Chapter 2:
She drags him up the porch steps, tugging on his blazer as he trails behind her, feet stumbling as he tries to keep up with her long strides. It's well past midnight now, the summer air cooler out here by the sea, and the gentle breeze skimming his face is a direct contrast to the harsh grip the very pissed off detective is currently holding him in.
Coming to a halt just in front of the house, he feels himself bump into the door as Beckett swings him forward, and he yelps at the impact, his expensive suit jacket now well and truly rumpled thanks to the harsh creases her fists have bunched in the material.
"Jeez, Beckett," he exclaims, wincing at the throb of his shoulder and steadying himself with a hand to the white wood of his front door. "What was that for?"
Her eyes narrow at him, pupils darkening to match the black of night wrapping itself around them, the glow of the moon behind her head creating an eerie halo that has him sinking further back.
She is seriously pissed off.
"Open the door, Castle," she orders, staring down at him, glare still hard and piercing through the layers of his skin, jabbing at his insides. Okay, maybe he shouldn't have insinuated himself into her obviously very important undercover operation, but he just couldn't help it. He's missed her, and seeing her again has made him impulsive, blind to any consequence other than her.
Fumbling for his key - he's sure it's buried deep in his pockets somewhere - he notices a slight change to her posture the second he takes his eyes off her. The tenseness of her spine eases and her arms come up to wrap around her waist.
Looking up, he manages a quick glance at her face before the mask slips back into place, the costume she's wearing that sets out to make him believe she's just frustrated about all this, and him. But the split second softening of her expression, something he can't quite decipher melting from her face as it hardens into a scowl again, tells him all he needs to know.
Something else is going on here.
His fingers catch onto the jagged edges of the keys and he lifts them from his pocket with a slight jingle, sliding the right key easily into the lock and turning it. The doors swings open and he leans inside to hold it open for Beckett, revelling in the cool burst of the air conditioner inside. She storms past him, not acknowledging his act of chivalry as she turns towards the living room, seemingly knowing where she's going without ever stepping foot in here before.
Because she didn't want to.
He shakes himself free of the negative thoughts holding him, pulling the door closed with a quiet snick and following her through the right corridor and around the kitchen, switching lamps on as he goes to give the place a little light. And hopefully make Beckett look less intimidating.
Coming to an immediate halt next to the couch, she spins around to face him, her hair so much longer now that the curls fly out with the momentum, landing delicately on her shoulder in chocolate ringlets that he can't bring himself to take his eyes off. The electric blue of her dress, a colour that has been fixed in his memory with perfect vision ever since his book launch party last year, clings to her frame, hugging her curves perfectly.
She looks absolutely stunning.
It's familiar, but at the same time he can see so many differences from the last time he saw her. It reminds him how long he's been away, and he suddenly wonders what caused this softer, possibly more haunted, Beckett to come about. The thought causes his heart to ache deeply inside his chest.
He takes a hesitant step towards her, the need to be closer to her after all this time apart driving him forward as he inches further into the room. "Beckett-"
"What the hell were you thinking, Castle?" she cuts him off, pointing an accusing finger towards his chest as she takes a step closer herself. She's almost eye to eye with him in these heels, a fact that he finds both arousing and slightly terrifying. "Actually, do you know what? You weren't thinking. Because what you just did in there, is the most idiotic, egotistical, reckless thing you have ever done. And that is saying something."
He hangs his head, the expensive suit he's wearing suddenly feeling too tight around him, too restrictive, as he lets the accusations sink into his skin.
It was stupid. What he'd done in there tonight was an impulsive decision he'd made while clouded by the lack of judgement Beckett's presence usually gives him. He realises that now.
"Do you have any idea what the consequences of that little ploy could have been? You almost blew the entire operation, Castle."
"I'm sorry," he tells her sincerely as he drops his gaze from hers, hanging his head as he studies the shine of wood beneath his feet, scuffing his shoes against it with a slight squeak. "I didn't know you were undercover until it was too late. I was just pleased to see you."
When he glances back up, he sees the way her face has softened. The way the adorable crease between her brows has become more of a slight shadow rather than a crevasse speaking of her frustration, the green of her eyes now lighter and have some of their spark back.
It makes him brave, perhaps stupidly so, but he still finds himself moving a little closer to her, meeting her eyes as he gives her a pleased tilt of his lips. "I've missed you, Beckett."
Her eyes widen just a fraction, and if he were any further away, he would have missed it entirely, but her jaw tightens before him, lips turning down in a small frown.
"You're the one who left, Castle."
