BURNING FLAMES OR PARADISE
CHAPTER THREE
STYLE

I should just tell you to leave 'cause I
Know exactly where it leads but I
Watch it go round and round each time


"Hello?"

Kate closed her eyes and mentally cursed at herself. He'd been asleep, and it was late; it had been stupid of her to assume he was always up at one in the morning.

There was the sound of a throat clearing, and the next words were more clear. "Kate? Are you there?"

Of course he put her number in his phone not even a day after she'd given it to him. "Yeah, sorry. Hey."

She heard the rustle of sheets, and she could imagine him in bed. She wondered if he was alone, and just how accurate his playboy persona was.

Rick cleared his throat again. "How are you?"

"Fine," she lied. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called so late-"

"No, no, it's fine," he interrupted. He was silent for a few moments, just long enough for Kate to realize why silence was such a successful interrogation tactic. She was about to either end the conversation or bare her soul when he spoke again. "Is everything okay?"

Kate pinched the bridge of her nose. No, everything was not okay. She'd caught a body drop early, too early, and had only gotten home around midnight. Almost nineteen hours investigating, and she didn't even have a suspect.

After a shower to wash off the grime of the murder and a few bites of leftover takeout, she should have gone to bed. But while she was physically exhausted, her mind was wired. She wasn't sure why she'd called Rick, only knew that the idea of being with the author in person was much more appealing than lying in bed staring at the ceiling.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just...it was a long day."

"And you wanted to relax with my deep, sexy voice?" he asked, the teasing obvious, his voice dropping to a deep baritone.

Kate rolled her eyes, but smiled despite herself. "Not exactly. You, uh...what are you up to?"

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that had her cheeks flush. "Why, Kate? What are you up to?"

"Well, I should go to bed…" Her voice trailed off, and she drew her bottom lip between her teeth while she let him imagine the rest of the sentence.

Rick gave a noncommittal hum. "And?"

"And," she repeated, "I wondered if maybe you wanted to help me relax."

"If I didn't know any better, Detective, I'd say you were propositioning me."

"Who, me? An officer of the law?" Oh, she needed to hang up. Ignore the flames beginning to creep into her bloodstream, the itch of her fingers to touch him. She had to be at the precinct in just a few short hours to continue her investigation, and the last thing she needed was to be kept up all night by a sexy, talented lover.

And oh, was he talented. She wasn't exactly inexperienced, but he'd found ways to make her tremble that she'd only dreamed of. Never before had she felt a physical connection with someone that was so fast, so intense. She definitely wanted to see him again, and soon.

"Do you want to meet up?"

The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she found herself holding her breath, waiting for his answer.

Rick was silent for a few moments before he sighed. "I can't."

"Okay. Another night, maybe." She tried not to be disappointed, but she'd wanted him to say yes. She'd really wanted it.

"Yeah. Look, I want to see you tonight, but I can't. I...I have a daughter, and I don't like to leave when she's here. Or bring women home. I'm sorry, it's not personal, I promise."

"Oh. No, that's fine, I understand." Kate tried to think if she'd read anything about him having a daughter; nothing came to mind, so he must have been protective of her privacy. She would, too, and it made her respect him a little more. "Call me when you can?"

She could hear the smile in his voice even over the phone. "Absolutely."

"Okay, good. Um, good night."

"See you later, Kate."


A month passed before he saw her again, although not for lack of trying. On his part, at least. They'd tried to get together a half dozen times, but whenever one had even a few hours free, the other couldn't get away. Either Rick had his daughter, or Kate was in the middle of a case.

He had a feeling there was more to it, however; having a case hadn't stopped her from initiating a call previously. And the last few times he'd asked her to meet, she'd hesitated before turning him down. But if he tried to ask her about work, about anything personal, she shut down. He didn't even know her last name.

She had to know of his reputation, of his playboy tendencies, how he often signed the chests of his more...attractive female fans. He didn't mind that, of course; he enjoyed a good chest, a good night out (or in) when he could forget about writer's block and how lonely he really was.

Something about Kate intrigued him. Maybe it was the fact that she didn't throw herself at him, despite knowing who he was. She hadn't said so, of course, but he hadn't missed the initial flash of recognition in her eyes the first night they'd met. And she didn't drop everything when he called, or hang off his arm for everyone to see the few times they had been together. No, she seemed to be normal, or as normal as a detective who made excuses not to see him could be.

The first week of February brought with it several events for the release of his latest book. He enjoyed writing Derrick Storm, loved coming up with adventures for the secret agent. But a writer is always plotting, always looking for the next inspiration. He knew he couldn't write Storm forever, but all of his ideas had fallen flat. He'd flirted with a Clara Strike spinoff, but no, his relationship with Clara's inspiration had crashed and burned. That character was done.

His publisher was starting to get after him, too. Gina wasn't exactly a slavedriver, but it was her job to make sure he was getting his work to Black Pawn in time. And his January 31 deadline for the next manuscript had passed without a page of shareable content. But anything he wrote just sounded flat and uninspired. He was contracted for two more Storm books, but after that, he had no idea what he'd do.

What he did know, however, was that he was running late to a private book reading, a favor asked by the mayor. Rick was friends with him, so it wasn't much of a favor, but it didn't hurt to have friends in high places, and to keep those friends happy.

