Chapter 2

Beckett stands in the receiving line holding a placard with 'Richard Castle' across the front as she waits for him to disembark from the plane. It was ninety degrees in the shade and her shirt is clinging to her skin unpleasantly. She plays with the unfamiliar glasses that rest on her face; they hide a miniature recording device. The days of actually having a wire taped to your skin were long gone, recording devices could be hidden in just about anything now. Her FBI backup team would be somewhere nearby, recording every detail.

Her patience was crumbling as time wore on and sweat trickles down her back, settling in uncomfortable places. The flight had landed forty minutes earlier and most of the other passengers had already left the airport but there was still no sign of the writer. As a first class passenger he should have been one of the first to get off and she was starting to wonder if she'd got the flight details wrong except she'd checked his itinerary twice that morning.

The automatic doors from the customs and immigration area parts at that moment and she could finally see what the delay was, or more accurately, who the delay was. Rick Castle was flirting with a pretty female flight attendant as they walked down the causeway, his arm slung intimately over her shoulders. His stubble was a few hours past the 5 o'clock stage and his sunglasses covered his eyes as if he were nursing a hangover.

"Here's my number. I'd love to see you when you're back in New York," Castle finishes writing his digits on the coaster and winks as he hands it to the blonde.

He winked!

Beckett rolls her eyes; she couldn't believe the shameless audacity of the man. She's been baking in the humid, airless building just so that the bastard could pick up some dizzy blonde. For goodness sake, he was about to have ten women fawning over him for a month, couldn't he just wait another few days?

"Thanks Rick," Janelle giggles as she tucks the piece of paper into her pocket. "I'll catch you later. Bye."

"Bye Janelle." He smiles as he watches her walk off to the taxi racks, her red 4-wheel spinner case lagging behind.

"Bye Janelle," Beckett repeats it under her breath in a mocking tone but she wasn't as quiet as she thought she was because Castle turns his head at the sound.

"Did you say something?" he asks her. He tilts his head and pulls his glasses up so that they rested on his head as he observed her. His first impression was that the woman was stunning. She was tall and slim with masses of golden, brown hair and chocolate eyes with a hint of green. There's a bulky gentleman's watch on her wrist and an irritated expression on her classically beautiful face.

The dowdy glasses that she wore didn't suit her at all but it was the only fault that he could find. The beauty mark on her left cheek was more a pronouncement of individuality rather than a blemish. The heat had made her hair go slightly frizzy and her cheeks were stained pink but instead of making her look wilted it just made him wonder if she would look this good after a bout of hot, sweaty sex.

"I said 'Welcome Mr. Castle,'" Beckett pastes on a fake smile and deliberately lies to him.

For a second Castle contemplates calling her out on the lie, what she'd said before had far fewer syllables than welcome Mr. Castle. He decides to let it go though, he likes her sass.

"Thank you Ms …" he deliberately left a pause so that she could fill in her name.

"Beckett."

He raises an eyebrow when she didn't supply any addition name.

"Well it's nice to meet you Beckett. A lot of the greats have gone down the mononymous name path. Plato, Aristotle, Pocahontas and – my all time favorite – Barney. Not very people can manage to totally rock the purple dinosaur look."

She could tell he was laughing at her and her teeth were practically grinding as she says, "It's Karen Beckett. But I'd prefer it if you called me Beckett." They'd decided to make her cover name very similar to her real one, it would be one less detail for her to trip over.

"Ok Beckett. By the way I've got to say that you're far too beautiful to be a limo driver." He looks at the placard that she was still holding.

"I'm not the driver, Manuel's waiting in the air-conditioned limo," Beckett stresses the description as if it were a recrimination, after all it was Castle's fault that she was all hot and bothered and not in a good way. "I'm the production assistant; basically the on-set girl friday."

"And will part of your duties be to look after me? Because if it is then I'm looking forward to it already," he says with a shit-eating grin. "Lucky me."

She has to restrain herself from saying what she really thought about that comment. "If you'd please follow me out to the limo, Manuel is waiting to take us to the hotel." She turns on her heels, the platform soles gave her another five inches in height, and walks off, not waiting to see if he would follow.

He watches her stiff back retreating, in those tight jeans the rear view of Karen Beckett was worth a stare or two. He got the firm impression that she was less than impressed with him. There is something about her that makes him want to tease her. He smiles as he rushes to catch up with her; this trip was already starting off in the best possible way.