Bitterness laces her words, slipping through the emotionless barriers she's built between them to sock him in the gut and steal his breath.
She didn't even want him there, though. She's found someone else, someone less 'idiotic, egotistical and reckless', someone who volunteers at underprivileged youth basketball and doesn't have a string of failed relationships trailing after him, gripping at his heels.
He opens his mouth to argue, to yell that he didn't want to leave, he just couldn't take the thought of still being with her if he's just going to be a thorn in her side every day, an annoying pain that just pokes around and gets in the way of everything. The words get stuck in his throat, and then Beckett's already barrelling over him.
"You came here to write, to 'get away from the city for a while'," she repeats his own words bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest, hiding the gaping streak of bare skin. He recognises her curling in on herself, hiding the most vulnerable parts. "And there is no way that I'm allowing you to insinuate yourself in this investigation."
"What?" he startles, shaking his head slightly at the words. "Why? I can help."
Beckett sighs, closing her eyes for a moment, and the smoky shimmer of her eyelids catches the dim glow of the lamp on the side table next to him, her eyelashes fluttering in shadows across her cheeks.
"This is not some tag along investigation, Castle," she explains sternly, opening her eyes again to stare at him, and she unfolds her arms to drop them back down by her sides. "It's a highly important, and dangerous, undercover operation. One that I cannot have you involved in."
The light is hitting her more directly now, and he starts to notice all the parts of her that are, well, slightly 'not Beckett'. The extravagant jewellery that's much flashier than what he's know her to wear, the way her make up is slightly heavier than usual, and the fact that her dress has been hiked up even shorter. And he'd know that for a fact, what with the image of her at his Heat Wave book launch party engraved on his brain.
He moves over towards the couch, sitting down on the white cushions as he motions for her to have a seat on one of the arm chairs opposite. She hesitates, chewing on her lip, before taking small steps over towards the couch area, leaning against the armrest rather than taking a seat, but at least allowing herself to willingly be closer to him.
They stay there, stuck in an awkward silence for a few moments as he tries to figure out what to say, what could break the tension between them and allow for some of the light banter that they're so accustomed to. Anything that will get Beckett to stop looking like she's mad with him, like something a lot deeper than just this case is causing her to react to him like this.
"So," he clears his throat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as her head snaps up at the sound of his voice. "You're a prostitute."
Beckett's jaw drops open, and she stares at him, looking affronted. "Castle-"
"Because, by the way, this look is totally doing it for me, Beckett."
She huffs, narrowing her eyes at him, but he can see the softened crease of her brows, the way her eyes are sparkling playfully at him now.
"For your information," she says, quirking an eyebrow at him as she shifts on the arm rest, crossing her impossibly long legs over as she gets comfortable. "I am undercover as a high end escort."
He smirks, shrugging his jacket off and dumping it on the back of the couch as he loosens his tie, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Beckett watching him, blushing slightly, and the smirk only deepens. "So you're a prostitute for rich people?"
"What part of undercover, do you not understand?"
"The part where I can't help you out," he tells her, shrugging as she heaves out a heavy breath, her shoulders sagging as she deflates before him. "I mean, I am rich. It's entirely plausible that I would hire you." At her glare, he quickly tracks back and revises his statement. "Undercover," he stumbles. "Hire the undercover-you, not you-you."
"Castle," she says, voice more subdued and calm now, sounding resigned and tired to his ears. "I really don't think you've thought about the consequences of this."
His eyes shift, looking to the side for a second to collect his thoughts, run through his brain to try and decipher what she means. She looks at him expectantly, stretching her legs out, and he's at once distracted by the bare length of them, brain numbing as his gaze starts to drift downwards slightly.
"Hey," her fingers snap in his face, drawing him out of his stupor and forcing him back to reality, and he looks up to see Beckett waving a hand and glaring at him. She's gotten up, and is standing much closer now, near enough to him that he can smell the subtle scent of cherries clinging to her, bringing back memories of another time, seemingly so long ago now, when he'd been tempted to kiss her right there in the precinct. "Do you mind?"
He blinks dumbly at her, jaw hanging open as he searches for a valid excuse for ogling her. Oh what the hell, she knows him well enough that she expects this sort of thing. "Uhh, sorry."
The eye roll she gives him in response is so familiar that he can't fight the jovial smile from lighting up his face. He really has missed her.
And he knows that he wants in on this case. Not only would it be great research for Naked Heat, but he'd also have a valid excuse for following Beckett around again. Besides, Detective Demming won't be around to rub their relationship in his face.
