Chapter 9

"This is amazing," Kate says, one bite into her appetiser.

"Told you so," Castle says very smugly, and watches her dispose of it. Conversation is sacrificed – at least on Kate's part – to the excellence of the cuisine.

Paolo breezes up and removes the plates. "You enjoyed it?"

"Yes. That was delicious. What was it?"

He taps his nose. "Secret family recipe."

"He never tells me, either," Castle complains.

"You can't keep secrets, Rick. You'll share my recipe and then who'll come to my restaurant?"

"Everyone, if I tell them it's yours."

Paolo regards him disapprovingly. "No, no. They would make it at home and never come to find out how it should taste." He frowns and then smiles beatifically. "Now, the next course."

The entrée is even more delicious than the appetiser. Even Castle's conversational flow is halted until they have savoured every morsel of the full glory of the food and wine. Paolo ghosts up, and ghosts away again with the cleaned platters, returning after a little while with dessert and a different wine which he promises will be like nothing they have ever tasted. He's right.

Kate stares at her empty plate as if she's hoping that it will magically refill with dessert. Castle entirely agrees. Paolo and Maria have gone all out tonight, and even by their standards it was exceptional.

"So, did you enjoy that?" Paolo enquires.

"It was perfect," Castle says.

"I'll bring you coffee," he smiles, and theatrically kisses his fingers. "It will be great coffee, of course."

It is.

Behind Paolo, a curvy woman with silver threading through still-black hair bustles out from the kitchen.

"Rick," she fusses. "Rick, you are a naughty boy. You don't come, you don't call, why do you not eat here any more?"

"I'm here now," he apologises.

"And your mother? Is she so busy acting that she can't come by?"

Castle sees the potential for disaster opening before him.

"I hope you haven't abandoned us."

"Never, Maria." With considerable relief, he sees Paolo nudge Maria, and more revelations are averted.

"You must come more often. Bring your friend." Maria looks Kate up and down, and smiles. "She will keep you in order."

Paolo whisks Maria away, and Castle relaxes.

"Your mother acts?"

"Tries," Castle says with feeling. "Every day's another step to another failed audition." He sees Kate relax, and breathes again. It's perfectly true that his mother attends many failed auditions. It's also true that she succeeds at many auditions, and that not all the productions are unknown. It would be just his luck if Kate were to recognise the name. He finishes his coffee and settles the bill with Paolo.

"May I walk you home, Kate?" he asks.

She quirks an eyebrow. "I thought this was a date?"

"Yes?"

"You have to walk me home," she teases. "It's in the rules. Good etiquette says that after a date you should walk me home." Her eyes widen. "So next time, it's my turn, and I'll walk you home."

"Nuh-uh," Castle blurts out before his brain catches up. Kate's eyebrow hits the ceiling. "I'm not inflicting my family on you." He talks faster. "You don't like all my questions, but my mother is me on speed when it comes to interrogation and my daughter can be a little…um…protective and I'm not letting them treat you like your two co-workers treated me." Her eyebrow descends. "You will meet them. Just…not yet, okay? I don't want them messing this up."

And maybe I'll have worked out how to fix the tiny little technical problem that I'm not who you think I am and you can't stand the other me, before my loft and my family blow it wide open.

"Okay," she says. "My dad would do the same to you."

Castle fakes terror. Mostly. Meeting Kate's dad might be scary. "Now do I get to walk you home?" he entices, and holds her jacket for her to wriggle into. She doesn't move.

"I don't know, Rick. I think Paolo might be a better option. He has the best food." A snicker arrives from the kitchen.

"But I give better hugs." His voice drops and deepens. "And I eat well at any time." Kate chokes. Castle smiles sweetly and draws her in close. "I do love the burgers at Remy's," he adds. She elbows him. "Ow! What did you think I meant?" He observes her pink cheeks. "Tut-tut, Detective. All this dealing with lowlifes has made you suspicious."

"Dealing with you makes me suspicious," she snips.

