She's not what he was expecting...
Sure, he expected Detective Beckett to be confidant, a commanding presence, a by-the-book, career woman, but beneath it all, there's a genuineness, a softness he didn't anticipate, an empathy he can feel from a foot away, and combined with the silky-smooth velvet of her voice, he's finding it hard to quell his involuntary body's reaction to her.
There's an aura of femininity about her that makes him feel alive, aware of every testosterone-laden cell in his body.
It's true what the medical textbooks say: When you lose one sense, all others are heightened.
When she stood up from her desk chair to address his mother, she was close enough that her scent wrapped around him. Sweet, ripe, just-picked cherries straight from the tree wafted off her skin and for the first time in two and a half months since the accident, his manhood responded to a woman.
God, it's been so long since he felt this way, - cognizant of a woman, nerves firing in awareness to her cherry scent, the subtle nuances of her voice, authoritative one moment, teasing the next.
He hasn't stepped on the playing field in months, too worried about his daughter to think about the opposite sex, choosing to put his sex life on hold, but even though he's been on the bench for so long, it's obvious she's subtly flirting with him.
And he likes it.
A lot.
There's a smoky edge to her timbre when she purrs, "Hmm, I have a feeling you know exactly how you affect the female population," makes him wonder how she sounds naked and wanton beneath a man's touch.
He's grateful he couldn't find where he left his white cane this morning because she has to lead him into the interrogation room and he's learned you can tell quite a bit about a person's figure by just holding onto their arm, by the sway of their hip and the jaunt of their walk.
She's thin, but strong, her bicep rippling under his touch, attesting to hours at the gym spent in sparring, boxing and most likely yoga.
Her strides are long and he doesn't doubt she could take out a suspect in just under a New York minute with legs that must be a mile long...
Mmm, legs that could knock him salaciously down in the bedroom, easily take him down for the count.
She's tall, taller than the average woman even with her wearing heels, the clacking on the precinct floor echoing loudly in his ears. He's envisioning knuckle-biting, professional, fuck-me-any-time-of-the-day black stilettos and it makes him stumble, his outer thigh grazing the jut of her hip, his hand brushing against the firm swell of her breast.
Shit, his fingers tingle with need, flexing involuntarily around her arm, as the blood careens south, - deadly fast like a raging whirlpool.
Get your head in the game Rick, he thinks to himself, praying she doesn't look down and notice his ever burgeoning problem because the last thing he needs is a bright, dangerously feminine Detective getting the wrong impression of him.
He's thrilled she isn't cosseting him, but treating him like a normal, healthy male instead of an invalid who needs assistance at every turn. He smirks behind her back when her fingers release his and she states, "The chair's right in front of you," with a tone which shows she sees him as fully aware of his environment and able to handle the seemingly unknown with dignity and grace.
He hears her pull back a chair and sit across the table from him, hands reaching for a notepad, and as her alluring, fruity scent lingers in the air, for the first time since his accident, Richard Castle's overwhelmed by a strong desire to see another person's face.
As she stares at his stoic nature, broad shoulders and straight back, she wonders if beneath the controlled, but fractured persona, hints of Casanova are longing to break free.
She finds it difficult to smother the fan girl as teenage Katie Beckett lurks just beneath the surface, hundreds of butterflies jumping in her abdomen as she sits across from the hunky author whose novels got her through the horrific loss of her mother.
More than words or just a story, his books became a lifeline to get her through those terrible years of disappointment, when all leads turned up dead end after dead end.
The butterflies still and diminish as she looks into the crystalline-blue depths of his eyes and there's only one word she can use to describe them.
Haunted.
"I appreciate you seeing me without any notice," he purrs sincerely and the deep, primitive bass of his voice makes her abdomen clench in awareness.
She smiles genuinely, warmly. "It's really no problem as you've rescued me from tedious, boring paperwork."
He's quiet for a moment, looks at her as if he truly wishes he could see every crease, line, and beauty mark on her face and then hums, "I've always liked the thought of rescuing a damsel in distress. Glad I could be of some assistance, De - tec - tive."
Fuck, the way he said, "De-tec-tive," like sweet, warm, dripping butterscotch has her mouth watering in anticipation, her panties slightly wet.
He splays his right hand out in her direction, "It's wonderful to finally meet you."
Her hand rises and meets his. "Nice to meet you too," and a surge of adrenaline slides through her veins when his fingers tighten around hers, thumb sensuously circling the back of her palm.
