This could be the quickest date in human history. It could backfire in so many different ways, on so many levels. It just might end up being the biggest crash and burn of the 21st century.
Or, if it goes in the other direction, possibly end up being the hottest bonfire in New York's history.
Castle adjusts his sky blue polo shirt one more time, eyes glancing anxiously towards Remy's front door.
He'd been so caught up in worry the other night over Alexis, as well as smitten by the sex kitten before him, that he didn't plan ahead when he'd escorted Diamond to the back of the limo, teasingly asking her to promise him, "No more douchebags."
Her flirty, innuendo-filled response, plus the feel of her slender hip had caused the blood to zip south and he'd lost his Casanova mo-jo, forgetting to ask when he could see her again.
Paula had grudgingly agreed to his plan, laughing her head off at the idea of THEE Richard Castle, Playboy extraordinaire, having to pay for a woman's company. She pretended to be his secretary for the, "Good of the next book," and made him swear he wouldn't call her to bail his ass outta jail if things spiraled out of control.
Now, he's sitting in a greasy burger's booth, twirling a yellow bud nervously, waiting for a woman who could very well take one look at him and all hell fire and damnation break loose at his deception.
His groin twitches at the thought because damn, she's gorgeous with fiery eyes and a mouth to match, her clever tongue putting him in his rightful place.
Best case scenario, if she turns him down, will be for her to take one look at him and do a one-eighty, spinning away from him on the soles of those, I know-you-want-me-to-leave-these-on-while-fucking, heels and just walk away from him all stiff shoulders and sashaying ass.
Hmm, either way has definite positive possibilities.
Of course he's hoping, once she realizes he's actually Alexander Rogers, she'll see his deception as a compliment, take into consideration the preparation it took to set up a date with her, - interpret it as a, No-man-has-ever-gone-to-such-great-lengths-to-see-me-again, gesture.
With this woman though, who can make or break a man in under a minute, whose beauty surpasses Helen of Troy and whose sex appeal simmers hotter than Marilyn Monroe, he's expecting to walk away with a bruised and battered ego.
Expecting to lose his man card by her cutting, sensual mouth and skyscraper legs which could easily kick his ass to the curb.
He doesn't think he'd mind as much though if she used her hands to shove him out the restaurant door as his last memory of her would be those strong feminine fingers roughly leaving her mark on him.
He smiles at Judy, a waitress in her fifties who's a life-long fan of Martha's and likes to call him, "Ricky," giving him extra whipped topping on his pies and in his shakes.
She takes a big whiff of the dozen yellow roses he brought her, (now minus one) and ogles him like she wishes she could turn back the clock.
The door jangles, signifying someone entering the restaurant and he doesn't even have to see Diamond to know she's there, . . . just hears her sexy stilettos spiking the ceramic tile and his heart stops, stutters and then races like a stallion at the Kentucky Derby.
Sweet Jesus, she's only wearing. . . Oh my God and every eye in the diner's glued to her.
She's wrapped in a Burberry maroon trench coat zipped almost all the way to the top, protruding collarbones exposed, cinched tight at the waist with a wide belt, showcasing her hourglass figure and displaying just enough leg to make a Pavlovian dog drool without hearing a bell.
She's not wearing any nylons and combined with the 4 inch pumps she gives off the impression that she's not, umm, (gulp) wearing anything underneath, - just ripe and ready and willing and waiting for the right man to slowly unknot that belt and peel the trench coat off her silky flesh and . . .
Her hazel eyes collide with his, and he sees the exact moment she recognizes him as raw irritation fills their lovely depths.
She tosses her hair prissily over her shoulder and rolls those expressive eyes, saying, "Un - Be - Liev - A- Ble," enunciating each syllable.
He places the stem of the rose in his mouth and smirks outrageously, all twinkling blue eyes, and crosses his fingers he's portraying nothing but 'male innocence'.
He assesses her face, straight hair that falls past her shoulders, light eye shadow with just a thin layer of mascara, a clear gloss on her lips, which makes her appear more youthful and natural, so UN-Diamond like. He bites the rose harder at the implication because to him it means only one thing. . . She left Diamond behind and is showing him a bit of her.
Her in a smoking trench coat created to entice a man's fantasies.
Her.
Trench coat.
Stripper pole.
He silently prays, God, don't let her notice already how excited mini-Castle is to see her.
He removes the rose and stands up in the aisle, holding it out to her as a token, at the same moment she walks towards him, a frustrated scowl marring those beautiful features.
"I can't wait to hear what TALL tale your writer's mind comes up with," she says, sarcasm dripping off each word. "If this is an elaborate ploy to learn more about me for your book, well you can just go to - "
"No ploy," he interrupts her, crossing his heart in an endearing, little boy manner. "I'm standing here in front of you as Richard Alexander Rogers the man, not Richard Castle, the author."
"You're standing before me alright as a conniving, manipulative man."