Castle steers his Kate out of the restaurant and towards the subway. If he weren't Rick Rodgers, he'd have hailed a cab, and spent the journey in affectionate flirtation and some well-judged kissing. Since he is Rick Rodgers, he'll at least manage hugs. PDA – ugh. Unless he orchestrates it, of course… oh. Ugh. What had he thought: he's become cocky, not confident. Ugh. Richard Castle is really not very nice any more.

He cuddles Kate in on the train, and the walk from the subway to her apartment, and then politely waits for her to invite him in as she had last night. She smirks wickedly at him as she pauses – and then waves him in.

Tonight, he's prepared – and pounces, before she can, wrapping her into his chest and owning her mouth before she can steal his. This was his date, and this will be his kiss to her, not hers to him. Not yet. He's pretty certain they'll get to that, but first he's going to kiss her.

He does kiss her: gently, inexorably commanding entrance, and on it being granted turns his kiss hard, passionate and demanding. Be mine, it orders, be mine here, now. But his Kate is no pushover, and she fights back and makes demands of her own, the most irresistible of which are her fine, elegant fingers wandering under his shirt and over his back. He steadies, immovable, and untucks another of those soft, silky tees she wears: his own broad palm at her back to press her in where he needs to have her.

Tonight, if she's willing, he will have her. He's taken care to ensure that the practicalities are, well, taken care of. His clever, experienced hand slips round to the front, dextrously unbuckles her belt, slips her pants button open, the zipper down, and then slips back to her spine, from where he stretches the whole width of his span right around her back and sneakily pushes downward.

Her pants puddle on the floor. Castle's hand glides down to cup her ass, and finds to its delight that his hand and her ass fit together so perfectly that some benevolent god must have meant them for each other. She leans a little away from him, which is totally unfair – but oh oh oh all his buttons and belt and zippers are undone and she's kissing all the way down his chest and everything is falling off as she does oh God oh God and oh fuck he's in the warm wet haven of her mouth and reduced to a melted mess and oh fuck that is just not fair. She's kneeling in front of him but she's the only one in control here.

He is absolutely not in control of anything at all about her. And then he isn't in control of his body, brain or knees. He might have lost consciousness for a second. He is still, just about, standing. Kate is also standing, and smirking evilly at him.

He takes a further few seconds to recover his brain from fugue, his body from stunned delight, and his knees from their vacation in Wobble-land – and then he seizes her, swings her up into his arms, carries her off to her bedroom, strips her in a minimum of movements and leaves her flat on her back on the bed, half laughing and totally aroused.

Then he falls over her and takes her laughing mouth hard and possessively and with broad fingers simultaneously teases sensitive nerves and soaked flesh and takes that too and she writhes and moans and shatters. He keeps her tightly cradled until her eyes open and she snuggles into him and gives a small, satisfied murmur.

When small, satisfied murmurs turn to light, teasing kisses, Castle thinks it's a reasonable time to ask the key question.

"Um… I made sure I had some protection. But since you undressed me out there, you're going to have to stop that so I can find it."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll improvise."

She kisses him again, in a very don't-you-dare-move way, and pulls him in. Clearly improvisation is acceptable. He takes advantage of size and bulk to roll her over, trap her hands in one of his, and take full advantage of the bounty presented to him. He's already addicted to the curves and pink tips of her breasts: the way they're completely within his hand, the way she curves and arches and squirms as he laves and sucks.

He's also addicted to her scent and taste as he moves lower: the rise of her hips and the way her hands knot in his hair because his grip has to be around her to hold her open to his erotic lash, whipping her on until she's cried out, "Rick," and climaxed again.

She smiles sleepily at him when she resurfaces, answering his lazy look with her own sensuality. "Nice," she purrs, "but let's stop…improvising." Castle acquires a predatory male expression, and starts to move from the bed. "No need," she murmurs, and reaches into the nightstand drawer.

"When'd you have time to get those?" he says, astonished.

She colours delicately. "Before work."

"But you made me improvise."

