrel. But there’s a rule of thumb everyone ought to live by: When your mom asks you for a cup of tea, you should go.

  Annika was smiling at me with hopeful anticipation. Even if she’d never been on a magazine cover she would have always been beautiful to me because she was my mother. I wouldn’t be getting another one.

  I smiled back at her. “I’d love a cup of tea, Mom.”

  An hour later I’d enjoyed three cups of herbal tea and learned Gidget the squirrel wasn’t so bad. She was actually kind of cute. I really hoped she wasn’t a carrier of plague because twice she’d tried to nibble on the knuckle of my right hand.

  The nearest end table displayed a photo of ten year old me beaming proudly as I held my baby brother, who drooled beneath his first birthday hat. A twinge of sadness hit me. Two days ago I’d texted Pasquale to let him know I was visiting Maple Springs. He’d never answered.

  “Is Pas coming up for Christmas?” I asked.

  She frowned. “I doubt it. I think he’s in Europe.”

  Annika was suddenly in a nostalgic mood so she dragged out my old baby book.

  “I’d forgotten about this,” I marveled as I turned the pages. I lingered over a beautiful photograph of my mother holding my swaddled infant form in a rocking chair while my father looked on, his handsome face full of pride and tenderness.

  “Did you love each other?” I asked, touching my fingertips to the photo.

  Annika was startled. “Of course we did. Levi was the love of my life.”

  I closed the book.

  “I never heard you say that before, Mom.”

  She shrugged as Gidget landed on her shoulder. “It’s true.”

  I chewed my lip. “Why did your marriage end?”

  Her face wasn’t sad, just pensive. “Sometimes people can’t be together even if they love each other. Sometimes it’s just too hard.”

  I wasn’t sure I understood. But this was the most candid conversation I’d shared with my mother in a very long time, maybe ever, and I wanted to keep going. I was on the verge of asking her another question but she rose from the sofa and cooed to the squirrel in the sugary nonsense voice people usually reserve for babies.

  “I think we need to go outside and make some poo poos, don’t we?”

  Dustin had been napping in a chair in the corner. At the sound of my mother’s voice, he awakened and dutifully followed her outside in the company of a chicken, a squirrel and a goat. I felt like I was watching a live action version of a very bad joke. One I did not wish to know the punch line to.

  I gently set the baby book on a polished end table that had been hand carved in Amish country.

  “Mom, I’m gonna get going,” I called through the open door where animals and Dustin cavorted.

  Annika waved to me. “Only a few more days until your birthday, Katrina!”

  Right. My birthday. My thirtieth birthday. I was used to my birthday melting into the holidays and hadn’t planned on making it into an event, but Gemma was insisting that the landmark couldn’t pass without a big celebration.

  I left Annika with her animals and her pet painter and returned to Gemma’s house, which I noticed was eerily quiet the moment I walked in the door.

  Syler was the only one in sight. He was sitting on the sofa and gluing a ceramic ornament back together.

  “Uh-oh, not the unicorn,” I said. “Gemma’s had that since she was-“

  “Twelve,” Syler said, setting the last fragment in place. “I should know. I gave it to her as a Christmas present. Florence knocked it off the tree.”

  “Stupid cat.”

  “Terrible cat,” he agreed.

  My eyes were obsessed with the way his muscled forearms flexed as he worked on the broken ornament. “Where is everyone?”

  He gently set the repaired ornament on the coffee table. “Down the street at the Delgado place. Their grandchildren are all in town and the kids were excited to see them. And Mrs. Delgado is making tamales so Gemma went to help out. She wanted me to tell you that you’re welcome to join them if you want.”

  I hung up my jacket and shivered. “It’s so freaking cold out there.”


  “It’s upstate New York. It’s winter. Of course it’s cold.”

  I ran my hand along the back of the sofa, feeling shy all of a sudden. “It feels weird being alone in the house with you.”

  He turned to watch me. “You want me to leave?”

  I exhaled noisily. “No Syler, I don’t want you to leave.”

  “Good.” He stood up. “Because I’m staying.”

