"Kate. Kate!"
She groaned, and dull pain pounded all along her spine, robbing her of air.
"Are you alright? Were you hit?"
His voice broke through the haze in her brain and she mentally took inventory of her body. Kate tried to turn her head, found it cradled in his palm, his thumb pressing into her skin just below her ear, stroking softly along her vein. Warmth flared where he touched.
"Just... Wind... knocked... out." She tried to suck in a deep breath, lift herself to a sitting position. The concrete edge of the bottom stair was digging against her spine; she must've slammed against it as Castle hurled himself atop her, cradling her beneath the bulk of his body. He smelled fresh and somehow like woods, and she incongruously found herself wanting to nestle her forehead into the curve of his neck and rest there.
"Come on, we need to get out of here." He hoisted her up, his other arm sliding beneath her knees. She had a sudden vision of Scarlett O'Hara, carried up the stairway by Rhett Butler, pounding her fists to his chest in protest and not really meaning it, and Kate knocked away his arm, swung her feet to the ground to find her footing.
"I can walk," she insisted. Her head spun as she stood up, her thoughts still dazed. She'd really been... shot at?
"My car's down there; come on," his voice rumbled near her ear, a pleasant vibration that she couldn't revel in because around her, people were still screaming, scattering apart in all directions while Castle urged her forward, looking behind him. "We're in the clear right now."
She followed him for a couple of steps and then shuddered to a sudden stop. "But the police- We should-"
"Not now," he growled, pulled her forward until they'd reached a silver sedan at the curb. He opened the door and she slid into the seat; he slammed the door closed and she watched him jog around the hood of the car and slide into the driver's seat. He peeled out of the parking spot, tires squealing like a bad action movie, and Kate moaned as she twisted her torso to put on her seatbelt, every move solely on autopilot.
"You okay?" he asked, but he didn't look at her; he sounded anxious, checking over his shoulder to weave through the city traffic.
"Yeah," she nodded. The movement made her head pound, and she closed her eyes for a moment, the dull pain at her back seeming to vibrate along her spine. That was going to turn into a spectacular bruise, she thought.
"Here," he murmured, pushed a button on the middle console, and within seconds the seat heated up beneath her, spreading warmth to her bruised tailbone and along her spine, soothing the ache like soft kisses to her skin.
"Ice would be better, in case it swells." He glanced at her sideways. "Obviously we don't have that right now. But there might be some Advil in the middle console, if you want to look."
She opened the middle compartment, found a pair of men's sunglasses, a pack of Kleenex and a couple of chapsticks in fruity flavors that she figured must be his daughter's, some loose change, gum, Pop Rocks candy, and then at the bottom, a travel-sized bottle of pain meds. She shook out three Advil, swallowed them dry, and sank back into the warmth of the seat, letting herself be lulled by the low hum of the car, the quiet vibration of the tires against asphalt, and the soft stop and go as they decelerated and accelerated at the traffic lights, watching the cityscape fly past the window.
"Where are you going? This isn't exactly the fastest route to the nearest police precinct."
"Out of the city," he replied matter-of-factly, as if that was the most logical answer in this situation.
"What? We can't just flee the scene! We have to get back; we have to-"
"I am not driving you back there while someone's out there shooting at you!" His voice was low, serious, and when their eyes met he looked grim. Determined.
"You don't know if they were aiming for me-"
"The hell I don't! I saw him point his gun directly at you, Kate! If it hadn't been for the glint of sunlight reflecting off the gun in that moment-" He trailed off, snapped his lips closed. He didn't need to finish the thought for her to know what remained unsaid, the words hanging unspoken in the space between them.
She'd be dead.
"Why were you there?"
"I was waiting for you."
"Are you stalking me now?" But she regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. She wasn't angry at him; it was just adrenaline draining from her, the shock of the moment subsiding, leaving the cold clutch of fear in its place. She'd almost been shot! She could barely wrap her head around it.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, turning for him. It wasn't like she hadn't also thought of calling him when she had left court, had wanted to speak with him, reconvene on the case. Kate reached out a hand, rested it on his bicep. She felt the muscle flex beneath her fingers as Rick guided the steering wheel and he sucked in a breath when she touched him, his eyes flickering over to her when he stopped at a red light.
"It's okay. I'm glad I was there." And he still looked at her with that dark, steel-blue gaze, his look so penetrating that her insides clamped, and her breath felt caught in her throat. He had saved her life, and she couldn't seem to figure out what to do with that.
