Thanks to Malwina for finding a song for Rick/Diamond, Michael Jackson's, 'In The Closet'.
...
She hears the restraint in his voice vanish as he grounds out, "'Sorry' just don't cut it, babe. I'm going to give you a taste of what you'll be missing," and his eyes drop to her lips before attacking them.
Holy Mother of God, she's lost in his mouth, his lips on a mission to tease, torture, and mark her as his.
His hand clasps onto the back of her neck, pulling her towards him where their bodies mesh like yin and yang, - his hard planes pressed erotically against her soft curves.
He tastes like warm rain, hot nights and forbidden pleasure.
He growls into her mouth and the sound has her arching into him, splaying herself eagerly against him. She wishes he wasn't so fuckin' good at this, making her needy and wanton with one twist of his tongue, wishing he wasn't making her regret saying, 'Goodbye'.
His kiss is bruising, meant to punish, meant to make her remember him in the basest way possible and bloody hell, it works as she wants more, needs more, - craving to feel his slick talented tongue on more intimate parts of her body.
She's finding it difficult to breathe, her breath caught between desire and the will to survive, but he softens the kiss, slants his lips, and her heart triple jumps when they share the same blissful oxygen.
She doesn't expect him to touch her, startles when his fingers meander under the hem of her coat, a filthy moan breaking free as his hand drags up her thigh, sensually slow, creating a scintillating burn that shoots straight to her loins.
He presses her back into the frame of the limo and when she feels his hard cock, bursting at the seams, she almost throws caution to the wind and begs him to take her.
Almost.
Her arms snake round his neck when his talented fingers find the silk of the little black dress. He palms the fabric, and she senses the war raging within him; his innate gentleman nature warring with his animal instinct. It affects her adversely, makes her hate the 'gentleman' in him because now, she'll never be able to get him out of her soul.
He rips away from her, barely glances at her kiss swollen lips, but she sees the immense hurt in his eyes, feels the waves of desolation rolling off his body and knows she's destroyed him unlike any woman before.
It very nearly breaks her.
He opens the front door of the limo forcefully, tells Brandon to take her where ever she wants to go and then strolls away, heading inside the hangar.
He doesn't look back, not even a quick peek to see if she gets in the vehicle, just strolls away from her with a ram-rod straight back, head held high and as she watches his fine ass walk away from her for the last time, the tears begin to flow.
Fast and furious.
And she can't stop them.
...
She knew it was going to hurt; she just didn't expect how much.
It's been three days since their altercation. Three long days of dreaming about sorrow-filled eyes, - an unselfish heart which is amazingly larger than his size, and lips that know how to make a woman dream of endless pleasure, filled with the promise of forever.
Three days of second guessing herself and wishing she was more courageous, had more to offer him than a 20 foot wall surrounded by mounds of baggage.
She imagines how much it must have cost him to put his heart on the line, being completely open, utterly vulnerable, begging her to give them a chance, and how did she repay him? . . . By crushing his feelings, tossing them in the mud and jumping up and down on them for good measure, - telling him it's over before it's even begun, that he's better off without her in the long run.
Which she wholeheartedly believes. . . So why then does it hurt so God-damn much?
Her burner phone rings, interrupting her thoughts. When she notices it's Ryan, she prays he's calling to say her date tonight has been canceled as she just doesn't feel up to entertaining Eric Vaughn tonight.
It takes her a moment to process what he's saying because it's the last thing she expects to hear.
"You really did a number on Richard Castle, Diamond. The man's fallen hook, line and sinker. Will you be home for the next hour?"
"Yes, I should be. . . What did he do?" she asks breathily.
Ryan chuckles, "You may want to give this guy a second chance. Prepare to be surprised."
Within twenty minutes, the flowers begin arriving. She can't believe her eyes as the delivery crew brings in bouquet after bouquet, - three dozen flowers sent to seven of the classiest, most expensive hotels in New York, all addressed to Diamond, in care of Kevin Ryan.
Now, she's sitting in her apartment, circled by calla lilies, orchids, pink roses and purple hyacinths, the smell surrounding her, engulfing her in their sweetness, and she knows every single flower signifies something meaningful.
She begins opening up card after card, each with a different, special message.
God, the man sure is talented in bringing out her sappy-romantic-cry-at-the-drop-of-a-hat side. She fights off moisture clinging to her eyelashes as she reads each card.
'Thank you for sharing a small part of yourself with me, for being my inspiration to write once more. RC'
'If you ever need someone, I'm here for you, anytime, anyplace.'
