He's determined not to bed her until he knows her real name.
He doesn't want her to see him as just another client, absolutely refuses to be another john, having certain expectations of her, demanding explicit things.
He wants to be the one man she chooses to sleep with, the one man who makes a lasting impression on her life.
She's awfully quiet staring outside the limo's back window, taking in the beauty of the city streets.
They left the restaurant so quickly that they were unable to stop at her suite to pick up a shawl, and the goose bumps along her flesh reflect she's cold.
"You must be freezing. Would you like my jacket?"
He sincerely hopes she'll say, "Yes," as he needs to cover those alluring nipples out on full display, making him half crazed with need.
Hell, it's embarrassing how his eyes keep dropping to her chest.
"Yes, I am a bit cold."
He takes his jacket and slips it behind her shoulders, his fingers slyly roving along her shoulders.
"You should keep it," he says with a dapper smile. "It looks way better on you than it does on me." A vision of her wearing only his Dolce & Gabbana jacket flits to mind, all legs and incandescent smile.
His comment causes her to smile, chasing away the sadness over Trent's earlier snide remarks.
"Thank you, but I'm positive the female population of New York just might hate me a bit if I kept your jacket."
"Mmm, be careful, Diamond, as that sounds quite a lot like a compliment. You wouldn't want it going to my head now, would you?"
"Oh, you'll know Mis - ter Castle, when I pay you an actual compliment."
The delicious undertones in her voice clearly hint she'll be complimenting him when he's stark naked, succumbing to her fevered touch.
"I'm looking forward to it."
"And yes," she purrs, all sultry bedroom eyes, "It will definitely go to your head."
Fuckety fuck, her innuendo seeps through his skin and makes him hard as stone, the other 'head' on his lower half responding to her words.
As she pulls the jacket tight around her body, shivering slightly, he flips an intercom switch and asks the driver to please turn the heat on low.
"Anywhere special you want to go?"
"No. Just somewhere I can get a strong drink."
He chuckles low and deep, sending vibrations along the back of the seat. "You read my mind."
Surprisingly, the bar isn't busy for a Friday night. The hostess is able to find them a secluded table in the back with a view of the street below.
She's still wrapped up in his Dolce and Gabbana jacket and looks like the girl-next-door, - the beautiful, untouchable girl with bits of fly away hair falling out of her elaborate twist, with soulful eyes you can lose yourself in.
After she orders a White Russian, heavy on the coffee liqueur, his eyebrow raises comically and he delightfully smirks at her, "I like a woman whose coffee addiction might possibly rival mine."
She quips, "What? You've never dated a woman before with a love of hard liquor?"
"I'm flattered, Diamond," and his eyes light up mischievously. "Here I thought we were just two consenting adults going out for a drink, and yet, you're thinking this is a date."
She rolls those hazel eyes and drawls, "Wrong choice of words, this is definitely not a date. Think of this along the lines of a personal business meeting."
The author in him is thrilled at her words, the man in him? . . . Hmm, not so much.
"Let me make it perfectly clear that I don't want to hire you. I only want to get to know you better, the woman behind the persona, the real you."
Her smile could light a thousand wickless candles as she teases, "How refreshing to meet a man who doesn't want to sleep with me."
"Un - for - tun - ately," and he spouts a, I-am-a-virile-heterosexual-male-who-appreciates-an-extraordinarily-gorgeous-woman, grin. "I fall into that baser category with half the men here in New York, but I assure you, my motives are more complex."
"Thank God you didn't say your motives were pure or I'd have to call you out on your blatant lie."
"'Pure' is certainly one of the last things on my mind," he purrs devilishly.
"You've piqued my curiosity now." She crosses her left leg over her right, smoothing down the silk dress as it falls freely to her feet. "How would you describe your intentions?"
He wants to get down on his knees beneath the table, run his hands underneath the enticing silk fabric and worship those glorious gams slowly, - show her just how unpure he can be.
"I'm someone who's enthralled by you," he starts off cautiously. "Someone who's willing to go to great lengths to get to know you better, but I'm not just interested in your career choice, but what lays buried beneath the surface. . . I'd love to get a peek beneath all the glamour and the hype, unwrap the sex-symbol you portray."
"Why doesn't your answer surprise me? It's certainly one I would expect from a famous writer."