"Look, Beckett," he starts, pushing himself to stand up and face her. She takes a couple of steps back, looking up at him with a kind of longing that confuses him slightly, especially if she's as happy as he's presumed she's been with Demming this summer. "Just let me help. If I pretend to hire you, then that not only gives Espo a chance to work on the investigation rather than being undercover, but it'll make everything more deeply covert because I'm not a cop."
She sighs, biting the inside of her cheek as her lips purse, coated in a rosy red that makes him want to tilt down and capture the colour on his own. Taking another step forward, he reaches a hand out, gently cupping her elbow, and she flinches slightly, but she doesn't pull away.
"You haven't thought this through very well, have you?" she whispers, shaking her head slowly as he feels the goose bumps rise on her arms.
He tilts his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"
There's a burst of noise down the hallway, and he spins around at the sound of a key turning in the front door lock before the hinges squeak slightly.
"Richard?" Gina.
Oh.
Oh shit.
Beckett is streaking past him before he can get another word out, all bouncing curls and electric blue as she strides towards the front door, passing his ex-wife and current girlfriend with a polite nod of greeting.
He hurries after her, catching Gina by the shoulders when he accidentally stumbles into her in his haste to catch up with his detective.
"Rick, what is going on?" Gina asks him, clinging to the material of his shirt, trying to pull him down towards her. He sometimes forgets how much smaller than him she is. "You disappeared from the party and I've been looking-"
"Hold that thought," he tells her through a strained smile, releasing her grip on him as he detangles himself and rushes through the swinging front door, following Beckett into the night.
She's already down off the porch, and he can hear the crunch of gravel beneath the heels of her shoes as she stalks down the drive way, her arm reaching into the clutch that she must have left next to the door, pulling out a phone as she lifts it to her ear.
"Beckett, wait!" he calls to her, rushing down the steps as he runs to catch up with the detective before she calls the boys and gets them to come and pick her up from where they're waiting down the street. He needs to explain himself first.
She grinds to a halt just in front of him, and he has to steady himself to stop in time so he doesn't go barrelling into her. When she spins around on the spot, he's disappointed to realise that she's just hung up.
"Go back inside, Castle."
"No, not until I know what the hell is up with you right now."
Her lips are fixed in an angry purse as she glances up to him, a scarlet blush tainting her cheeks that doesn't go unnoticed by him. "What 'is up' with me is the fact that you are once again trying to weasel your way into my life, without regard for anyone but yourself."
Indignation flares up angrily inside his chest as he waves his arms at her. "That's not true."
"Really?" she scoffs, planting a hand on her hip. "Because you almost blew my entire cover tonight trying to get yourself onto this case, and by doing so, you've potentially jeopardized your relationship with your publisher. What's she going to think when she finds out that you tried to hire some extra company?"
Castle just stares at her, letting the words and the truth they hold settle over him. Beckett's right. This isn't fair to Gina, and it certainly isn't fair to the victims if he manages to screw this up and let this dirt bag get away.
He finds himself shrugging helplessly, hanging his head as the bite of cool night air starts to prick at his skin, slide through his mussed up hair. "I just wanted to help."
Beckett sighs, and he glances back up at her to meet the green eyes staring at him when he hears the rustle of a car coming up the drive way.
"I know," she says, her voice soft and somewhat melancholic as she sends him a sad tilt of her lips "But you left to get away from the city, Castle. So go back to your Hamptons, your ex-wife, your book parties. That's what you wanted, after all."
He stands there dumbly, watching as she climbs into the car the boys are driving without another glance in his direction. Sending a quick wave to Esposito and Ryan, he takes a moment to collect his thoughts and try to process the night's events before heading back inside to face the music with Gina.
Beckett is here, in the Hamptons, working undercover for what appears to be a very important case. She hadn't mentioned Demming, but he isn't naïve enough to think that means he's not waiting patiently for his extraordinary girlfriend to return to the city. But still, something had seemed…off with her, and he has a feeling that it hasn't got anything to do with the cover.
He needs to sort out his head, get his thoughts in line and not get hung up about all this. After all, he has a beautiful girlfriend waiting for him inside, one he needs to apologise to for forgetting their relationship during his temporary amnesia when he attempted to hire 'Prostitute Beckett."
After taking a few more moments to just breathe in the night air and clear his Kate Beckett fogged mind, he turns towards the house, staring up at the large arching roof and the glean of the windows in the moonlight. He trudges forward, hands shoved deep inside his pockets.
He has some explaining to do.
"You did what?!"
Castle winces, leaning to his left slightly as Gina throws her arms about, waving wildly at him as she paces back and forth, her party heels tapping on the floor with exaggerated force against the wood.
