Mastered by His Touch-Complete Box Set

by Skylar Cross

  I needed that review just to figure out how the hell I got here.

  But now I have to face the fact that I still have so many unanswered questions. And I'm still in danger.

  Or am I?

  Truth be told, I feel no danger anywhere near Caden Storm. He seems to be the antidote to danger.

  But I assume there will be a moment in my life that Caden Storm will not be present.

  As miserable as that prospect seems right now, I'm going to have to press him for answers soon.

  But when he shows up all my thoughts drift away across the dark ocean.

  He is resplendent in a black tuxedo. Formal wear doesn't usually do anything for me, but on this man it makes me want to leap up and wrap my legs around him.

  He carried two plates and put them down.

  "The chef presents Curried Lobster and Mushroom Sauce with Fettuccini," he said and sat down. "Cheers."

  He held up his wine glass. I picked mine up and clinked his, then took a sip.

  "Eat," he said.

  Not a problem. I was ravenous. And the meal was heavenly. I told him about a thousand times. He must have been hungry too because we didn't talk much during dinner.

  Once I had finished my meal and another glass of wine, I felt relaxed enough to be a bit bold.

  "So do you always make curried lobster with mushroom sauce over fettuccini for girls you fuck three times?" I said.

  "Yes," he said, not missing a beat. "If only you knew what I make for girls I fuck four times. But I guess that will have to wait."

  Ooooh, I like those implications.

  "So, Caden Storm," I said, "when I walked in here today I was looking for answers. I found one. A big one, I might add. But I still have a lot of questions."

  He looked at his watch.

  "I'd love to answer them all right now," he said, "but if we don't leave soon we're going to be late."

  "Late? Late for what?"

  "You're my date for tonight's presentation of new works by the artist Alexei Casile."

  "Where?"

  "At the Douglas Gallery on East 77th Street."

  "East 77th Street? As in East 77th Street New York?"

  "Yes, and I think you'll agree with my reason for going."

  "Which is?"

  "The world needs to bask in the splendor of the most beautiful work of art I've ever seen. Which is you in that dress."

  I giggled.

  My God, I'm toast. Done. This man has me completely.

  He got up and went to the door. He picked up the phone next to it and told someone to have his limousine brought around. Then he picked up his cell phone and told someone to have the plane ready. He returned to the outdoor patio.

  "If you need to go to the ladies' room, now is the time," he said. "Our plane leaves in half an hour."

  This roller-coaster ride of a day just isn't going to quit, is it?

  "Oh, and pack an overnight bag," he said. "We're staying at The Plaza Hotel tonight. Bring something New York casual for tomorrow. You're from Queens. You know what to choose. Pick anything you want from the closet. Now go!"

  Chapter 6

  I freshened myself up, threw some selections into one of the overnight bags I found in the walk-in closet, and met him at the door. Before I knew it, I was in a limousine driven by a big man named Harold. We swept into Logan Airport through an entrance I had never seen.

  A short walk through a small security screening building hidden from public view and we were on the tarmac walking to a small jet, engines revving.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in plush leather seats high over Boston. Caden held me close for the entire twenty-minute flight.

  It seemed that as soon as we reached altitude, I saw the glittering grid of New York City out the window. On the plane ride, Caden talked about his art collection and what makes Alexei Casile such an amazing talent.

  Another limousine awaited us at LaGuardia, and soon we were out crossing Wards Island onto FDR Drive, then over to 2nd Avenue and down to East 77th Street. Manhattan twinkled in the way only Manhattan knows how.

  The Douglas Gallery was all funky glass and white walls. Two security men at the door guarded the entrance in front of a velvet rope and sign that read Gallery Closed to the Public Tonight - Private Invitation Only.

  I don't know if Caden Storm had an invitation or not, but apparently it didn't matter. Both security men nodded while one undid the velvet rope to allow us to pass inside.

  Impressive.

  Caden led me by the arm into a world I had only watched from the outside. In less than twenty-four hours, I had gone from a bank employee who makes $14.87 an hour to the right arm of a billionaire at an art opening on the Upper East Side.

  I gasped when I recognized a famous fashion designer chatting with two other men. He was dressed in a suit that looked like an Andy Warhol painting.

  I also recognized a famous New York real estate tycoon who has his own television show, a movie actress who had been popular in the 1990s, and one of those talking head political talk show hosts. Everyone was in tuxedos and expensive designer dresses.

  "This is amazing!" I said.

  "I thought you might enjoy it," Caden said.