The traffic light changed to green, and his eyes left hers to focus on the road, and only then did she feel like she could breathe again. She let her hand slide off his arm, missed the soothing warmth of his skin immediately.
"So what do we do now? We have to talk to the police; we can't just run away..."
"Then call those guys you know, the detectives, tell them what happened. But I am not driving you back anywhere until we know it's safe!"
She huffed, glaring at him, but his expression was set; he was staring resolutely at the road, his brow furrowed into a grim line. She bristled at him telling her what to do as if she was some kind of child! But then he turned to look at her for a moment, his expression softer and his eyes shining with concern.
"Just let me take you somewhere, Kate. Somewhere you'll be safe."
Kate deflated; she had no defenses against his sincerity. She dug through her purse for her phone, and dialed.
This time it was Detective Esposito who answered her call. "Hey Esposito, it's Beckett."
"Yo Beckett, glad to hear from you! We heard about your little courthouse incident."
"How did you-?" Word really did travel fast in this city.
"Got a call from the mobile unit that monitors the courthouse. They recognized you, gave us a call as the precinct that's closest. Not really our territory since you're not, you know, dead, but since we find it useful to keep you around, we figured we'd keep an eye on it."
She bit at the grin that stole onto her face at his nonchalant way of speaking that belied the actual concern she knew he felt. "Thanks guys, I owe you one."
"You bet you do," the detective agreed. "Now, here's the deal. The guys on site weren't able to capture the suspect; he disappeared into the crowd. He was dressed like one of the courthouse security guards but the manager says none of their guards are unaccounted for, so he likely wasn't one of them; probably stole the uniform to be inconspicuous while he stood around waiting for you. We're scrubbing the security footage outside the courthouse and the street cams as we speak, see if we can get a visual of the guy. Where are you right now?"
"In the car, heading out of the city. Do I need to come back?"
"Naw. Until we know more for sure, you might as well lie low. I'll call you back soon as I hear anything."
"Okay. Thanks, Esposito."
"No sweat, chica. You stay safe."
She hung up, let the phone slide back into her purse while she felt Castle's eyes glance at her from the side.
"Don't gloat."
"Wasn't gonna," he replied, gloating.
"So where are we going?"
"You tell me. I can take you to my house in the Hamptons...?"
"I am not going to your house in the Hamptons, Rick Castle." The image of him in swim shorts, of some mansion by the beach and a romantic sunrise over the water, made her heart leap against her ribs. "Besides, I doubt that would fall in the category of 'lying low.'"
"Good point. You got a better idea?"
She sighed, bit her lip as she thought on it. "My parents have a small cabin. In the woods by a lake, very secluded."
He nodded, and she punched the address into the car's GPS, and then she leaned back against the headrest, let her eyes fall closed for a moment. The aches in her body had calmed to a dull throbbing, fatigue tugged at her limbs, and her mind felt blank with exhaustion. She listened to the steady hum of the car as the day dipped into twilight, watching the world fly by in blurred flashes.
"This is nice!" he announced when they stepped inside the cabin, and Kate turned to look at him, checked if he was being facetious. It was nothing special, just a rustic vacation cabin in the woods, nowhere near what she figured a millionaire writer would be used to. But Castle was taking in the open living space with eager eyes, and she paused, took a moment to imagine how he might experience her family's small vacation home with new eyes, as opposed to a place she had been visiting for twenty-odd years. Some of the wood paneling was getting outdated, the wallpaper a little faded, but the cathedral ceiling with its thick wooden beams made the space seem larger than it was, and the stone fireplace with the plush U-shaped sectional sofa and the patterned area rugs gave the open space a homey, cozy feel.
The air in the cabin was musty. Dust motes flittered in the light when she'd turned on the overhead lamp. There'd been a lot of rain the last couple of weeks, and the humidity hung heavy between the walls. Kate circled around and opened several windows, then turned on the ceiling fans, and soon the fresh cool breeze was invigorating the space. She paused at the picture window to look out over the lake, lying ink-black and mysterious in the darkness, the water lapping languidly against the shore. She inhaled deeply, soaking the freshness of the air into her lungs, the scents of moss and earth and wood. She loved the city, but being out here was revitalizing, and she had had way too little time the last few years to take advantage of it.