He didn't expect his girlfriend to be pleased that he tried to hire an escort, even if said escort was really Beckett undercover, so he should be thankful that she hasn't stormed out on him yet.
"How could you be so stupid, Rick?" she exhales heavily, coming to a halt with a little stomp that he usually finds cute. Not when she's genuinely mad at him though.
"Look," he starts, voice hesitant and low as he walks over to her, places both hands on her forearms. "I'm sorry. I really am sorry. What I did was thoughtless, and I apologise for it."
Gina sighs, and he feels the tension melt out of her as she tilts into him, a small frown on her face He brushes his thumbs soothingly against her skin, leaning down a little before he speaks next, wanting to put them on slightly more even footing. "Gina, I really want to help with this case."
His ex-wife huffs, immediately fired up again as she pulls away from him and out of his tentative grip. Backing away, she folds her arms tightly against her chest as she glares at him.
It seems he's doing very well at pissing off women he cares about today.
"No, seriously," he babbles, trying to help her understand, trying to make her realise that he needs to be on this case with Beckett. "It will help with my writing, and you know that I've been struggling to shake up this next Nikki Heat book, and this will give me the perfect opportunity to do some first-hand research."
"Rick, you've been doing first hand research for a year," she says, clearly exasperated with him. "Surely that's been enough?"
No, it'll never be enough. Not with her.
"But that wasn't a big undercover operation like this, was it?" he explains, his enthusiasm leaking out of him as he practically springs closer to her. "Come on, Gina. When else would I get this kind of opportunity?"
Gina studies him, her brown eyes tracing over the lines of his face carefully. "So you're going to pretend to be having an affair?"
He staggers back a step, catching himself against the side table his thigh bumped into.
Well, crap. He hadn't really thought about it quite like that.
"I, uh…"
She waves a hand at him, the bangles on her wrist bumping together with a metallic chime as she rubs her temple.
"Well at least if you're caught it will help boost book sales," she says.
He blanks, staring at her for a few moments before his brain catches up to her words. "What?"
"Your public persona has been slacking quite a bit as of late," she explains, and the tone of her voice, a little harder and more pronounced, tells him that she's slipped into 'publisher mode'. "And your playboy antics always guarantee more book sales, so I guess it couldn't hurt if the press do find out."
He's pretty sure his eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline, the surprise at her apparent agreement written all over his face.
"Wait, so you're okay with this?" he asks doubtfully, not quite believing that his girlfriend is fine with him pretending to have an affair while being in the public eye. "You don't mind if I'm part of Beckett's cover?"
Gina looks up at him, eyes slightly pinched as she rubs her lips together, her head tilted slightly to the side.
"Just…" she starts, before darting her eyes to somewhere over his shoulder for a brief moment. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"
He knows he's grinning like an overenthusiastic child, but he can't contain his excitement as he darts forward, giving his girlfriend a quick peck on the lips before he rushes upstairs to his office, more than ready to start working on a game plan for this.
But, first thing's first. He needs to convince Beckett that he'll be the perfect gentlemen to hire her services.
The next morning, Castle pulls himself out of bed at the flash of summer sun flitting through the drapes, stumbling downstairs for a drink of coffee before grabbing a bagel and heading out the door.
He left Gina asleep next to him, not wanting to rattle the tiger's cage and anger her any more when she hears of his plans for today, and instead he makes his way down the porch steps, a jovial hop to his gait as he reaches the end of the canopy's shadow and is immediately bathed in the warmth of daybreak.
Lifting his head to the sky, he slides his hands into his pockets, letting the rough denim rub against them as he soaks up the rays of heat, the light reflecting off his sunglasses in glints. He always relishes the leisurely stroll down from his summer house to the local town, only twenty minutes or so away, and he hasn't had much time to just enjoy the gorgeous scenery after being cooped up writing for most of the summer as per his well-meaning publisher's request.
Tones of green and blue surround him as he walks, the colours of nature and calm adding to the serenity of the neighbourhood out here. Shows of affluence from the proud displays of extravagant houses all around are effortlessly undermined by the natural woodlands and foliage around them, herds of deer weaving in and out of trees as they graze, and the sun skimming through the leaves in speckled patterns that he can't imagine seeing anywhere else in the city.
He eventually comes to the edge of the island, the crunch of gravel and hard dirt softening to pliant sand beneath his feet. Taking himself to the water's edge for the rest of his journey, Castle breathes in the salty sea air as it ruffles the strands of his hair in a warm breeze that he opens himself up to gladly.
