As always, many thanks to Carto, who is the main reason this chapter went from Hmm, I Think They Should Make Out Somehow to AHA THERE IS PLOT.

This chapter is sort of a companion/rewrite to a scene in the middle of the ep: Beckett and the boys are working late at the precinct; Beckett tells them she has plans and leaves. We see her at home, lighting candles, drinking wine, and reading Heat Wave. This chapter picks up there.

Chapter 11: 2x04, Fool Me Once

What if I told you that my date was with your book?

A knock at the door rouses her from reading. Hmm. Delivery's quick tonight. They'd had pizza at the station, but she didn't find herself wanting pizza, so there's Chinese on the way. She wasn't expecting it for another ten minutes at least; this is impressive.

She clambers out of the bathtub, dripping all over as she quickly snags her robe and pulls it on. She pads barefoot into the living room, tying the sash around her waist as she tries not to get too much water on the wood floors. "Coming," she calls, grabbing her wallet and reaching for the chain on the door. Habit has her peering through the peephole, wondering if it's Jimmy or that other delivery boy whose name she can never remember –

- but she almost drops her wallet, her jaw tensing. You have got to be kidding me. Castle. Richard effing Castle. Why? Why is he here?

She freezes, wondering if maybe he'll go away, maybe he didn't hear her…

"I know you're there, Beckett. You may as well just open the door."

She sighs, closing her eyes briefly. Experience has taught her that Castle will not go away. He just won't. Best get this over with, then. She presses her fingertips to her forehead, grits her teeth, and wipes the strands of wet hair off her face before slowly unlocking the door and pulling it open.

"Castle?"

He opens his mouth but doesn't say anything, and she sees his eyes drop to her chest. She huffs, folds her arms, clutches the edges of her robe together. Opening the door was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. Especially wearing this robe and nothing else. "Castle. Eyes up here."

"Right." He obeys hesitantly, meeting her eyes, looking almost penitent. Almost. "So. How's your evening, Beckett?"

"Fine." She reminds herself not to take the bait. Rick Castle can sell beef to cattle, given the opportunity. Don't give him a chance to start in on small talk. "What was so important that you had to come here and bother me?"

"Just that I cracked this case wide open," he announces proudly, a hint of smugness in that face which she steadfastly refuses to think of as ruggedly handsome. And she will not let him do her in with this half- innuendo. Absolutely not. His gaze flicks over her again, his mouth curling delightedly. "You know, the thought of you, all soaking wet like this – strangely arousing."

"Just give me your 'case-breaking' information." And then she can get rid of him. Food will be here soon. And she has no intention of inviting him to join her.

"Well, I went a little Daddy Dearest on Alexis. It got me thinking. If I can go this crazy over a violin teacher – " she already knows this won't be good – "how crazy would I go if my daughter was about to marry a scam artist? Crazy enough to kill, maybe?"

He's fixed her with that earnest gaze, begging for approval.

"That is – "

"Inspired?"

"No."

"Brilliant?"

"Mm-mm."

"Genius?"

"Uh-uh."

"What?"

"Thin."

"Oh."

What did he expect? "Your big breakthrough was that maybe someone was angry?" Seriously? This is pathetic. "It's not enough for me to even think the word warrant. It's basically useless. And why are you here, anyway?"

He looks innocent. Obviously he's not. And she will not look at those big blue eyes. She won't. "To – to tell you – "

"You couldn't have just called?"

Castle opens his mouth, shuts it. Opens it again. "Well – "

She suddenly gets it. Her mouth falls open. "Are you here to spy on me?"

"What? No!"

"You are!" She shoots him her fiercest glare, because no amount of charm in him (or wine in her) is going to erase the fact that this is just creepy. "You just couldn't stand the thought of me having a night off, could you?"

"It – wasn't – I didn't mean that. No." But he looks faintly guilty, and Kate knows she's at least somewhat right. "Look, I'm sorry I intruded on your snorkeling session, or whatever. I will go and leave you in peace. I promise. Can I use your bathroom before I go?"