She smiles seductively. "I like your improvisation." Then she strokes. "But I think I'll like this" – she strokes again – "even better." An instant later he's covered. "Now, where was I?" Her fingers move naughtily.

"Under me," Castle rasps, tired of her teasing, and thrusts home.

She's… he can't think, he can only feel. Her around him and below him and her hands gripping and her legs round his waist and she is perfect and all his. She moves with him and he with her and then there's his power and her glory and them.

He falls asleep around her and within her, and doesn't wake till her alarm shocks him into a new day and she shoos him out again, softening it with a kiss that leaves him reeling.

Castle wanders home, blissed out. Unfortunately, blissed out is rapidly being replaced by the unhappy knowledge that this whole situation is precariously balanced on a hair trigger – which, if he doesn't find a way to solve it soon, may very well prove to be the trigger of Kate's Glock. He had really hurt her, as Richard Castle, and he needs to fix it.

His happy mood quite gone, he reaches home, has breakfast with his daughter as usual, and, since his temper is bleak, takes it out on Gina's edits until they are beaten into submission. Then he e-mails them back to her with a sarcastic note and shoots evil warriors for a while.

None of these pursuits assist him in fixing his major problem. He pushes it to the back of his mind, and hopes that if it's safely corralled there it will find a solution for itself. He, meanwhile, has a book to write, and that's what he does.

A few hours later, his e-mail pings, with a message from Gina.

Thanks for the edits. All good. New character promising. Carry on. It might even replace Storm.

Of course it will replace Storm. She will eclipse Storm. Gina has no freaking idea how big this will be. Stung by her lukewarm enthusiasm, he turns back to his manuscript and keeps writing. He texts Kate: Boss on my back. Don't know when she'll let me off. Will call. R.

Fairly shortly he gets a response. Don't worry. Epidemic of pop-n-drops. KB.

And for the next couple of days they can only exchange occasional texts. Castle is writing as if demon-flogged; Kate (from her texts) is buried in bodies.

Beckett is not actually too desperately upset that she hasn't seen Rick for a couple of days. Granted, he's excellent company and equally excellent in bed. However, it's all moving very, very fast, and she really doesn't want them to crash and burn. She simply wants a little time to get her head round everything and think clearly, and she can't think clearly when Rick's with her. All she can think about then is just how good they are together and how much she likes him there. That is, when she can think at all. Not that he seems to be capable of thinking when he's with her either.

At the end of another busy day of pop-n-drops, marital disharmonies and street muggings-making-murders, she arrives home with enough brain left to consider. Mostly, what she is considering is that she misses Rick: his solid size, his comforting warmth and his ability to make her feel better with barely a word. Partly, she is considering how good a lover he is; how well they send each other soaring. Partly, her innate caution is saying be careful, you've known each other a couple of weeks, you're blissed out on spectacular sex. Which is totally true. They reacted to each other like lit matches in gasoline. That's not a foundation, it's an inferno.

And yet… and yet, even though his constant questions are infuriating, she misses them already; even though she's never liked public displays of affection, she misses his unthinking hugs anywhere he finds her.

In his luxurious loft, Castle has run out of words to write, and is contemplating Kate. He misses her: the way she fits so beautifully into the crook of his arm; her clipped, brisk speech and sardonic mien; the fact that she treats him normally. And, of course, her scorching hotness and the speed with which they light each other up. Amazingly, though, that's not the main part of it. It's not even significant. She's interesting. Her job – she has a job, which is a bit of a change from all the women he meets except Gina – is fascinating. She inspires him.

And he's lying to her. By omission, and by misleading words. He's lying, and it doesn't make it any better that he's doing so because he absolutely has to keep her.

He sits and thinks about that. Why does he absolutely have to keep her? He's had inspirations before…Sophia, aka Clara Strike. It wasn't like this, however. It really was not like this. Even in this short time, she…

She matches. She fits. Her mind works as fast as his; she's interested and engaged in the world. He wants to know more about her family: the loss of her mother, the mysterious absence of any real discussion about her father. Not that he's mentioning his family. Lying by omission, again.