  “Are you still staying through New Year’s? Or do you need to get back to Philly sooner?”

  His shirt was still rolled up to his elbows. The fingers of his right hand tapped absently on his thigh. He had the biggest hands. They were good at things. Like pounding out computer code. Catching footballs. Fixing Christmas ornaments.

  Or gripping my hips and pushing me to ride like a demon.

  Every man’s hands should be so talented.

  “Actually, I don’t need to get back to Philly at all,” he said.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “My apartment lease is up in a month. I haven’t renewed yet. I’m not going to.”

  “You’re leaving Philadelphia?”

  He shrugged. “Freelancing gives me the option to work wherever I want. I want to work here.”

  “Here? Like Maple Springs here?”

  As far as I knew, Syler had been always itched to escape small town life as much as I had. It was one of the few things we’d been able to agree on.

  I stared at him. He stared back at me, his expression indecipherable.

  “You’re kidding,” I insisted. “Right?”

  “No. I’m not kidding.”

  Syler must have figured that was equivalent to a mic drop because he walked away. He disappeared down the hallway without glancing back. Seconds later I heard the door to his room open.

  Our confrontations were turning into a predictable one act play:

  Syler shares an earth shattering revelation. Syler leaves the room. Katrina follows.

  Or does she?

  Yes, yes she does, because I was now racing down the hall as fast as my impractical boots could carry me.

  The bedroom door was cracked a few inches so I thought nothing of pushing it open the rest of the way.

  “You’re back,” greeted Syler, sans flannel shirt. Or any shirt. He casually sat on the edge of the bed like he’d been hanging out there for hours.

  “Huh?” I was momentarily jarred by the sight of his chest. You might think I’d be getting used to Syler’s bare chest by now since he was so fond of exposing it to me. “What do you mean I’m back? I haven’t been in here.”

  “Not in a while.” His grin broadened. “But you’ve come in here for sure.”

  “Oh god.” I heaved a sigh and shut the door behind me, just in case Gemma or the kids returned unexpectedly. “Can we just stop with the sordid insinuations already and have a conversation?”

  He considered. “All right.”

  “Good.” I paused. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say next. His tattoos were distracting me. They coiled up his arms like snakes. Sexy snakes.

  “You like it?”

  “What’s ‘it’?”

  “My ink.”

  “I haven’t yet decided if your ink makes you look like an outlaw biker or a boy band singer.”

  “You take your time and think about it some more.”

  I struggled to keep my wits about me. I cleared my throat. “What did you do? Tear your shirt off in anticipation of my arrival?”

  He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  “How’d you know I’d come in here?”

  He lifted an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. “Why are you here?”

  “Uh…” I wracked my brain. I couldn’t remember. The room kept growing smaller. And warmer. I could open the door but my brain ordered my body to keep blocking the door and that was a problem. Something was about to happen and that devilish portion of my mind was very interested in finding out what that something was.

  “You’re really moving back home?” I asked, proud of myself for managing to recall what had driven me down the hall in hot pursuit.

  He patted the bed with a wicked smile. “Come sit down. We can talk about it.”

  That was such a bad idea. And such a tempting idea. My pulse kicked off on a high speed sprint.

  “Syler, if I sit down on your bed you know we won’t talk.”

  He found the comment thought-provoking. “Really? I wonder what we would do instead.”

  I was lightheaded, oversexed, straddling a very dangerous edge. My back flattened against the door and my eyes fell to the floor in the hopes he couldn’t see through me. I should have known better.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  Syler rose from the bed and crossed the room. I was extremely aware of his nearness and the overwhelming warmth of his body as he planted one hand on either side of me. He was so close I could clearly see each ripple in his chest and the snap of his jeans. I could even see how hard he was. I knew if I looked up I’d be a goner. And still I did it.

  His black eyes were so penetrating I was sure they could read every thought in my head as plainly as if I’d written each one out and taped it to my chest.

  “You do know,” he stated. “You know exactly what we’d do.”