Her neck prickled with the keen awareness of his eyes on her, of his presence filling the cabin. There was a largeness to him that seemed to surround her within this confined space, and it left her feeling nervous, made her rush to move, to talk just to cut through the charged silence.
"Okay, so this is the master bedroom." She opened the door to her parents' bedroom, gesturing inside. "You can sleep in here."
"You sure?"
"Oh yeah." She nodded. "I have my own room." Kate pointed to the door located on the other side of the living area. She liked her small bedroom out here, the familiarity of its comforts, the old-fashioned quilt her grandmother had sewn when Kate was little, and the wooden shelves with the rows of ratty-looking paperbacks she'd been leaving out here for years.
"I'm going to change. Make yourself comfortable."
Kate rushed to her room, closed the door behind her and leaned against it, sucking in a deep breath. She couldn't seem to get her nerves under control, her insides fluttering every time she felt him near. She felt thrown by it; what was it about him that kept her so off-balance? She usually wasn't like this; had become reserved over the years, more careful with her heart than when she was a young adult and still believed in that forever kind of love. She was probably still reeling from almost getting shot, from the spike of fear and the rush of adrenaline.
She made herself move, took off her blazer and blouse, slid out of the suit pants and toed off her shoes. Her back strained with every movement, the aches compounding every time she had to twist her torso or straighten her arms. She padded over to the closet where she always kept a few pieces of comfortable clothing, selected a pair of yoga pants and a loose purple t-shirt, pieces that wouldn't feel constricting to the bruising she'd sustained. She wondered how battered she was looking along the length of her spine, but there were no double mirrors here to inspect the damage, and she sure wasn't going to ask him.
He was on the phone when she stepped out into the living room, his back to her while he was talking.
"No, I'm fine, just something I need to take care of." He fell silent, listening, and Kate went into the kitchen, started inspecting the contents of the pantry, trying not to eavesdrop.
"Yeah, I'll check back in tomorrow morning." His voice was low as he spoke, full of affection, and she wondered whom he was calling, and wondered why it mattered to her.
She was starving; she'd been hungry two hours ago when she was leaving court; by now it felt like her stomach lining was trying to eat itself. Fortunately, they always kept a few non-perishables out here, in case they arrived late and needed a quick meal, and Kate found a couple of boxes of spaghetti, a jar of sauce, olives, and several cans of tuna. She scrunched up her nose, pushed the tuna cans back in the pantry.
"Of course, sweetie. I love you too. Good night."
He joined her in the kitchen a few moments later, and she turned to look at him, her hip propped against the kitchen island. "Your daughter?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Needed to let her know I wouldn't be home tonight. She worries." He shrugged as if unaffected, but she didn't buy the act. Much as his publicity seemed to emphasize his 'womanizer' image, she could tell that he didn't spend many nights away from home.
"You're a good dad," she admitted. She liked this side of him, the quieter Richard Castle, the private persona that was so different from the image he presented to the world.
Their eyes met, and held, and her heart stumbled at the way his gaze traced her features. Then a grin gradually spread across his face, an eyebrow skating up. "Makes you want me, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "And there's the child again." But she couldn't help but smile, felt the tension dissolve between them, and her heart rate slowing down. She gestured at the open pantry.
"You good with spaghetti marinara for dinner?"
He nodded, and she bent down for a pot, winced as the movement twisted her back.
"Hey no, let me," he insisted, lifting the large pot from the cabinet, and while he ran water in it, Kate went outside to the small patch of garden behind the cabin. It mostly contained wild flowers that needed hardly any care, since no one in her family had time enough to come up here regularly, but there was a small patch with herbs growing haphazardly. She crouched down carefully, pinched a handful of fresh basil leaves off the stems.
He had the spaghetti boiling and the sauce heating up in a small saucepan when she came back inside, and the smell of stewed tomatoes was permeating the room. Her stomach growled. Kate moved to the stove next to him, started tearing the basil into pieces with her fingertips, letting the green flecks sail down into the sauce. Her hip brushed against the side of his leg and her midsection flared with heat. She glanced up at him, found him intently watching the movement of her fingers as she tore the fresh herbs, and then his gaze lifted, meeting hers.
She swallowed. "You, uh, changed?" It was an inane comment; the first thing that had popped into her head, and her voice sounded more breathless than it had any right to. She had meant to give him some of her father's clothes once they got here, but had completely forgotten once she found herself alone with him in the seclusion of this cabin, just her and him and the crickets in the woods. Instead of trousers and his sports coat, he was now wearing jeans and a faded, checkered flannel shirt that looked soft to the touch.