Beckett had already reached the front passenger-side door by the time he got to the limo.

"Aren't you going to sit in the back with me?" he asks as she opens her door.

The look that she gave him clearly said that she thought he was an idiot. "I'm sure that you can manage to put the seat belt on by yourself."

"But what if I get lonely?" he couldn't help winding her up.

She didn't bother to reply to him before she got into the limo. Castle grins at the driver who stood patiently holding the door for him.

"Manuel, would you mind leaving the glass divider down please?"

"Certainly Mr. Castle."

"Thank you." Rick slips him a tip and then gets into the vehicle. The writer took his place in one of the rear facing seats directly behind Beckett. "Isn't this comfy?"

The detective whips her head around at the sound of his voice which was far closer than she expected. "What are you doing sitting there?" she asks him.

"Well I got lonely sitting in the back by myself and it's much easier for us to have a conversation if I'm sitting closer." He smiles as he watches her bite her tongue, no doubt there was some stinging remark that she'd restrained herself from making.

It was fascinating to observe her, in their short acquaintance she'd already piqued his interest. Beckett wasn't the type of woman that he'd expect to find in this job. Production assistants were usually young interns, working their way through the ranks and dreaming of becoming screenwriters or directors. They were almost all uniformly eager to please; they didn't typically want to bite your head off.

"So where are we headed to Beckett?" he asks her as he swung his legs up on the seat so that he was sitting sideways, it made it much easier for him to look at her this way.

It made her neck prickle knowing how close he sat but she refuses to let the writer know that he was affecting her. "You're booked into a suite at the Paradiso Hotel so we're going there to drop your luggage off. It's a luxury boutique hotel that's been completely booked out for the duration of the location shoot. The female contestants will be joining you there in a few of days. You don't have anything else scheduled until eight o'clock tonight when Mr. Curran is meeting you for dinner at his private club."

"Are you staying there as well?"

Beckett snorts, the producers weren't going to pay five hundred dollars-a-night for a hotel room for a lowly production assistant. She was sharing a room with one of the makeup artists at a budget chain motel. The room was tiny with barely any space between the single beds and a rattling air-conditioner that made more noise than an aircraft taking off.

"No, the crew is at a motel, it's half an hour away."

"Oh no, that's too far away, we'll get you moved into my hotel," He pulls his phone out and dials a number.

"Mr. Castle, that really isn't necessary. I'm perfectly happy at the motel." It was a lie but the motel was still a better option than moving into the hotel with Castle.

"There's no need to be so formal Beckett, you can call me Rick." He held the phone up by his ear as he waited for the other person to pick up. "And I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing it for me. I might get …"

Beckett held up her hand to stop him. "Let me guess …lonely?" she says.

"It's like you can read my mind," he grins. "Hey Frankie this is Rick Castle. Yeah I just got in."

Beckett could only hear one side of the phone conversation but she already knew that she wouldn't like it.

"If it's no trouble, could you please get another room at the hotel for Beckett, the production assistant? I have a feeling that I'm going to need her help a lot." The writer listens briefly to something that Curran said and then looked up the fuming woman and grins. "Yes, a connecting room next to mine would be perfect. Ok, I'll see you later at dinner." Castle hangs up and slips his phone back into his pocket. "It's all sorted, no need to thank me. Manuel, could you please make a detour to the motel first? Beckett needs to get her things, she's moving."

Thank him? Thank him! She wanted to hit him.

The driver nods and turns his indicator on to make a left turn. "No problem sir."

"You can't just do that," Beckett hisses at the writer who grins unrepentantly. If he thought that sleeping with him was part of her duties then he was going to be sorely disappointed. "I'm a production assistant; I'm not your personal assistant.

"No need to be so effusive in your thanks, you're making me blush Beckett," he mocks her. It was so cute the way her brow furrows when she gets frustrated. "Don't look so suspicious, I just thought that you might enjoy the upgrade. I'm not expecting anything more than a verbal thank you."

Rick tries to look as innocent as possible as she stares at him with narrowed eyes. She was trying to figure out if he was being sincere or if this was all part of his play.