  While I'm no art lover, there was something emotional about Alexei Casile's work that touched me. Scenes from tropical idylls and Third World cities conveyed struggle, pain, and yet triumph in a challenging world.

  Caden remained arm-locked with me as he introduced me to many people, including the fashion designer. I tried not to gush since I have several of his shoes in the closet of my crappy apartment back in Allston.

  My God, am I really here?

  Caden left my side only once when his phone rang.

  "Excuse me," he said. "I'll be right back."

  I lost myself in the amazing artwork, sipping Krug champagne brought to me by a very attentive waiter dressed in black.

  But the only art I truly could stare at forever was this incredible man who brought me here tonight.

  I had come to his home searching for answers but I had put all that on hold. It can wait.

  Right now, I gave myself permission to just enjoy being here. Where it's going is a mystery to me. It can't be forever. A man like Caden Storm isn't going to settle for Kiri the girl who works at the bank.

  But that's fine. For now, I'm happy and in love.

  In love? What? Kiri, that's ridiculous! You don't even know that man on the phone over there.

  It doesn't matter. I loved him from the moment he waltzed into that bank. It came out as lust, but it truly was love. I knew I could trust him. I knew he was right. I just knew. I never believed in love at first sight before, but now I do.

  Kiri, that's silly. You sound like a child again. Grow up! You don't love this man!

  Yes, yes I do. Even if I never see him again after tonight, I love him and always will.

  I watched him on the phone in a corner. He had that distressed look on his face again. I know there are deep dark secrets in there. I know there is something that haunts him. Whatever it is, it's intense and troubling. It almost kept him from touching me. Maybe I'll find out what it is, maybe I won't.

  But tonight I don't care.

  I walked toward him, his back to me.

  "... one-eight-nine-zero," he said into the phone. "Got it?"

  As I reached him, he turned around sharply. The look on his face was one of shock. He disconnected the phone.

  A little alarm bell went off inside me. One-eight-nine-zero he said into the phone. That rings a bell.

  Whatever bell it rings vanishes when he kisses me.

  "You're crazy beautiful, you know," he said as his hand rubbed my ass. "Everyone in this room is jealous of me."

  He knows all the right words, that's for sure.

  He takes my arm again and guides me to a painting that stuns me. It's a tiny village along a bay. The dilapidated buildings and the rotting little boats are a stark contrast to the beauty of the setting sun ove
r palm trees. I can't help but stare at it.

  "You like?" he said.

  "Yes," I said. "It's stunning."

  He turned and looked at me. My eyes met his. He smiled. I melted. We could repeat this pattern all night.

  He waved to one of the curators, a tall blonde woman in thick-framed glasses and a gray suit. She immediately ended the conversation she was in and walked toward us.

  "Are you enjoying the opening, Mr. Storm?" she said as she arrived.

  "It's amazing, Ann," he said. "I'd like to purchase this one."

  "Why, certainly, Mr. Storm. Let me get the information on it."

  "No need. Just have it shipped to my home in Tahiti. The usual arrangements."

  "Of course, Mr. Storm. I'm just not sure what price Mr. Casile has determined for this one. Let me get it for you."

  "Again, no need. Whatever he determines will be its price. Use my gallery account."

  "Yes, Mr. Storm. And on behalf of Mr. Casile, thank you very much."

  When she left, I turned and gawked at him.

  "Happy birthday," he said. "Oh, wait. I already gave you your birthday present. This is for Christmas, a bit early."

  "You didn't just buy that for me," I said.

  "Yes, I did. We can see it when we winter in Tahiti."

  Winter in Tahiti? Did he just say that?

  "Winter in Tahiti?" I said. "Wow... um..."

  "Shhhh", he said. "Just accept that you're with me now. Permanently."

  Permanently? Is he serious?

  "Wow," I said. "Tahiti. I've never been to Tahiti."

  He turned and looked at me with the distressed look again. He squinted his eyes. And I saw something very dark behind them. Pain. Desperation.

  Oh God, I remember that look! The art gallery vanished.

  "Who is the girl?" said the man in the uniform.

  "My sister," said the boy without a face.

  "She is not your sister. You are an American. She is from here."

  "She is adopted by my parents."

  "Then I will call your parents right now."

  The boy fidgeted in his chair.

  "You can't."

  "Why can't I?" said the man behind the desk.

  "Because... well, they're dead."

  The man stared at the faceless boy for what felt like forever.

  "You are lying," he said. "Guard!"

  Two armed guards in tan uniforms entered the room to take away the boy. I ran and grabbed him, crying. I held onto his leg.

  I screamed as they tore me away from him.