"Yeah, my get-away bag was in the car."
"You carry around a 'get-away bag'?"
"Hey, you never know when you might need to get away!"
She laughed, turning back toward the pot to stir the sauce. The movement twisted her back, and she couldn't hide the wince at the ache rattling along her spine.
"You're hurt, go sit down!" He took the spoon from her, and their fingers brushed, sparking warmth through her fingertips. "I'll finish this; it'll only be a few more minutes."
And because she had no answer to that, and her back really was hurting, she gave in to his suggestion and went over to the sofa. She let herself sink into the soft cushions that had molded to the shapes of bodies over the years, pulled her legs up as well, and watched the perpetual, soothing motion of the fan above. She didn't know how much time had passed, seconds or minutes, when she felt his fingertips against her shoulder.
"Here." He handed her a dishtowel in which he had wrapped a bag of frozen peas. "You should ice that."
She leaned forward, and he slid the makeshift ice pack against her spine. She sank back into it, felt the warmth of his fingertips, and the contrast of the chill from the cold pack prickling her skin. The relief it brought was almost instantaneous, and she sighed. He didn't return to the kitchen, he just stood by the side of the couch, and when she lifted her eyes to him, he was watching her.
"I'm so sorry I hurt you," he said, his voice laced with sorrow. It made her ache. She reached for his hand, brushed her thumb along his skin.
"It's okay," she said. "I'm fine. Just bruised, no big deal. You saved my life, Castle. Small price to pay."
He smiled, just a soft tilt of the corners of his mouth.
"Why do you call me that?"
"Call you what?"
"Castle. Instead of Rick, you call me Castle sometimes."
"Oh." She shrugged. "I hadn't really noticed. Force of habit, I guess. It's common among the detectives, the lawyers too. I mean, didn't everybody call Storm, 'Storm' too?"
He grinned, looking smug. "You really are a fan!"
She threw a sofa cushion at him. "Go finish dinner."
Kate twisted her first spoonful of spaghetti onto her fork, her mouth watering at the scent, when her phone rang. She groaned and swiped to answer.
"Hey Beckett, it's Ryan."
"Hey! Hang on, putting you on speaker." Kate placed the phone face-up on the table, and hit the speaker icon. "Can you still hear me?"
"Yeah, I hear you. Esposito is with me as well."
"Hey Esposito," she greeted the other detective.
A 'hey' piped back through the speaker in reply.
"So what's the news?"
"We scrubbed the security footage near the courthouse and were able to identify the guy who tried to shoot you," Ryan said.
"And you don't want to mess with that dude," Esposito added. Kate's chest tightened, and she closed her eyes, took a slow calming breath as she listened to the detective.
"We're pretty sure he's responsible for several shootings so far. Frankly he might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's got really good aim, and hides his tracks well enough. We haven't been able to nail him on any potential victims."
She felt Castle's fingertips trace her wrist, his thumb stroking across her skin in a soothing rhythm, and her eyes fluttered open, meeting his across the table.
"He goes by Dan Holt; does that ring any bells?" Ryan asked.
"I've never heard that name," Kate answered. "That doesn't make any sense. I thought-" She fell silent, her mind racing.
"We haven't found a connection to you or to any of your cases yet," Ryan explained. "No known associates that match. But there's never been a connection to any of his prior victims either. Which makes us think he's either a sociopath, or a murderer-for-hire."
"A contract killer," Castle stated. His eyebrows were drawn together, the muscles straining in his neck.
"Very possible," the detective acknowledged. "We'll keep digging; we're looking into any of his known associates but so far we don't have much to go on."
"Listen, Beckett." The steely edge in Esposito's voice made her skin crawl. "This guy is no joke. We don't know where he is right now, so you need to be careful. Where are you?"
"My parents' cabin. Upstate."
"Does anyone else know you're there?"
"No. I haven't told my parents I was coming up here. It should be okay; the property is listed under my mother's maiden name so it's not easily connected to me."
"Okay. Stay there," Esposito instructed.
"I have to be back in court tomorrow by ten!" she protested.
"Then we'll send you a police escort to pick you up tomorrow. Text me the address."
Kate rubbed the stem of her nose. "Okay. Thanks, guys."
