Thank you to the BEsT author's on this site, Eyrianone and Kimmiesjoy, for reading and commenting on my little story. ;)
...
He doesn't speak, just runs his hand down her bicep, over the curve of her elbow and circles her wrist, trying to portray that he's here for her, - waiting, - listening with his entire being.
"As I mentioned before, I had a very happy childhood, raised in upper Manhattan. I was living in a bubble, with two loving parents who adored one another and treated me like I was the greatest product of their love." She smiled softly in remembrance. "Growing up, it was my home the neighborhood kids flocked to. Everyone always wanted to try my Mom's Parisian crepes or play games with my Dad, but unfortunately, by the time I hit my mid-teens, I became the typical rebellious teenager."
At his raised eyebrows and, "Who - you?" look, she elbowed him lightly in the ribs.
"By the time I attended Stuyvesant High School, I felt smothered by their love. I was annoyed by their undivided attention, embarrassed by the phone calls, felt like they were always checking-up on me. I hated that they were so intrusive, had to know everything about my life when all I craved was freedom... I'm ashamed to say, that I wished I had neglectful parents like most of the kids in my school."
"I think we all go through something similar in our teenage years," he said quietly.
Her face brightened as she continued, "My mom was never happier than the day I received my acceptance letter into Stanford pre-law. I'll never forget how she held me, tears streaming down her cheeks as she repeated over and over again how proud she was of me, how honored she felt that I was following in her footsteps. I'll never forget her beaming smile, the radiance of her love... I think it might be the happiest day of my life as well." She paused, trying to control her emotions.
"You lost her soon after?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Stanford started their winter semester in 1999 a little later than usual so I was still at home over the Christmas break. My father and I were waiting for her to arrive home from work for dinner. He'd prepared her favorite meal, roasted chicken, potatoes and asparagus, a bottle of chardonnay adorned the table, plus a beautiful flower arrangement, - dark pink orchids and light pink roses with babies breath.
I teasingly asked my dad what he'd done to upset mom because the flowers were obviously some sort of apology and he'd smiled saying, "Sometimes, I just feel the need to give her a symbol of my love."
My father tried several times to reach her on her cell phone but to no avail and about two hours after she was supposed to arrive," her eyes skittered away from him, "two detectives showed up at our door and I knew," her voice softened, "just knew that my mother was dead... She'd been stabbed and killed, her body found lying in a deserted alley."
His hand squeezed hers tightly before she continued, a far-away look in her eyes.
"It still saddens me to this day that my mom never got to see those flowers. One of the most painful, but yet beautiful memories for me, is seeing my Dad bring the bouquet to the funeral home and placing the orchids and roses delicately in the casket surrounding her body. He mumbled to her that every time he looked upon pink flowers, he'd think of her... He consistently brings that bouquet to her gravesite."
She took a deep breath before continuing, finding his cerulean gaze. "I thought that her death would be the catalyst in bringing my father and I closer together. I thought we would spend more time together, be each other's healing balm, but my dad took her death pretty hard. I never would've guessed in a million years that his balm would be the bottle." Her eyes filled with tears as she continued, "I lost both parents that day."
"How long has it been?" he queried gently.
"Eight years."
"How's your father doing today?"
"He's been in and out of rehab over the years," she said carefully. "He does try, - for me," she said with a touch of sadness, "but my mom was his life. I don't think he'll ever get over losing her."
"He won't get over her. It sounds like your dad lost a part of himself when he lost her."
"He did."
"So her murderer was never found?"
She gnawed on her lower lip, her face blanching before she answered in a clipped tone. "No, after six months with no fresh leads, I got a call from Detective Raglan telling me her case had been cold-filed. The police chalked up her death to random violence, possibly a gang initiation."
"But you don't believe that, do you?"
"No. She worked for a New York Civil Right's attorney in a notable law firm."
"And you feel a more likely scenario is that she stumbled upon something in one of her cases that got her killed."
"Yes, she was a woman who truly cared about the truth. She sought to re-open closed cases with the Justice Initiative and exonerate the wrongly accused... God, I've searched, Castle... Hour upon hour, days upon days, weeks upon weeks, but I still can't find the correlation."
His thumb rubbed the back of her palm reassuringly. "I have contacts all over the city. Men with authority in high places who owe me favors. I could easily have a Medical Examiner take a look at the crime photos, have a seasoned Detective examine the paperwork. Maybe a fresh set of eyes would help; possibly make a difference."
"That's sweet of you to offer, but no; I could never impose on you that way."
"Hey," and his hand cradled her neck, his fingers shuffling through the short strands. "It's absolutely no imposition. What good is fame and fortune if you can't help the people you care about? ... I'd love to do this for you. Please let me help you anyway that I can."
Those hazel eyes narrowed in contemplation, studied him intently and he wondered what was going on in that busy, brilliant brain of hers.
When she spoke, there was a hint of apology in her voice. "No, I don't want you involved in this. I've actually reached a point where I'm okay with putting the investigation on hold, and am trying to accept the fact that her case might never be solved."
"But, if I could give you some closure, Nikki, maybe, ... just maybe your father's heart could finally start to heal."
But from the sound of his voice, - all soft, alluring and sincere, - she knew he was hoping for her heart to start to heal.
"I can't have you involved. Ple - ase." she implored, "for my sake, stay out of it."