"Oh, give him a chance, honey," Judy speaks up unexpectedly, with an air of, If-this-man-were-mine-I'd-keep-him-tied-up-and-locked-away-to-have-my-dirty-way-with-him-twenty-four-seven. "He's been waiting for you for twenty minutes, primping his hair and fiddling with that rose. . . Put the poor man out of his misery and forgive him for his stupidity."
"Stupid is as stupid does," she drawls and it brings to mind the very StuPid idea to grab her and haul her to him, smothering that sassy, delectable mouth of hers and shutting her up with his tongue.
"Thank you Judy," Castle chuckles, "but I don't need you to play matchmaker."
Diamond looks as if she'd thoroughly enjoy grabbing his ear and twisting it painfully to teach him a lesson. She huffs out, "You certainly have an effect on women of all ages."
His eyes find hers, - dark, leering, sensual. "There's only one woman who I'm hoping to have an affect on tonight, Diamond."
"I'm not sure whether to be flattered by your attentions, Castle, or extremely troubled," and then she's spinning around, walking confidently away from him.
He's following her like a lost puppy but he's buoyed by the fact she hasn't openly called him every name in the book, hasn't outright told him to screw himself and go jump in the Hudson.
Before she can reach for the door handle, he's reaching around her saying, "Here, let me get that for you," and she steps to the side, all doll eyes, allowing him to open up the door for her.
"You know how difficult it is to reach you," Rick continues, "and Mister Ryan made it perfectly clear he wouldn't set up another appointment with you. This seemed to be the best option to see you again."
"I don't understand why a notorious Playboy, New York's Eligible Bachelor Number Nine," she sneers at the moniker, obviously finding the title distasteful, "who could have any woman in the city, would be interested in a lowly, successful Escort?"
Her words stir something deep inside him, enrage the 'Caveman' in him, and the next instant he's doing something out of character, something VERY stupid. . . He's pushed her back against the brick wall, his muscled frame pinning her in place, blue eyes flaming with unresolved sexual tension.
She's startled, wide eyed, breathing stymied, lips parted in a soft 'O'; her tantalizing chest heaving up and down, up and down.
"Because you're worthy of getting to know." Both his palms land on the brick, right next to the side of her face, and he leans in, warm breath puffing out over her lips. "I want to know about your past, the woman who's hidden beneath the Diamond persona. I want to know what makes you tick, what makes you dream, what makes you smile and laugh, what makes you," his eyes freefall to her lips, "scream."
She delicately swallows and he watches the feminine glide of her throat before his eyes are drawn back up to her plump mouth. Her sparkling white teeth pull teasingly on her lower lip.
Jesus, she's got to stop doing that right now or I won't be held accountable for my actions.
"Castle, I don't want to be just another conquest, - another notch on your bedpost."
"You wouldn't be. . . I'm hoping to be yours."
She's so damn close and all he'd have to do is twist his body an inch and take one half-step closer and she'd be able to feel how affected he is by her, feel this raging-hard on that only she can tame.
He tempers his instinct, willing her to make the next move.
She's assessing him with eyes the color of freshly mown grass in the summertime, deep, rich, pure. . . Eyes he'd never tire of waking up to every single morning.
"Rick, - "
"You've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me," says a hispanic voice directly behind him. "So Alexander Rogers is actually Richard Castle, metro-sexual author. You've got some balls, man."
If looks could kill.
"Diamond, you want me to take care of this Bozo?"
"No, I can handle him," she purrs, eyes never straying from Rick's. "Espo, I'm giving you the rest of the night off."
Castle's lips lift at her words, broaden to a devilish smirk and then erupt in a full blown, 'Hang-on-as- I'm-going-to-give-you-the-ride-of-your-life-proving-just-how-irresistible-I-am', grin.
He leans into her ear, whispering huskily, "I'm looking forward to every single second of you 'handling' me."
She shakes her head from side to side, withholding a smile of her own as this rugged man in front of her certainly doesn't need more encouragement.
"Get off me, you brute," she teases and pushes him away.
Rick dramatically stumbles backwards and with a flirty wink catches himself. He stands up straight, actually puffing out his chest, and flashes Esposito a gloating smile that could rival even, "The Fonz."
"Are you sure you want to go out with this guy, Diamond? He looks like he could use a woman turning him down now and then."
She chuckles, "Stop worrying about me. I have this one wrapped around my little finger. . . Get outta here. Go and surprise Lanie tonight."
"Only if you're sure."
She throws him her patented eye roll in response.
Before he leaves. Espo gives Castle an evil glare, one with undercurrents of, I-know-where-you-live-and-it-wouldn't-be-the-first-time-I-had-to-hide-a-body.
"Take care of her, Castle."
"You can count on it."
After her bodyguard is a good ten feet away, Rick turns to her with wicked intent and says brazenly, "I'd like to take care of you in more ways than one."
"I may just hold you to that, Writer boy," and then she's walking away from him, the hem of the coat dancing along the back of her lower thighs, a sexy gait in her step which has him biting his knuckles ardently, wondering how he's going to survive the night.