"Of course, Beckett," Ryan replied. The two said their goodbyes, and Kate hung up. She looked to Castle, and sighed as their eyes met and held for a long moment. His expression was somber, and it matched the way she felt. Her chest was tight, her mind endlessly circling, searching for answers that just wouldn't come.
Kate took her fork, stabbed it into her pasta a couple of times, halfheartedly twirling the tines through the food, then left it to clatter against the china.
"It makes no sense." Her voice carried an edge of panic.
"Sure it does." He gave a half-shrug, leaned back in his chair. "It's Tisdale. Has to be."
"Castle, I put criminals behind bars for a living! It could be anybody. Could be someone who holds a grudge or whose relative I've prosecuted. We need to figure this out based on the information we have. Not the evidence we need."
He leaned forward, a challenging gleam in his eyes. "Okay, any other contentious cases recently? Anyone yell at you, blame you, threaten you?"
"No," she admitted, chewing on her lip. "Not that I know of."
"There you go. Think about it: You went to question Tisdale alone. For more than six months, he thought he was getting away with the murders. He had it all wrapped and packaged up nicely."
"And then I walked in today, asking questions-"
Rick nodded, his voice dropping. "Concerning questions. Questions that make him wonder what you know. That make him worry. Otherwise why would you come sniffing around him all of a sudden?"
She leaned in. "As far as he knows, I'm the only one who has connected the dots of all three murders back to him."
"Exactly. So he thinks, if he moves quickly, the connection will be buried along with you, and no one would ever be able to trace it back to him. He figures he needs to find someone to do the job for him, and quickly. Doesn't have much time to find a killer, and it takes time to move around large amounts of money if you don't want to get caught. So he'll take what he can get; might not be the brightest, or the most expensive, but lethal just the same."
Her body thrummed as the narrative took shape. "A contract killer..."
"Yep." He nodded. "Not that hard to get when you know where to go, and have money. He probably dropped off some cash somewhere in an unremarkable black duffel bag." He scoffed at the dullness of the scenario, but said nothing.
"I'll text Ryan and Esposito to do some digging on Tisdale. Tell them about that possible second passport." She started typing, her thumbs flying over the keyboard. "Have them check his finances and accounts. Maybe they'll find a large withdrawal of cash made at some point today."
"It all fits." He nodded. "It's a good ending."
"Yeah except all we have are theories." Kate let her phone clatter onto the table. She pressed her hands to her head, digging her fingers into the pressure points beneath her ears. "We can't prove any of it, not the murder of his sister and the other two victims, and not the possible collusion to have me killed. I have nothing that I can present to the DA to drop the case. How can I go back to court tomorrow and prosecute Kyle when I know he's innocent?" Her fingers slid into her hair; she felt the urge to groan at the irritation that churned in her – with her job, with the whole system. With herself.
"You are an extraordinary woman, Kate Beckett."
"What?" Her eyes flew open, startled; she had to work to modulate her voice. "Why?"
"Because you care about doing the right thing." He tilted his head, his voice steady while his gaze mapped her face, his eyes a deep dark blue in the dim lighting in the cabin, hiding nothing. "You're not like any other prosecutors; you don't just want to win. The truth matters to you."
She shook her head. "It's not extraordinary. That's how it should be." She sighed, rubbed her eyes. They felt fatigued, burning and dry. "The truth is, I was upset when you called me out on it." Had that really only been yesterday morning? It felt like half a lifetime ago.
"Not because you had called me out, but because you were right. I have a hard job, and it's easy to lose sight of what matters when you're at it day after day. And I wonder whether I have become too callous. All I ever wanted was to make a difference, and to fight for what's right. But I think I was so focused on my goal that I sometimes forgot to try to aim for the small differences, to fix the little everyday things that I could."
"And what is your goal? What did little Kate Beckett want to be when she grew up?"
Her smile grew, her teeth grazing across her bottom lip. "The first female Chief Justice."
His own smile widened, eyebrows rising as he took her in. "Wow. Not bad! I can see that. You're smart, really good at your job, and you don't back down. You'd make a great Chief Justice."
She shook her head at him. "You don't know me, Castle."
"That could be changed." He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and it broke the tension between them, making her laugh. Her heart began to calm.