"It's not just the author in me who's curious about you, Diamond, but the man who's seeking a woman with a generous heart, a kind soul, and sharp intellect.
His eyes reflect the ability to wrap her up in intense, sensual pleasure as he gazes at her openly. "It's just an added bonus if those traits happen to match her outward appearance."
"There's more to you than I originally thought," she says lazily, but by the surprised gleam in her eye, he wonders if she even meant to say the words out loud.
"If you'll give me the chance, I just might shock you with my hidden depths."
She doesn't respond, just stares at him intently, gold-flecks in her irises more pronounced as she wonders if he's as smooth as silk in the bedroom as well.
The bubbly young waitress approaches their table eyeing Rick appreciatively. He doesn't notice the way she bats her eyelashes, the way she stands to accentuate her curvaceous figure, or even the flirtiness in her tone as she places their drinks on the table.
He doesn't notice as his attention is fully on the woman in front of him. . . The city street lamps shine through the window and bring an ethereal glow to Diamond's face; he can't seem to look away from her dainty mouth with just a hint of lipgloss, accentuating its lushness. His fingers itch to dance along her strong jawline and settle on the nape of her neck, pulling her closer until. . .
"Will that be all for you two this evening?" Mariah asks, disappointment filling her tone with Rick's lack of response to her.
"For right now. Thank you."
"One drink is enough for me," Diamond replies, smiling at the waitress' attempt to grab Rick's attention.
Once Mariah has walked out of site, she takes a sip of the White Russian and asks, "Does that happen often?"
"What?" he queries.
"A pretty young woman fawning all over you."
"Huh?" he asks, feigning innocence while smiling broadly over the rim of his vodka glass.
"Oh, come on Castle," she laughs, looking at him like he just might be the densest man on the planet. "She was obviously flirting with you and hoped something would come of it."
"Who, Mariah? . . . God, she's barely older than Alexis and I prefer a woman," his eyes narrow darkly, hunger residing in their depths, "who knows who she is. . . One who isn't afraid to let a man see her inner beauty as well as her inner desires. One who cherishes the pleasure a man and woman can give each other."
"Well, that certainly is a tall order. She must be a difficult woman to find."
"I'm hoping my search is over."
She's uncomfortable with his confession, her fingers playing with the straw in her drink, stirring it nervously.
He takes a hefty swig of the vodka, the burn of the alcohol making him wish he could share a different kind of burn with her.
"Tell me your real name," and it barrels out of his mouth, sounding more like a military command than a request.
"I don't ever tell anyone my name," she says softly, almost apologetically. "Please understand. . . In this business, anonymity is my only choice."
"I understand more than you realize, but what about the woman beneath the erotic facade? Doesn't she occasionally like to be noticed, listened to, empathised with? Doesn't she yearn to come out and play?"
"I, unfortunately, don't have that type of luxury."
A dull knife cuts at his heart as there's undoubtedly a deep tragedy at the center of her story, a story he wonders if he'll ever be privy to.
"Give me the opportunity. I've been told I'm a very good listener," he says sincerely, sitting back comfortably in his chair, hoping she'll open up to him.
"I'd bet you've been told you're good at a lot of things."
His chuckle is deep, intimate. "It seems you've gathered more about me than I you. . . Try me, Diamond. I'd love to be your sounding board."
Among other naughty, dirty things.
She looks at him critically, sizing him up, hazel eyes filling with wariness, and he knows before she speaks that he won't be able to pull any more information from her tonight.
"Not this evening, I'd rather focus more on you. . . So I take it you're still in the research phase for your new book?"
"Correct. I certainly need to -," and he pauses, blue eyes lighting wickedly, "research you more thoroughly. . . Among other things."
"It's the 'other things' I'm worried about."
She needs to stop curling her bottom lip with her teeth, (ImMeDiateLy) all coy and demure like, or he's not going to be able to restrain himself from reaching across the table and taking that sweet lip into his own mouth and . . .
"No need to worry. My mother raised me to be a gentleman in every sense of the word. Nothing will happen between us which isn't," his eyes caress her lips, "consensual."
He can practically read her thoughts of: That's what I'm afraid of. . .
"I certainly witnessed firsthand your chivalrous nature, Mister Castle. Which by-the-way reminds me, I haven't properly thanked you."