  My hands picked a fine moment to commit treason and become fascinated by his stacked shoulder muscles. Syler’s breathing quickened the instant I touched him. He smelled like peppermint and fresh snow. I wanted to taste him, to inhale him.

  While I was surveying his muscles, Syler’s hands had also found an occupation. He eased the hem of my sweater up over my belly and hooked his forefingers in the belt loops of my jeans. With no warning he tugged and closed the distance between us.

  “You like me, Katrina. Admit it.”

  I struggled to think through the haze of desire but a stubborn remnant refused to give in so easily. I sunk my teeth into my lower lip to clear my mind a little before answering. “I can admit that sometimes you have your good points.”

  That wasn’t quite what he wanted to hear. He stopped tugging on my belt loops. He ran the pad of his thumb over the zipper of my jeans, searching for the most responsive spot with light yet agonizing pressure, and knowing he found it when I stiffened and dug my nails into his skin.

  “You like me.” He rubbed with his thumb. Not hard, just enough to make me lose my mind. And I did. Straining against his touch and trying to ride his hand with abandon.

  But two could play at this game.

  I found the snap of his jeans. Flicked it open. Unzipped.

  “I like you right now,” I breathed and cupped him in my hand through his boxers. He smacked his hand into the wall with a groan when I rolled his balls on my palm. I moved on to study the rigid thickness of him and ached over the memory of what it felt like to have all of that inside of me.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, no longer in control, losing his cool and shoving his pants down, allowing my palm to seize his immense length and bucking hard with a hiss when I handled the sensitive tip.

  I was ready to give in. More than ready. My panties had to be so damp I’d need to wring them out with both hands. And I hated my sweater. I hated it for existing. That sweater kept my skin from his and my skin desperately needed more of him.

  “Help,” I begged, pulling the stupid sweater up. He caught on and swiftly yanked it over my head.

  Our mouths collided and the sweet torture escalated. His hand twisted in my hair and pulled, then changed tactics to massage the nape of my neck. Nobody else kissed like him. Nobody else had ever made me feel like I was being worshipped and conquered at the same time.

  I felt my pants being rapidly unpeeled. Good. I didn’t need them any more than I needed that damn sweater. I kicked my boots off and forced my pants to go with them. His mouth sucked my neck now and his hands were everywhere. Unhooking my bra. Teasing between my legs. His swollen cock stabbed the softness of my belly, eager to become reacquainted after all these years.
I was half mad with the need for relief and I hooked my knee over his hip, not caring if he chose to pound me right here against the door. As long as I’d be allowed to come. I’d never needed to come so bad. I couldn’t make it much longer.

  I was trying my best to guide him in but Syler had a different tactic in mind. He hooked my other leg around him and carried me the short distance to the bed. I barely had time to get my bearings before I was on my back and reveling in the hard invasion of his body.

  “You feel so good,” I moaned, spreading my legs wide to urge him to push deeper.

  He paused long enough to suck my nipples and then growl an ominous threat right in my ear. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard you won’t be able to think straight for a month.”

  “Go ahead.” I whimpered and arched my back. I was already so close. “I fucking dare you, Syler.”

  His thrusts were brutal, ruthless, exactly what I needed. Then he withdrew, tormented me with the tip and then plunged in with so much concentrated power I yelped over the exquisite intrusion.

  “You okay?” Syler immediately stopped and stared down at me with concern, his voice gentle, obviously worried he’d been too rough.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.” I ran my hand over his rough cheek. “Don’t stop.”

  He obeyed and resumed his pace. The rising tide began to claim me.

  “I like you,” I gritted out. “You drive me fucking crazy but I like you, you bastard.”

  And then I couldn’t talk anymore because I was busy trying not to shatter into a thousand euphoric shards. For years I’d always wondered if my youth and inexperience had convinced me that our one encounter had been better than it was. I didn’t need to wonder anymore. Sex with Syler was every bit as insanely good as I remembered.

  But there was one crucial difference between this time and last time. This time I wasn’t prepared. There hadn’t been any condoms around to grab at the critical moment.

  “Don’t come inside me,” I breathed into his ear, hating the fact that the words needed to be said.