"No." He needs to leave. "Castle, seriously, I'm really not – "

"Please? Beckett?"

"No. Castle. Please go away."

He shoots her a curious look. Her stomach drops. He looks like he might be onto something. "Why?"

"Castle – " She lets out an impatient breath. She's uncomfortable. She wants him to go.

Castle gets it.

She's hiding something.

Well, there must be a reason she doesn't want him in the bathroom. And she's wet – and oh, God, is he enjoying the fact that she's wet. Especially how this flimsy, silky little robe is clinging to her wet body. In places he wants to know more about. And he's reasonably sure she would not have opened the door, let alone allowed him in, if there were a man with her. Which means she's alone, wet, and hiding something in her bathroom.

Better to ask forgiveness than to seek permission, right?

He heads down the hallway.

"No! Castle! Stop!"

She grabs, manages to catch his arm, but he's too quick, too tall, too big for her to stop him, not when she's simultaneously trying to make sure he doesn't get a better view down the front of her robe. No, no no no no…

He manages to get his arm through the open door and lean in – the bathroom door is partially open, and after all, cops are allowed to go in when the door's open, right? Or something like that? Ah, hell, close enough – and ignores her tugging on him, peers inside.

His jaw actually drops. Oh. Oh God.

Candles.

Wineglass.

Bathtub.

Steam rising from the water.

Kate Beckett just stepped out of a hot bath.

She's tugging on his arm, trying desperately to pull him away, but Castle holds onto the doorway, mesmerized. He's not leaving. Not when his mind is swimming with images of Kate Beckett slipping off that robe…sinking into the tub…steam flushing her cheeks…bubbles and hot water soaking every inch of her soft body…

His mouth is dry. He swallows, but he's having trouble doing much of anything else right now because the pictures flooding his mind are hot and dangerous and so very, very forbidden.

"Castle. Get out."

He's about to turn, and she's probably going to slap him the moment his face is in range, but something beside the tub catches his eye.

No way.

He turns to stare at her, eyes wide, because he is seeing Kate Beckett in an entirely new light right now. And it's so impossibly sexy.

"You were reading my book?"

He saw Heat Wave.

He blinks, his face slack with sheer disbelief, and she wants to sink into the floor. She wants to disappear.

Oh. God. This was her secret plan. She wanted to sink into a hot bath, drink wine, and read his book.

The horrified look on her face tells it all. Castle can't speak. He just keeps looking at her, looking back at the bathroom, the flickering, seductive candlelight. His imagination, vivid and willing, paints pictures he can't resist. He sees her in the bath. Naked. She turns the page, color rising in her cheeks, beads of perspiration on her bare shoulders.

She gets to page 105. Her mouth falls open.

Her face gets flushed.

Her breathing gets shallow.

She sets the book aside, her eyes fluttering shut.

Her hand slips under the water –

Stop. Stop, Rick.

He forces himself back to reality, refusing to let himself finish that train of thought. His body is too fiercely interested to ignore it, but he tries to take a breath, calm the sudden rush of desire swamping him.

She's not speaking, not moving, just staring at him, her face still in the steamy air, unreadable. But her body is poised, hovering, her weight shifting between her feet like a nervous animal planning an escape.

He doesn't want her to escape.

He needs to calm her down.

Castle takes a step back, giving her a chance to regain her equilibrium and take a breath, but still staying close enough that she can't just brush past him. "Beckett – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Sure enough, she seems to relax a little, the tight lines in her throat smoothing out. Her cheeks are still flushed, but the bathroom is steamy from the hot water and he can feel the damp warmth on his own skin too.

"It's okay. Really."

He tries to think of what else to say to calm her down and convince her not to throw him out on his ear. But she's staring at his mouth. Staring at it. Like she's not hearing anything he's saying. Her eyes are dark in the soft gold half-light, her cheeks flushed in the steamy air, her lips parted.

Something hot and dangerous uncoils inside his chest.

Because he knows what it means.

"Kate."