He mentally cursed as he struggled with his bow tie, fatigue and haste making him clumsy. Usually his daughter helped him, but she was at a friend's house for a sleepover. He was forced to abandon it at an insistent knocking at his door, and he opened it to reveal Paula, his publicist.

"Come on, pretty boy, you're late." She breezed her way into his apartment, foregoing a standard greeting for a light tap on his cheek. "What's this? Why aren't you ready?"

"I almost am," Rick argued, but his words went ignored, Paula just tutting and taking charge of his tie.

When she'd finished she stood with her hands on her hips, stared at him with an expectant look on her face. "Come on, Ricky. Your groupies are waiting."

Castle rolled his eyes even as he pulled his coat from the closet. "As much as I love having beautiful women clamoring for my attention, do you have to call them groupies?" He followed her to the elevator after locking the door. "It sounds so...shallow."

Paula raised her eyebrow at him. "Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Rick Castle? The man I know would fall all over himself with the chance to pick and choose who to take home." She poked him in the chest. "Especially when his daughter won't be at the party."

"It's not just that."

"No? I don't know what kind of funk you're in, but you better snap out of it before we get there."

Castle sighed, but remained silent throughout the ride to the mayor's personal residence on the Upper West Side. His playboy bachelor persona had helped his book sales, attracted many women to his launch parties and events. But for once, he was dreading it. His groupies, as Paula called them, could be exhausting. For whatever reason, plastering a smile on his face for several hours had lost some of its appeal.

Despite his misgivings, he arrived at the party with a smile, flirting with the busty blondes and brunettes who launched themselves at him as soon as he walked in the door.

There were a handful of NYPD uniforms and, he assumed, plainclothes cops there acting as bodyguards, and Rick found himself hoping for a glance of Kate. He hadn't seen her for a month, not since they'd run into each other and he'd gotten her number after a round of what had felt like life-affirming sex. Something had been going through her mind that night, but she'd kept it locked inside, and he could only guess why.

It was silly, he admitted to himself. The odds of Kate being there were astronomical. He didn't even know what department she was in, or where she was stationed. Getting hung up on his desire was pointless tonight; he put her out of his mind and turned his attention to the beautiful women around him, the chests just waiting to be signed.

Kate wasn't there, so he may as well have some fun.


There's no reason to be mad, Kate thought the next afternoon as she poured herself another coffee. She'd been at the precinct most of the day investigating a case that she'd caught a few days before. It had seemed like a simple case, but after the main suspect had alibied out, the leads had dried up. So she was on day two of pouring through the victim's life, analyzing phone records and emails and financials, and getting nowhere. It was infuriating.

What didn't help was the paper that had appeared in the break room, conveniently opened to the entertainment section. Greeting her was a picture of Rick Castle himself, smiling at a blonde in front of him, his pen at her chest.

She knew of his reputation, of course, knew he wasn't shy about flirting with women and seemed to signed more chests than books. He didn't know that she knew; she kept that information to herself. And since he'd never see the inside of her apartment, he'd never know she had all his books.

The two of them didn't resemble anything close to a couple, so the hot flare of jealousy that ripped through her chest surprised her. Another picture had him ducking into a limo, a brunette peeking out of the door. The caption identified her as his publicist, but as far as she knew, he was sleeping with her too.

What struck her, though, was that he looked happy. Really happy. A kind of happy he couldn't be with her, the scarred, wounded homicide detective always on the verge of giving into her demons.

"Yo, Beckett."

The sound of her partner's voice made her jump, had coffee splash over the rim of her mug. She bit back a smile when she saw that the spilled coffee landed on the chesty blonde's picture.

"What's up, Espo?" she asked, turning to him.

"Found something in the vic's financials."

By the time she left the precinct several hours later, she was wired. The pattern Esposito had found in the victim's financials had led to a new suspect, someone they never would have guessed. They'd gotten a warrant for her arrest in what seemed like record time, and gotten a confession mere moments after she'd waived her rights to an attorney.

Typically, Kate would unwind at home, a glass of wine and a hot bath, maybe even a book. But she was antsy, muscles thrumming with energy. She passed her cruiser on her way out, opting instead to walk, see where her feet took her.

She tried to mentally review the case as she walked, but her mind kept wandering back to the pictures in the paper, the pictures of him. His pen at the blonde's chest, the brunette - his publicist, she reminded herself - in the limo as he left. He'd looked happy, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, and she could imagine how he'd acted.

He would have been friendly and flirty, look deep into every woman's eyes, maybe wink at some of them. He probably let his hand float to some hips, maybe even some asses. Maybe he even invited some of them for a nightcap at a hotel.

"Hey, lady, watch it!"

Kate jumped back from the speeding cab, heart pounding as she realized how close it came to clipping her. She wasn't paying attention, lost in her own thoughts, and shook her head to get her concentration back.

"Kate?"

She started at the familiar baritone voice and felt her face flush as she turned. "Rick. Hey."

Rick gave her a crooked smile. "Hi. What are you doing here?"

Kate glanced at her surroundings; she really hadn't been paying attention to where she was going, because she was in front of a coffee shop. Their coffee shop.

Okay, then.

She shrugged. "I'm here for coffee," she lied. "What about you?"

"Coffee," Rick echoed, his smile widening. "Come on, my treat." He held the door open for her, but she hesitated, bottom lip between her teeth.

After a few moments of indecision, Kate sighed. "Okay, fine."