"Thank you," Beckett says it stiffly as if the words were unfamiliar. "That was actually kind of … sweet." Maybe he wasn't a complete jerk after all.

"Damn that was far too easy," his face cracks into a cocky grin at how quickly she relented, he couldn't maintain the innocent look any long. "I knew I should have held out for at least a kiss on the cheek."

Beckett swings around so that she was facing the front and no longer had to look at his smug, handsome face. She took it back; he was definitely a complete jerk.

Beckett remains silent for the rest of the ride, her eyes firmly on the road as she nurses her pique. Castle didn't even seem to notice her temper which only annoys her even further. He kept up a running commentary with Manuel as they make their way through the streets of San Juan.

The limo pulls up to the front of the hotel and the concierge greets them as they got out of the vehicle. The building was a two-storey refurbished Spanish mansion with the typical pastel-colored walls and tiled roof.

"Welcome to the Paradiso Mr. Castle and Ms Beckett. My name is Ernesto and I'm the hotel concierge. If there's anything that we can do to make your stay here more pleasant please don't hesitate to ask. Please follow me." He ushers them over to the spiral staircase that lead off from the impressive entrance as a busboy took care of their luggage. It was wonderfully cool in the hotel after the outside heat.

Beckett fidgets as she mounts the stairs to the first floor. Surrounded by the marble and polished wood setting the detective felt under-dressed in her creased capri trousers and blue tank top. She wasn't used to this kind of deference but Castle seems relaxed as he chatters to the concierge. He seems to be able to talk to anyone; Ernesto, Manuel – if the writer had an audience with the Queen he'd probably have her laughing within the first two minutes.

Ernesto uses an electronic swipe card to gain access to the suite. "This is your room Mr. Castle."

It was spectacular; if the stylish décor and expansive dimensions weren't enough then the overhanging balcony that looked out onto the inner courtyard was the icing on the cake. It was certainly a sharp step up from the room that she had last night. Kate was still staring and she barely heard him as Ernesto went on to give them a rundown of the services that the hotel offered.

"Ms Beckett … Ms Beckett?"

The detective looks up as she realizes that her name was being called. "I'm sorry, I was admiring the view. Could you please repeat that?"

"I was just saying that your room is through there," Ernesto points to the inter-connecting door that lead off from the living area. "The locks on it have been deactivated as per your request."

"We're not together," Beckett glares at Castle as she tries to correct the concierge's mistaken impression, there's no way that she wants people to think that she's going to sleep with the jerk.

"She's very protective of my virtue and reputation," Rick quips to the concierge. "She'll only let me hold her hand when no-one is looking. It's all very Victorian."

Poor Ernesto didn't know what to make of the angry brunette and the grinning writer. "Of course Ms. Beckett, I'll leave you to get settled in," he says as he made his getaway.

"Why the hell did you do that?" she fumes as soon as they were alone.

"Do what?" he feigns ignorance.

"You let him think that we were sexually involved."

"Oh come on Beckett," he says when she continues to glare at him. "You need to lighten up a bit, Ernesto knew that I was joking. Besides, what's so terrible about being romantically linked to me? I have been called ruggedly handsome before. I also noted that you didn't ask him to reactivate the locks on that door. Are you planning on a midnight excursion into my bedroom? A rendezvous between the sheets?"

Only if I get to smother you.

Beckett bites her tongue to stop the automatic retort that came to her. The only reason that she isn't insisting on changing rooms is because it's occurred to her that the current situation would make it easier for her to search his stuff when he was at dinner but she couldn't tell him that. The way he keeps grinning at her made her blood boil.

The detective marches up to him and invades his personal space as she continues to stare. It was a tactic that she'd used successfully to interrogate criminals but he seems to find it more amusing than intimidating.

"You're about to have ten women throwing themselves at you. I'm not going to add myself to that group." Beckett tries to stare him down with her most severe gaze.

"You are so hot right now," he says it half-teasingly, half-truthfully.

"Argh!" The cop shakes her head angrily and stalks out in a huff. She was very tempted to reach out and twist his ear; after all, he was behaving like an overgrown kid. Beckett had to remind herself that she was undercover and her role didn't allow her to physically abuse the star of the show. But when this was over, oh yes, when this was over she promised herself that she'd get her revenge. If he didn't turn out to be a drug smuggler could she still arrest him for being a jackass?