Her given name – so rare from him – catches her attention, and she looks up at him, eyes dark with arousal through the curtain of her lashes, her gaze heated and desperate, at once dangerous and demure, coy and innocent and so very, very tempting. Oh, so tempting. And that deep pink flush from the hot water and steamy air, spreading from her throat, down to the boundary of the robe, so very thin and flimsy over her naked, wet body, and ohhhhhhhhhh he shouldn't be thinking about this.

She absently licks her lips, and he feels his whole body waking, aware, and there's no way around it. He wants her. He wants her right now.

"Don't be embarrassed."

She just stares at him, mesmerized, her breathing shallow. He gently takes a step forward, carefully invading her personal space, trapping her against the wall. She doesn't try to stop him, doesn't try to escape. He can't stop looking at her, the strands of wet hair plastered to her neck, the bead of water that slips down her throat and vanishes into the swell of her breasts, the glitter of droplets on her skin, the enticing little dip at the base of her throat that seems to be begging for his mouth. She's so soft and warm and smells so delicately sweet, like some kind of flower, and he just really needs to touch her. He needs to touch her. So much. That soft, silky skin…he needs it.

He's coming closer. She can feel the air getting close, the steam curling softly between them. He's watching her with a look she's never seen from him. It's sure. Hungry. Wanting. Patient. Like he knows exactly what she wants. And he knows exactly what he's going to do to her. Her skin is burning. She knows he's going to touch her. And it's going to feel good. Her blood is singing in her veins, every breath in her body hot and torturous and aching, low in her belly, her whole body flooded with pure want.

She shouldn't. Shouldn't let him. Her fingers curl around the doorframe behind her. She can't touch him.

"I like this, Kate."

Don't touch him. Oh, that voice. It undoes her. That soft, low voice, growly and rumbly and washing through her like a caress, like a kiss, intimate and a little naughty and oh, they shouldn't –

He takes another step. He's only inches away. She bites her lip, swallowing nervously, her fingers tightening reflexively.

"You're so beautiful – "

Don't touch him. Don't.

"- and so very, very sexy – "

Don't look at him.

She turns her head, forcing herself to look away. He's so close right now. She can feel his breath, hot and delicate against her cheek, her neck, curling over her wet skin, and she clenches her teeth, willing her body not to respond.

"- and you know what I'm thinking about right now, don't you?"

Oh God yes.

She knows. She can see it, can see exactly how he wants to taste her skin, pull her robe aside, let it hit the floor, trace the lines of her body with his fingers, find every secret hidden place that makes her shudder and moan and beg underneath him, and he's going to be good at it. He's going to be so good at it.

He watches, his mouth dry, as Kate's lips part, so pink and soft, and he wants them, wants to taste them, nibble at them, suck on them till she squirms against him. Her eyes are fluttering, half-open, and he has to keep himself from leaning over, licking the droplets of water clinging to her collarbone, glittering in the candlelight.

She drags her eyes, hazy and soft and heated, back up to his, and his breath catches, his body hot and thrumming, because there's something dangerous in her look, something animal. He knows this look when he sees it. Kate Beckett is hot for it. Really, really hot for it.

He places his hands on the wall, on either side of her shoulders, boxing her in, watching as she lets out a shuddering sigh, unconsciously stretching her neck, and he stares longingly at the pale column of her throat, water droplets clinging to her skin. He leans forward slightly, pressing against the wall, and she stares at him, open-mouthed, like she's waiting for it, so close that all he has to do is crane his neck, meet her lips–

He leans forward, tipping his head toward her ear, letting his nose just barely graze her skin, feeling the tremor that runs through her, the sudden working of her throat muscles as she swallows unevenly.

He lets his lips brush over her cheek. So soft. Perfect.

"You wanted to be alone with Richard Castle tonight, didn't you?"

She tries to form an answer, but then her eyes flicker shut and his lips are on hers and words don't matter.

She's so soft and warm and drugging and sweet, her mouth so gentle under his, and he's cautiously touching, feeling the silky fabric of her robe, the damp heat of her wet skin under his fingertips. He's taking his time, letting his fingers explore, inch by inch, waiting to see just what he can get away with, just which spots make her shiver.