"Thank moi?" and his hand covers his chest as if in shock. "What has little ol' me done to deserve your thanks?"
She laughs then, soft and airy and it pulls an immediate smile from him. "Old is certainly the last term I'd use to describe you."
"Oh really?" he teases, "and here I thought the last word in the dictionary to describe me was little."
"Mmm," and her eyes descend daringly down his chest, stopping just below the waistband on his pants. "I might get the nerve one day to let you prove it to me."
Holy hell, the way she's looking at him, peeling off every layer of his clothing with eager hands and hopefully a more eager mouth, has his groin aching to take her, - feel every sweet, wet feminine curve of her womanhood.
Take it slow, Rick, this one's worth the wait, but trying to convince mini Castle of that was going to be extremely difficult.
His cell phone rings, chiming out the melody for 'Butterfly Kisses'.
"Excuse me just a minute. I need to take this call. It's my daughter," and he swipes across the screen to accept the call.
"Alexis, pumpkin, how's every - " His brows furrow together anxiously as he listens to her.
"I want you to notify Henry. Tell him not to let anyone he doesn't know personally up to our floor. I'll be home in thirty minutes. . . Make sure all the blinds are closed and double check the front door to make sure it's locked."
He listens to her for a few more seconds and the frown lines soften a bit from what she says. He chuckles softly, "That's my girl. I love you," and then he's hanging up, turning to Diamond with apologetic eyes.
"I'm sorry. I have to cut our evening short," and then he's pulling out his wallet, searching for twenty dollar bills and tossing a couple on the table to pay for their tab.
"It's no problem at all," she says, gathering his jacket closer around her. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
He quickly taps out a text to his limo driver telling him to meet them out front before turning anxious, worried eyes her way. "No. She's a little frightened is all. She received a creepy text from a questionable, obsessive boy."
"Castle," she breathes, and her hand reaches for his, clasping it tightly. "Is he stalking her? Are you worried he might be dangerous?"
"Something along those lines."
Her hand feels deliciously warm as he interlocks their fingers, drawing her from the table and directing them through a throng of people whom have suddenly shown up during the intermission of a Broadway play.
The night air is crisp against his cheeks as he leads her out onto the busy sidewalk.
"I have friends at the Twelfth Precinct who can look into this boy for you. . . Do a background check, set up surveillance, offer protection if you feel like she needs it."
It's just so sweet of her and downright thoughtful and God, he didn't think it was possible, but the gesture makes her even more desirable in his eyes.
"I appreciate the offer, but we'll be alright."
Brandon arrives with the limo just as they reach the curb of the street and a sigh of remorse leaves his lips at the thought of not being able to escort her back home, not having the chance to peel away another layer of her shell.
He opens the back door of the limo and tells his driver to take the lady wherever she wants to go, but before he can usher her through, she's turned to him with molten eyes, hands curling at his waist.
Hot hands with svelte fingers that he wishes would move slightly rearward, drag along the cusp of his ass.
"You're not coming with me?"
"No, I'm afraid I don't have the time to stop anywhere first. My daughter needs me."
"It's wonderful knowing you put her first in your life," and then she's leaning into him, hot breath ghosting over his cheek, purring, "I never got to thank you for rescuing me earlier," and her lips land on his fresh stubble, pressing erotically into the flesh, lingering longer than is socially acceptable.
"Thank you, Richard Edgar Castle."
"You're welcome." He helps her gracefully into the backseat, eyes falling and lingering on her Brooklyn Decker ass.
A goofy grin smatters across his handsome face as he purrs, "Promise me something. . . " He's reaching for her seatbelt, drawing it snugly across her body, unable to resist the temptation to swipe his fingers across her right hip.
"No more douche bags."
Her eyes twinkle as she replies, "Don't know if I can promise that, but I will promise to keep you in mind the next time I need help taking out the trash."
"Please do. I've been told I'm gifted when it comes to helping women," and he winks outrageously before closing the door soundly, tapping the hood of the limo to let Brandon know it's safe to pull away.
His fingers are tingling and her cherry scent is still wafting in the air around him as he hails a cab, and now he's in an unbearable state of arousal which he won't be able to take care of for several hours.
He shouldn't have touched her.