  "Kiri!" he shouted. "Everything is going to be okay! I'm not going forever! I promise! Trust me!"

  One of the guards picked me up in his arms. I kicked and screamed, reaching out to the boy who saved me from the sinking boat.

  Then he was gone.

  "Kiri!" said Caden. "Are you all right?"

  The art gallery reappeared. I was hyperventilating and swayed back and forth. Caden took my champagne glass which I almost dropped on the floor.

  I took a deep breath and came fully back.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I just... remembered something I thought I had forgotten, and it was..."

  "What?" said Caden. "What was it?"

  I tried to say it out loud but couldn't. It defied words. It was too real and disturbing. I think if I had tried I would have kicked and screamed like I did before.

  Like I did before? Was that real? Was that a memory? It must be! Holy fuck, who am I?

  "Caden," I said, "I'm not feeling well. Is there anyway we could just go?"

  "Of course," he said. He picked up his cell phone and made a call. "Tom, pick us up out front."

  Caden guided me to the door and led me out into the spring night. The limo came around the corner from wherever Tom the driver had hidden it. Caden opened the door and I got in before Tom had a chance to come around.

  Once the three of us were back inside, Caden said, "The Plaza, Tom."

  "Yes, Mr. Storm," said Tom.

  Caden held me tight as the car moved down Fifth Avenue past Central Park. He kissed my forehead as we turned right onto 59th Street.

  Does he know about my visions? Is all this connected somehow? Is he trying to help me remember? Who is Caden Storm really?

  I felt a headache coming on. I need to rest and shut my brain off. I'm approaching overwhelm.

  At the Plaza, Caden took my overnight bag and led me in. Apparently, if you're Caden Fucking Storm you don't have to even check in. You just go right up to your room.

  Well, room isn't the best word. Mansion is closer to the proper description of the suite to which Caden Storm opened the door.

  Done in Louis XV furniture with a view of Central Park and 59th Street from windows in a round turret, it appeared to be a private home. I felt out of place.

  "Wow," I said again. Quickly becoming my go-to word around Caden Storm. "And we didn't even need to check in."

  "Oh, this is a Private Residence, not a hotel room," Caden said. "I try to stay out of New York but I keep this place for when I'm here."

  He turned and looked at me.

  "Are you all right?" he said.

  "I have a terrible headache," I said. "It's been a long day. I think I just need some sleep. And maybe an Advil."

  "There's one in the bathroom."

  Sure enough, in one of the cabinets in the jaw-dropping bathroom with gold-plated fixtures, I found every over-the-counter remedy known to man. I swallowed two Advil with some water.

  I found Caden upstairs... yes upstairs!... in the Master Bedroom undressing. He stopped when he saw me.

  We both just stared at each other. I felt it again. The connection. The belonging.

  It had nothing to do with his money, his looks, or all the traditional attractive traits. It was a bond that felt like it was forged long ago.

  The boy without a face held my hand as we were led to the squat square building with the brown steel door.

  "Are my Mom and Dad here?" I said, looking up at him, my other hand holding the teddy bear given to me by the nice lady with red hair.

  "No, Kiri," said the boy sullenly. "They're not here."

  "But I want my Mom and Dad! Why can't I see them?"

  I started to cry again.

  "Oh Kiri, not now," he said. "Please don't cry now. Just stay quiet while I talk to these people. Please!"

  We had reached the brown steel door. Two guards with guns stood on either side of the door. The woman we had been following opened the door for us. The boy crouched down so he was face-to-face with me.

  "Now just be quiet and don't say anything, okay?" he said. "We're going to be all right. You and me. I'm going to take care of you, I promise."

  "But what about my Mom and Dad?" I said.

  The boy looked around, biting his lower lip. He touched my cheek.

  "We'll find them. Together. You and me. Okay? It's going to be all right."

  The boy patted my head and kissed my forehead. I wrapped my arms around him and he hugged me.

  "Hey!" said the woman. "Let's go!"

  The boy stood up and we entered the squat square building with the brown steel door. The door slammed shut behind us.

  Inside was a man at a desk. A fan hummed beside him. The window behind him had bars but no glass. It was very hot everywhere.

  "Passport, please," said the man.

  The boy handed him something.

  "Where were you born?" said the man.

  "The United States," said the boy.

  I felt the tears welling up again. The boy reached out and patted my head. I clutched my teddy bear.

  "Where in the United States?"

  "Fort Knox, Kentucky."

  "How did you get here?"

  "Kiri and I came into port with Mr. and Mrs. Decoud. They're friends of mine."

  "Who is the girl?" said the man in the uniform.