He has to find a way to tell her the truth.

Suddenly he sits bolt upright. If Richard Castle had been an arrogant jackass – then Richard Castle could apologise. Try and make amends. Make her…like Richard Castle. And then, having made up for Richard Castle's crass behaviour… maybe it won't be so hard to tell her that they're the same man?

Lighter of heart and conscience, he decides he'll start tomorrow.

"Rick, it's Gina."

"Hey," he says suspiciously.

"Storm Fall has gone to final version. One more read, and we're done."

"Why're you calling? Usually you just e-mail."

"Your new book."

"Yeah?" he drags.

"How fast can you get me the next chapters?"

"Uh?"

"Next chapters. I want them."

"Want them?"

"Stop repeating everything. When can you get me the next chapters?"

"You like it," Castle says with immense smugness. "You actually really, really like it."

"It has possibilities."

"No. You like it. It's going to be bigger than Storm, isn't it? Admit it." Gina mutters something entirely incomprehensible. "You do so. Would it kill you to say so?"

"Okay. It's good. So far. Now show me the rest."

Childishly, Castle wants to say no. It's his book. It's his and Kate's story. But that's not how it works. "Okay, I'll send the completed chapters over."

"How many?"

"Another four."

There is a stunned silence. "Four?"

"Yeah. I'm close to the end." He hasn't written like this since the very beginning of Storm, when the whole book was in his head at once and the only delay was the speed of his fingers on his keyboard. He couldn't stop himself; couldn't stem the flow of words.

"Wow." Pause. "Send me it."

"Okay. Tomorrow."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

Since Gina has interrupted him, Castle decides that this is a good moment for Richard Castle to start to mend fences with Kate Beckett. He remembers to use his house phone, finds her number and dials.

"Beckett," the familiar voice raps.

"Detective Beckett." He puts a little more suavity into his voice, a semitone drop. "It's Richard Castle. I wanted to" –

"Goodbye."

He stares at the phone. That was… unexpected. He thought he'd at least get a couple of sentences out. The thin trail of worry returns, coiling itself into his gut. He'll try again tomorrow. For now, he goes back to the book.

Later, the soft chirp of a text interrupts him. Still stuck here. Want to join for takeout and the crime?

Sure, he sends back, and follows the text out the door to the Twelfth, collecting an assortment of Chinese dishes on the way.

The bullpen is buzzing. Takeout is eaten at Kate's desk, with a sauce of the gruesome details of murder to go with the soy. Castle doesn't turn a hair, which gains him some kudos with Ryan and Espo. He listens, asks questions, asks more questions, asks why – and suddenly the cops are rushing about and tapping frantically and there's bustle and hustle and motion and electricity sparking through the air –

And then it all stops again. Kate stands up and stretches (Castle stares). "Okay, we can't do any more now. We'll start again tomorrow."

The boys rush for the door. Kate stretches again, turns as Castle holds her coat for her and slips into it, and leads him out. She yawns all the way down in the elevator, and he realises it's close to eleven. He slides an arm round her, and she leans in.

"Let's get you home," he says.

"I'm fine."

"Finely asleep."

"I can get home fine."

"Can I escort you, Detective?"

She throws him a sidelong glance.

"I'll worry," he says piously.

"I have a gun."

"Not much use if you're asleep – unless you go in for sleep shooting? You know, like sleepwalking only you fire a gun which would be totally cool" –

"Until you were picking bullets out of the wall. For some reason landlords don't like that."

"Guess so. Anyway, let me escort you home. Promise no funny business."

She raises an eyebrow.

"You're too tired."

The eyebrow descends, to be replaced by a jaw splitting yawn. "Guess so," she says easily. "Okay. Let's go." She snuggles into his arm until they reach her car.

"Want me to drive?"

"No. My car. I drive. And no playing with the controls, either." Castle pouts, to no effect whatsoever.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.