The town peaks up from over the stone walkway that leads down to the beach front, and he climbs up, kicking the heel of his shoe against the wall to shake off the sand clinging to him.
He knows the bar he's looking for will be near the outskirts of the town, away from prying eyes and surreptitiously out of the rush of residents and tourists having days out. The only reason he knows of its existence altogether is through word of mouth. Okay, and he may have visited one of the bars next door when he was younger, catching a glimpse of too dressed up women clinging onto the arms of men he recognised from around town, men who were definitely married.
If there's anything sketchy going on that Beckett would be investigating, he's certain that this will be the place.
Finding the building he's looking for, towards an empty corner of the town and shielded in by the surrounding trees, he cautiously moves closer. Upon inspection, the bricks look mildly worn, but still expensive enough to fit in around here, and the bland look of a few small blacked out windows and one glowing sign, not yet turned on, outside, make it slot in with the higher end buildings nearby.
He can hear the steady pump of music from inside, some techno beat that he vaguely remembers Alexis blaring from her bedroom a few times. Looking around the front, he can't see any obvious way of getting inside, so instead heads down the narrow alleyway on the right side.
It's hidden by two tall walls, both covered in grime he'd rather not inspect too closely, and he finds himself unconsciously wiping his hands on his jeans before pushing the sleeves of his shirt further up his elbows. Following the heavy sound of base into the dark, he sees the flash of rapid changing colour reflecting on an open door.
His senses are overwhelmed when he steps inside, the glaring overhead lights blinding him into shielding his eyes with one hand, feeling around for the handrail on the wall with his other. When his eyes adjust enough, he notices a few other patrons sitting around at the random tables dotted near the dance floor, where a number of peoples are moving to the music.
Narrowing his eyes to try and see better, he slips into a seat to get a better view of the club. The beat of the music is pulsing heavily through his ears, hitting the drums rhythmically and drowning out any other sound.
Can Beckett really be here?
Scanning the room over again, more carefully this time, he receives his answer when his gaze lands on two long legs that could belong to no one other than the detective. A grin splits his face as he follows the luscious skin up to find Beckett, wrapped in a white dress that silhouettes against the flash of bright lights, her heels so high that he can see the large arch of the shoes as she walks down the bar, holding a tray of glasses in one hand.
He finds himself chuckling.
Huh. So apparently she was a waitress once.
Her hips sway in time to the music booming around them, the sensuous curve of her body hypnotising him as she bends down, a little further than necessary, to collect empty glasses from tables.
He follows the gorgeous curved lines of her as she moves from patron to patron, almost dancing in the rhythmic way she's moving to the songs playing overhead. As much as he's enjoying it, he can't help the scowl growing on his face from the way he notices each of the men she's serving lean into her, shadowed hands inching a little too close to the swell of her breasts in that figure hugging dress as she picks up their glasses.
It baffles him slightly, the way she refuses to react, how she doesn't show any part of Kate Beckett, the homicide detective who would kick a man's ass into the middle of next week if he so much as spoke down to her. He suddenly has a new found respect for this undercover operation of hers, how she manages to slip into these newly assumed personas at the blink of an eye.
It makes him wonder how many times she's done this before. Didn't she mention something about vice? The thought that she's been exposed to this kind of sleazy world before makes his heart sink inside the cavern of his chest.
"I see she's definitely caught your eye."
Castle startles at the slippery sound of the voice belonging to the same man from last night, the one who seemed eager for Beckett, no…Houghton, to be available for his 'service'. Twisting around in his seat, he can make out the blurred image of that very guy, lingering on the outlines of his club, observing those who think they're the ones doing the watching here. He's handsome and reeks of business in his expensive suit and uptight posture, not at all the kind of guy you'd expect to be a pimp.
"You know," he starts, shifting his line of sight to follow where Beckett is now heading straight towards his table. "I can figure out a more permanent arrangement for you. She is quite the beauty."
Beckett looks up at the same moment the lights flash over her in a burst of green, and she stumbles slightly, the tray tilting as the glasses knock together when she spots him. She looks like an animal captured in a spotlight, terrified and caught out, but judging by the growing pinch to her brows, he's quite certain she's pissed as well.
"Yeah," he swallows thickly around his words as the detective starts storming closer. "She certainly is."
Oh boy, is he in trouble.
A/N: Thank you so much for the overwhelming response and all the lovely reviews I received for the first chapter of this fic! I really appreciate everyone taking the time to read and comment, and I hope you enjoy this chapter too.
Thank you so much for reading and I would love to know what you think!
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