Passions Prologue
By Dana Keylits

A/N: I had to change the location of Castle's book reading from Venice Beach to San Francisco, after realizing that a drive from Stanford to Venice Beach would have taken Kate five hours! Oops. :-) Sorry about that if it took you out of the story a bit.

Chapter Sixteen: Richard Castle

I found a vacant spot of wall that had been painted a soothing shade of green, the vibrant logo of the independent bookstore emblazoned upon it, and parked my shoulder against it. I crossed my legs at the ankle, and blew a strand of wayward hair out of my eyes as I waited for the reading to begin. Minutes before, having woven my way through the throng of Richard Castle fans, most of them scantily clad women, I'd purchased his first novel, In a Hail of Bullets. A round white sticker attached to the front of the paperback told me it had been the winner of the Non DePlume Society's Tom Straw Award for Mystery Literature.

Impressive, especially for a first novel.

The chorus of whispers from the mostly female audience suddenly morphed into surprised gasps and deafening applause, and I glanced up to see the devilishly handsome and surprisingly tall author wend his way through the crowd, kissing babies, posing for pictures…signing women's chests.

Ugh.

He reached the podium and looked out into the crowd, his five-o-clock shadow lending a certain ruggedness to his boyish features. For the briefest of moments I felt his gaze land upon me and an inexplicable sense of familiarity washed over me, as though I knew him, or would know him. Like I was staring at my future. He smiled, cocked his head as though searching some distant memory, reaching for something that told him who I was, like this sense of knowing was shared by us both. And then, with the slightest shake of his head, he moved on, winking at the big-busted blonde standing next to me.

I rolled my eyes.

He thanked us for attending, and then lowered his head to read from the open book sitting on the podium in front of him, his large hands framing each side of the wooden lectern. His voice was soothing, and, as it boomed from the Bose speakers that were attached to the wall behind him, I closed my eyes to listen, my body involuntarily leaning forward, tipping towards him like a compass needle pointing north.

Even the timbre and cadence of his voice was familiar, comforting, like the voice of someone who'd whispered deeply-held secrets to me under the dark curtain of night, someone who'd trusted me, loved me, understood me. But who also infuriated me.

I shuddered as a shiver tripped down my spine, and I was both intrigued and unnerved at the same time. How could someone I had never met seem so much like family?

When Castle finished the dramatic reading, his head rising, his eyes scanning the room as he recited the concluding verse, the audience erupted into waves of enthusiastic applause. And, before he could weave his way to his seat, a dozen eager women clad in low cut tops and high heels tripped over themselves to be first in line at the autograph table.

I took my time, not wanting to get crushed by the hoard of excited co-eds dropping their tops for a chance to be inked by Richard Castle's Sharpie.

When, twenty minutes later, I finally approached the table, I handed him my pristine copy of In a Hail of Bullets, and he stopped, his dark pen held in mid-air as he looked up at me with a crooked smile. "A classic," he said. "Are you a new fan?"

I nodded, smiling. "Something like that." My heart was racing and it annoyed me even as it excited me.

His eyes crinkled in the corners as he looked up at me, his baby-blue's shining under the glow of the fluorescent lights. "What's your name?"

"Kate," I replied, feeling inexplicably awkward and suddenly unsure of myself. I absently twirled a tuft of hair between my fingers as he stared up at me, smiling.

"Well, Kate," he started, quickly scribbling a message on the inside cover of my newly acquired book and then handing it back to me, a boyish grin curving his lips, "I hope we meet again."

I smiled, nodding, catching his eye even as I was being prodded to move forward by the bookstore employee who was tasked with keeping the flow of Castle fans moving along. I glanced back at the author, who had already turned his attention to the next girl in line, and had the eerie feeling that no truer a hope had ever been expressed.

We would be meeting again.

I had forty-five minutes to kill before I needed to meet Bette at the art gallery down the street. When I'd told her this morning I'd be in San Francisco today, she'd asked if I wanted to go with her to check it out, the gallery had just opened and was hosting an exhibit by an artist who specialized in "found" art. Whatever that was. Always wanting to broaden my horizons, expose myself to all kinds of experiences, I'd said yes. Of course, with Bette, I'd have said yes even if she'd asked me to go watch a pile of dirt if it meant I could stand beside her, touch her, breathe in her scent, listen to her velvety voice as she whispered in my ear, her body warm and buzzing beside me. Even now, thinking about it, my body was responding, every nerve every cel tingling with anticipation of her.

After the exhibit, we planned to stay in the area overnight, have dinner and then a stroll along the bay before retiring for the night at a small B&B in the Castro neighborhood. I smiled, my thoughts wandering back to our last beach outing, our erotic beach outing, the tickle of memory surging to the forefront of my brain, sending ripples of pleasure to my most sensitive areas.

And, just like that, Richard Castle and his dramatic reading and zealous, nearly topless, fans had been relegated to its furthest corners.

At least for now.

I wandered through the surprisingly expansive bookstore. As modest and unassuming as its storefront veneer appeared, its interior was as massive and bold, vibrantly decorated with rows upon rows of shelves filled with books that had come from all corners of the world. I ran my hand along the spines of various sized hardcovers, relishing the feel of them against my fingertips. Unbeknownst to me, I had wandered into the adult oriented section of the bookstore, with titles such as World's Best Erotica 1998, and Harry, and Barry, and Kim prominently displayed. I lifted a large coffee-table volume from the shelf and laughed, wondering who would ever try 100 Sex Positions of the Kama Sutra. Shaking my head, I set the book back on the shelf and was about to turn around when another book caught my eye, Lesbian Sex. I looked around, suddenly feeling self conscious, and flipped through the pages of the book, my cheeks turning a gentle shade of pink as I perused the pages of the instructional manual, my eyes wide as I realized that although Bette had shown me a lot, there were a number of ways that we could be together that we had yet to explore.

Without thinking about it, I made a straight line for the register and bought the book, relieved that the middle-aged woman ringing my purchase didn't even blink after I set the title down on the counter. Adding the paperback to my satchel, where it sat cover-to-cover with Castle's first novel, I exited the store and headed in the direction of the little gallery.

Bette was already there, standing outside of the Spanish styled building, her raven hair shining under the bright sun, her eyes hidden behind huge sunglasses. She smiled as I approached, exposing a row of brilliant white teeth, and I returned the smile, my lips bowing of their own accord. My heart slammed against my ribcage and I silently wondered if it would ever stop doing that, if there would ever be a day when I'd see her for the first time, and my pulse would just remain steady.

I hoped not.

She looked stunning, her white denim and short-sleeved baby blue blouse hugging her curves as though they'd been custom made for her. When I approached, I felt my body heat up, my cheeks turn crimson, my belly contract, and as she gently pressed her lips against mine, her tongue darting out to briefly skim my lower lip, her breath warm and heady, I felt my body begin to hum.

And, I wanted to do things to her.

Naked things.