"Well. Thank you. I just... It drives me nuts that I have to sit here and wait for someone else to do the work, that I'm not able to... dig for the answers myself. To just do something." She fell silent, chewing on her lip; felt that restless impatience all the way into her fingertips. She picked up her fork, eating a few bites of her food. The warm nourishment settled her stomach.
"I shouldn't have walked away either," he said, and she looked over at him, found him deep in thought, his face drawn. "I keep thinking, if I had stuck around, if I had cared enough at the time to try to help those detectives, maybe it never would've come this far. I know my books, and maybe I would've noticed the discrepancies earlier. Maybe I could've made a difference too, and an innocent man wouldn't be on trial." He scoffed at himself, sunk back in his chair. "Sounds arrogant, doesn't it?"
She shook her head. "It's not arrogant, Castle." She hated hearing him sound so defeated. "Actually I think it's kind of sweet." Kate rose, and walked around to his side, leaning over him, her fingers trailing over the ball of his shoulder before she let her hand fall away, and he looked up at her, swallowing hard.
"You're a good man," she said, and she leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, let her lips linger against his skin for just a moment.
"Good night, Rick."
She woke up parched. The book she had been reading earlier had fallen closed next to her, and she was lying on top of the covers, still wearing her clothes. She really needed a glass of water.
She lay still, listening for movement in the cabin, but all she heard was the wind outside and the sound of her own breathing. She swung her legs off the bed and padded out of her bedroom toward the kitchen.
She had expected to find the open space empty and dark, yet one table lamp was casting its beams through the living room, and Rick was seated on the couch, silhouetted in the glow. His face was illuminated in ghostly blue hues from the screen of the laptop sitting on his lap, his fingers flying across the keyboard without pause. Not wanting to break his focus, Kate tiptoed into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator for the water pitcher. The seal peeled away and she froze at the sound, her eyes flicking toward the sofa.
He'd turned to her and their eyes met across the distance. The dark intensity of his gaze made her stomach flutter.
"Sorry," she whispered, cringing. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You didn't," he replied.
"Liar," she teased, winking at him. He held her gaze for a long moment, and she felt him still watching her as she poured a glass of water. His blue eyes drew her in, even as her mind urged her to just turn and go back into her room. Despite the ball of nerves in her stomach, she found herself padding across the hardwood, her toes chilled from the cold floorboards, and sank down onto the sofa next to him. The cushion gave way beneath her, dipped her body closer to his. She sipped her water, hid behind the curtain of her hair that had fallen out from behind her ear, tickling the side of her face.
Castle hit a couple of keys, then sat the laptop next to him. Its blue glow sharpened his features, the cut of his cheekbones and the strong cords in his neck, the smudge of evening stubble along the jawline.
She watched him for a long moment.
"Why did you kill him? Derrick Storm?"
The question clearly surprised him, but he took it in stride. He tilted his head, regarded her thoughtfully.
"There were no more surprises," he said at last. He sounded saddened, resigned by it and yet as if it'd become an unimpeachable fact. It pained her to see, in a way she hadn't expected. It was so different from the self-assured man he'd presented to her, and to the world at large. There'd been rumors, on the fan-sites (not that she visited those a lot, of course), that he was blocked, that he hadn't written since he killed off his famous protagonist. She had wondered whether it was true until she had found him so focused on his writing.
"And now?" she asked. "You looked... inspired?"
He nodded, rested his side against the couch, his head leaning on the perch of his fist. There was a softness to him that surprised her, a slow smile chasing away the cloud of resignation that had hung over him.
"Yeah. By a tough, savvy, wickedly smart female ADA who secretly investigates crimes to see justice served."
"Me-?" She swallowed. "Why? Why would you write about me?"
"Because you're tall."
She couldn't help the smile that stole across her face, cutting through the tension.
"It's the mystery of you," he said next, and her heart fluttered at the naked admiration in his words, the serious timbre of his voice. "The depth of your strength, your heart... and your hotness."
She blushed, pulled her bottom lip between her teeth; noticed his eyes flicking to her mouth.
"You're not so bad yourself, Castle."
He smiled in response, his expression gentle, and hopeful, and a dozen more things she didn't have the courage to name. She wasn't sure anyone had ever looked at her quite like that before. Her body flushed with heat, and butterflies erupted in her stomach. He leaned in, a subconscious, almost imperceptible move and yet she was vividly aware of his presence, his scent and the sound of his breathing, his darkened eyes, the pressure of his knee against hers.