His thumb slides to a pressure point in her neck, presses down, and he feels every hint of tension leave her as she goes limp, her body sinking into his, warm and smooth. Her hands slide up his arms, curling around his neck, pulling them even closer together. Her breath is coming fast and hard, her eyes clouded over with lust. He can feel her soft curves flush against him, warm and tantalizing, and he has no idea how he's ever going to look at her again without grabbing her.

She can't move, can't breathe. Her skin is tingling, her nerve endings on fire. He's slow, cautious, making her frantic for more but she's so far beyond thought right now that all she can do is gasp and clutch at his shoulders as he places a line of hot, wet kisses down her throat, his tongue running a torutously slow line over her skin. Ohhhhhhh Castle. Unnnnnnh.

He slides a hand under her leg, pulling her roughly against his lower body, and as he hits her in just the right spot, the ache between her legs gets unbearable. She can't stop herself, letting out a breathy little moan, her back arching, pressing her harder against him. His tongue slips into her mouth again, muffling her cry, wetly tracing the line of her lips.

Her tongue. Her tongue.

He's having trouble forming coherent thoughts, because Kate is making out with him like some horny teenager and that little moan she let out almost undid him. And the friction as she grinds herself against his leg is just so hot, so dirty, so good. And she's arching against him, her breasts pressed up against his chest, soft and warm, her fingernails tracing lightly over his scalp. He lets out a groan, tearing his mouth away reluctantly, gasping for breath. Shit. Shit. She's so hot.

She blinks, her eyes briefly falling to his mouth. She bites her lip, and he can't help himself. He kisses her again, hard, aggressive, nipping at her lip, sucking on it gently before letting her go. "It drives me crazy when you do that."

She lets out a laugh, and it's breathless, soft, so very alluring. "Bite your tongue, Castle."

"You can bite it. It's yours now."

Kate grins at that, that slow, catlike smile he loves so much, and she looks up at him, eyes sparkling behind the dark fringe of her lashes, her lips pink and warm and thoroughly kissed. She slides one hand down his chest, and his heart stutters to a halt as she hooks two fingers into his belt. "I – it – Kate – "

"You said it yourself," she murmurs, tugging him closer, until they're face to face again. "I'm alone with Richard Castle."

"What do you plan to do to him?"

He catches his breath as she slides her hands over his chest, starting to undo the buttons on his shirt, flicking a smoldering glance up at him. "Teach him a few things about heat."

Oh, yeah.

He feels his body responding, anticipating, heating up as she hooks her hand in his belt again, nuzzling at his neck. He groans, a deep hum resonating through his chest as she places a soft kiss at the base of his throat, swiping her tongue over his pulse point.

"Come on, Writer Boy," she whispers. "Show me how you figure out those steamy little scenes."

Oh God yes.

He growls appreciatively, letting her tug his arm, pull him out of the bathroom, down the hallway. He grabs for her as she's reaching for her bedroom door, manages to catch the sash of her robe. She pauses as he catches up and smiles, her lower lip caught in her teeth. "What?"

He tugs at the sash, watching it loosen. "Teach me about heat, Detective."

She laughs, grabbing him, kissing him, tugging him with her through the doorway. Her robe hits the floor in a flutter of silk, the door shuts behind them, and the book, for now, is completely forgotten.

Jimmy adjusts his cap and knocks again, staring at the door in confusion. Miss Beckett's a regular. But she's not answering right now.

"Miss Beckett? Miss Beckett, delivery."

He strains, but hears nothing. He huffs – she's nice, and she tips well, too – and presses his ear to the door, frowning in concentration. No voice. No footsteps…

…wait. Is that? – it sounds like – is that what he thinks it is?

His jaw drops.

Oh.

Shit.

Jimmy looks down at the takeout bag, looks back at the door, and decides Miss Beckett probably won't miss it. Sounds like she's, uh, busy right now.