When he finally releases her hand, her fingers fumble with the yellow notepad of paper, because when was the last time a man had this type of affect on her? ... If ever?
She can't curb the curiosity about him that's seeping through her pores, eating away at her.
He's more intense than she ever imagined, direct, and even though she expected the enormous sex-appeal due to his womanizing persona, she's taken back with her own reaction to him.
As his eyes flit unseeing across her face, she gets the distinct impression he wishes he could read her, from the inside out.
"How can I help you, Mister, umm, R - Rodgers?" but the name sounds forced to her ears, - foreign, and she hopes that one day soon he'll trust her enough to go by 'Castle'.
"I have an unusual request," and his fingers twist together anxiously. "One that I hope you'll consider as I understand you're the best in your field."
"Best in my field?" she queries, and the smile adorning her face laces through her voice. "I am good at my job, but I'm afraid my skills may have been over exaggerated."
His eyes narrow in on her, shrewd, and he says assuredly, "I highly doubt that."
"And who can I thank for recommending me?" she asks, hoping he can't hear the flirtatiousness rolling off her tongue.
"Someone you used to work with, and I gather," his voice hitches, "a significant part of your past."
Well, that's damn presumptuous of him, and goose bumps jump to her flesh at his piercing stare.
God, this man's good at portraying he can see, because she'd swear he's ogling her mother's ring dangling on the end of her necklace, lying at the top of her breasts.
She raises an eyebrow and asks him quizzically, "Do you claim to have psychic abilities or just enjoy making assumptions about someone you've just met?"
"Pardon me," he continues softly, "I certainly didn't mean to offend you. It's just with your beauty..."
"My beauty?" she interrupts. "Just how are you envisioning me, Mister Rodgers?"
"Hmm, now there's a loaded question. I'll definitely need to do some research before I can answer you accurately."
She nibbles on her lower lip while thinking, Me. Him. Research. Now there's a thought.
At her looming silence, he quickly continues, "I don't ever try to put a face to a voice until after I map out someone's features."
"Down boy," she chuckles, "There'll be no mapping of me today."
"Wouldn't dare think of it," he teases. "I only commented on your beauty due to my mother's description of you."
He slumps back in the chair, suddenly looking exhausted. A flash of pain mars his handsome face as his left hand digs into his injured thigh, rubbing in circles the stiff muscle. "Due to my profession, I tend to try and analyze people and while speaking with Agent Sorenson, - "
"Agent Will Sorenson?" Beckett jumps in, surprise evident in her tone.
"Yes, Federal agent, Will Sorenson. He's the one who recommended you and after doing my own research, finding out you're the youngest female to be promoted to detective in New York's history, your incredible closure rate on your cases, plus a woman who fights with every fiber of her being to find peace for the victim's families, - I couldn't agree more."
"I appreciate the praise," she husks, glad he's unable to see how his praise is affecting her, "but I work with a team. Esposito and Ryan are my partners and I couldn't have done my job as effectively as I have without their help."
"Add modesty to her list of attributes," he drones with a lop-sided smirk. "Yes, I know you're a part of a team, but you're also the lead detective."
"Why do I get the impression that nothing escapes your notice?"
She's amazed by the sparkling light in his eyes, the softness around his mouth, indicating she pleasantly surprised him.
But the mood is short lived as he replies, "Nothing, - rarely, - does," emphasizing every word broodingly.
She can't help wondering what angst lies at the heart of it.
She also can't seem to pull herself away from his eyes.
His eyes.
They're gorgeous, such a rare color of blue topped with long lashes, and even though they're not functioning, definitely the windows to his soul.
She sees incomparable sorrow, repressed anger and a fierce determination to ...
"Please forgive me in advance for overstepping my bounds, but I felt like I couldn't approach you with my request until all the pieces were put into place. I've already spoken to the Mayor about my plans and he gave me permission to speak to your Captain."
"You've already spoken with Captain Montgomery?"
"Yes, I've talked with him a good deal about my, - umm," he swallows heavily, "predicament, and he's already agreed to give you a leave of absence from the Twelfth."
Leave of absence?
A rope of resentment twists around her due to the nerve of this man going behind her back and trying to manipulate her life by seeking out her Captain first, but the genuine remorse on his face, the tears that well in his eyes, quickly dispel the negative emotion and she finds herself waiting with bated breath for his next words.
"I want to hire you, Detective Beckett," and he wipes at his tired, wet eyes. "I need you to save my beloved daughter's life."