"It's getting late, I should-" She got up, fidgeting; didn't know what to do with her hands. "Night."
And then she fled into her bedroom, firmly closed the door behind her, shutting herself off from the temptation that was Rick Castle. Kate leaned back against the door, closed her eyes, her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn't get past the way he looked at her: the appreciation, the naked, unhidden interest.
She turned. Her heart in her throat, she closed her fingers around the door handle. She paused, took a deep steadying breath, and then she opened the door.
Rick Castle stood behind the couch, his eyes honing in on her. It took him only three long strides to make it from behind the sofa to where she had frozen in the doorway, and then he framed his hands to her face, and kissed her.
Her knees turned to liquid at the first caress of his lips, her mouth opening for him, folding herself into his kiss. Her fingers curled into the hair at the back of his neck as she sank into him, nipping his bottom lip with her teeth, then soothing the flesh with the tip of her tongue. He groaned, bracing her against the door.
"Ow," she hissed as her back crashed against the solid wood.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured, leaned his forehead to hers. He trailed his fingers from the top of her neck down the length of her spine, slowly traveling the path of her bruise with such a soft touch that she heard herself whimper. Heat flared wherever he touched, setting her body on fire, the blood rushing in her ears. His hand skated beneath her shirt, the width of his palm settling against the curve of her back, and then he molded her against the solid form of his body, cradling her to him and kissing her again, softer this time, deep. Kate fumbled for the door handle, and fisted her fingers in his cotton shirt, tugging him with her into her bedroom.
She sank onto her bed, drawing him down with her. He settled on top of her, his body cradling hers, broad and solid and safe. He paused to look at her, his thumb caressing her cheekbone, tracing her bottom lip. Her breath caught at his touch, and she skated her leg up his thigh, hooked her knee over his hip, pulling him closer against her. She arched into him, loving the way his eyes fell shut at the sensation, the way his chest rose and fell with his rapid breathing, and this time it was she who kissed him, her lips worshipping his mouth as she let go of her tightly held control and gave herself up into the pleasure of his touch.
She woke to darkness, the kind she only ever encountered out here in the woods, away from most ambient sources of light, with only the shine of the moon and the stars as company. The leaves rustled in the breeze, whispering secrets, and cool night air snuck through the open window, danced along her skin, scattering goosebumps in its wake, chilling her toes. She shivered.
Next to her, Rick was breathing deeply, the heavy weight of his arm flung across her stomach anchoring her to the bed. Her stomach clenched, her mind turning over restlessly. What was the protocol, now that she'd slept with him? She could hardly sneak out; for one thing, this was her bedroom, and where would she sneak off to, stuck in the cabin in the middle of nowhere with him?
She could still feel the ghost of his touch lingering against her skin, the heat of his mouth, the width of his body, warmth unfurling inside her at the memories. It didn't feel like just any one-night stand, but she didn't exactly expect some kind of relationship either. He was a world famous best-selling novelist and she was just an ADA; on paper they made absolutely no sense. She felt unsettled; fidgeting, she tucked her leg back under the blanket, tried to turn onto her side. She was overthinking this, wasn't she? She was completely overthinking this.
As if he'd sensed her thoughts, Rick's fingers started sliding along her waist, his hand braced against her lower back, bringing her face to face with him. His eyes popped open, at once wide awake, stark black in the darkness, and his features brushed with silvery moonlight. His fingers tightened against her as he brought her in, brought her under, eyes locked with hers.
"Stop thinking so loudly."
"I wasn't-" But he cut off her protest with his lips, his mouth swallowing the last syllables as he kissed her, and for the second time that night Kate gave herself up to just feeling, stopped thinking of anything but the taste of his mouth and the dance of his fingertips over her skin.
She startled awake, her heart hammering in her chest. Kate held her breath, lay still, every muscle tensed, waiting.
She heard the wind whispering through the leaves, and the sounds of the world awakening by the first light of dawn, the vivacious abundance of nature. Yet she was certain she'd been awoken by something else, a sound that should not have been there - like the snap of twigs beneath a heavy boot.
"Castle," she whispered, rubbed her fingers over the ball of his shoulder, and down over his bicep, trying to nudge him awake. "Rick-"
"Don' get up yet," he murmured, sleep-drunk, his arm tightening around her to tug her more snugly against his side. "Stay in bed."
"Shh, Rick." She pressed her fingers over his mouth to keep him quiet. "Someone's here."