She could see the hurt in his reflection, the refusal on the tip of his lips, but he didn't answer her as her cell phone rang, interrupting them.
She hopped off the bed and picked up her phone, looking at the caller ID. "Sorry. I've got to take this," and she swiped her finger across the bottom of the screen.
"Will, I'm glad you called," her smile betrayed surprise, elation and something else he couldn't put his finger on. "How's Boston?"
As the two exchanged small talk, he realized that he didn't quite like the familiarity in her tone.
No, it's more than that, he grudgingly admitted, I absolutely hate it.
He uselessly tried to convince himself, I am not jealous of a face-less man who obviously means something to her.
"How's the Bureau? ... Still full of stuffy, by-the-book Agents?"
So Will's a Federal Agent? ... Of course he is. She'd naturally be attracted to men in her field.
"Uh, huh," she said teasingly and then her eyes fell to him, scanning his roguish face openly. "Would it bother you if I was with someone else?"
He was dying to hear Will's response so scooted to the edge of the bed hoping to catch a word or two, but she turned away from him, pacing the room.
The atmosphere went from warm to icy in a matter of seconds.
"Do you really care? ... Six weeks, Will. It's been six weeks since I was suspended and you're just now finding the time to call and ask how I'm doing?"
Uh-Oh, trouble in paradise, and his over-the-top-smug-grin betrayed how happy he was at this turn of events.
"Let's not go there," she said, exasperation oozing through her tone, "as you're the one who decided to leave me, - not the other way around."
Her lips pursed together anxiously as she listened to his response.
A rotten taste filled his mouth as he watched her body language, - furrowed brows, slumped shoulders, jerky movements. This Will-guy had obviously hurt her, fucking moron.
He deduced she'd been happy with him, invested a lot of time and energy into their relationship, probably even expected them to have a future together, but the asshole obviously didn't have a clue how to treat an amazing woman and left her to move to Boston.
Rick could tell she'd been secretly hoping that the distance between them would knock Will to his senses and he'd realize what he'd been missing and eventually come back to her again, but from the sound of it, (Thank God) that wasn't going to happen.
A coil of anger wrapped itself around his heart and his hands balled into fists as he waited to hear the rest of their conversation.
"Don't worry about me, Will. I'm sure you don't want your name smeared by all the allegations."
He'd better not come across this dickhead or he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.
"Well, I'm positive the Boston Feds wouldn't look favorably upon a tainted ex-girlfriend… I'll make it easy for you… We both knew it would never work long distance, - so just lose my number."
She hit the end button forcefully, flicked her short hair sassily and plopped down on the bed next to him, sighing heavily.
"Ex-Boyfriend?" he asks with just a touch of jealousy, fingers landing on her upper thigh.
"What gave you that idea?" she flaunts with a sexy, playful smirk.
"Thee," and he raised his fingers into air quotes, "I-can't-believe-I-wasted-so-much-time-with-this-douche-bag, tone-of-voice."
She laughs, - and it's feminine and lovely and so damn remarkable that he longs to hear it again.
"The douche-bag chose his career over you?"
"Yes. Decided he could do more good in Boston than in New York City."
"Stupid, stupid man."
Her answering smile could light a wickless candle. "The dumbest."
"Let me guess... He's tall, blond, ambitious, arrogant with an, 'I'm-God's-gift-to-women' complex."
From her flirty wink he knew what to expect next. "Take away the blond hair and you've just described yourself, Castle."
His deep chuckle reverberated through his long frame and traveled across the bed, all the way up through her toes.
"You've got one thing wrong there... My complex is more, 'I'm-the-man-who-fears-of-never-finding-the-right-woman." His voice took on a dreamy-quality as his finger trailed down the side of her face. "I'm the man who fears, the 'third time' won't be the charm. I fear rejection by a real, extraordinary woman."
Shit! The way he was staring at her right now, - all liquid warm, sensuous eyes,- their blue depths portrayed she could very well be that woman.
"Thank you."
"For what?" he gibes. "For being a published author? A brilliant intellect? A ruggedly handsome man? An irresistible father? Or, I've got it," and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "A connoisseur in bed?"
"Yes," she purrs, "for all those things as well as, -" she pauses, looking at him as if she wouldn't be surprised if he could move both heaven and earth. "It's just been a long time since I've had something to smile about."
The next words fall out of his mouth before he even thinks about them. "If you'd let me, I'd be happy to make you smile for the rest of your life."
She looks at him then, cheeks blush-pink, all doe-eyes with lurking mischief, and he swears she holds her breath before answering.
"No wonder you're considered to be such a Playboy, Mister Castle. You sure know how to sweet-talk a lady."
He's on top of her before she's even able to blink, his hands pinning down her wrists, broad torso lying on her fully, blue eyes glazing over in desire.
"No sweet-talk, just the truth... I know you believe what's happening between us will be over and done with tomorrow afternoon, but I refuse to let you go. This connection we share is too rare to ignore, - too invaluable not to explore further. It's not the end, Nikki," he breaths over her parted lips, "This is just the beginning."
His lips are on hers, - savage, relentless in their intensity, kissing her with every ounce of conviction in his body, trying to convince her with every swipe of his greedy mouth and hot slice of his hands that they are not finished.
By the time his lips leave hers and travel a tempting path down her neck, she almost believes him.