'I'm sorry for how things ended between us. If I could turn back time, I'd prevent you from leaving the helicopter until the storm subsided, proving to you with every minute we shared just how incredible we'd be together.'
"May you find the one man who truly deserves you.'
There's even a famous quote from Shakespeare: 'Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service.'
Could the man be any more romantic?
Tears come dangerously close to spilling over her lashes as she reads his last card, 'You've got your wish, I won't pursue you any longer. May you find the happiness you so richly deserve. RC'
She traipses into her bedroom, heads to her bookcase and pulls off the shelf her mother's hard-back, ragged copy of, 'A Calm Before The Storm'. She opens the book to the title page and holds up one of his cards. Sure enough, the handwriting matches the dedication in Johanna's book.
Her fingers reverently slide across the words, 'Johanna, may Derek Storm help to calm the storms in your own life. Richard Castle.'
She smiles to herself because of the irony. . . Knows how much her mother would instantly like the charismatic author, encourage him to create a turbulent storm in her daughter's life, - one filled with perseverance and passion where each partner is viewed as an equal, making one another whole.
She contemplates the preparation it must have taken on his behalf, senses his underlying hope that at least one bouquet reached her.
She wonders how many more bouquets are still out there, left undelivered. She wouldn't be surprised to learn that he had flowers delivered to every five star rated hotel in the city.
She gazes at the single crystal inset in the glass vase, a sparkling white jewel meant to resemble a Diamond.
Sweet, thoughtful man.
She pulls out a small pink bud from a bouquet, breaks off the stem, and presses it into her Mother's book.
She hears again in her mind, "What we have is extremely rare, possibly happens only once in a lifetime and I can't let you go without exploring this, - exploring how extraordinary we could be together.
It's just another thing the famous, egotistical Richard Castle is right about because 'extraordinary' was the understatement of the year for that explosive kiss.
Just thinking about the kiss fuckin' does it for her, - his brutal mouth ravaging hers, tongue staking his claim, stubble rasping against her cheek, hand behind her head yanking on the wet strands of her hair, struggling for air as if she's drowning, and then finally, as she surrenders to him, breathing through him refreshing air mixed with pent-up desire.
Her nipples are tingling, her panties are soaked and fuck, it makes her seriously think about calling him and apologizing, demanding he get his sexy ass over to her place and take care of her raging need.
But she won't do it.
Castle hit the nail on the head when he talked about her fears. She's too afraid to give up that type of control to a man, afraid once he realizes just how messed up her life is, understands her shattered pieces can never be put back together again, he won't be able to get away from her fast enough.
And he'll run, just like Will Sorenson did.
The angel on her shoulder says she doesn't have the right to compare the two men. Castle has never given her a reason to doubt him, but she doesn't dare take the chance, won't expose herself to the possibility of heartbreak which she'll never recover from.
She sighs and decides to no longer dwell on the writer, placing her mother's book face down on the shelf.
He's a brief moment in her past, someone who will fade with time, hopefully soon to be forgotten. . .
Her heart rebels at the thought, fills her with an undeniable yearning for the gentle man whose warm blue eyes could melt an iceberg and whose voice alone could make any woman swoon.
She grudgingly admits to herself there's no forgetting Richard Edgar Castle because he's already tattooed on her heart.
She stops dead in her tracks when she sees him.
It's intermission of the Phantom of the Opera, and as she walks into the lobby of the Majestic theater, her gaze is pulled to the bar area.
His back is to her but she instantly recognizes his brash stance, the sandy-beach-colored hair, the broad shoulders, the perfect cut of his Dolce and Gabbana suit, displaying his muscled ass to perfection.
God, she wants to mold her hands over his magnificent butt like it's artist's clay and . . .
He turns in that exact moment and even though they're surrounded by a throng of people his eyes zero in on her.
They reflect surprise, possibly wondering if she's a mirage, and she can tell the moment it dawns on him she's actually there in the flesh, only a few feet away from him.
His eyebrow quirks and he flashes her a suave, I-can't-believe-my-luck-right-now smile, before mouthing the words, "You look stunning."
She's drawn to him like a moth to a flame and begins walking towards him, all swaying hips and glorious smile.
His orbs darken to deep pools of lust as he admires her form, eyes hovering on the soft swell of breasts hidden beneath the eggplant colored fabric.
"Why Mister Castle," she purrs, suddenly in a flirty mood, hoping she can rankle the, he's-just-too-handsome-for-the-female-population-to-handle, author. "Are you stalking me?"
She has to give kudos to the man. He responds naturally, without giving anything away, in a voice that's as smooth as melted milk chocolate.
"I wouldn't dare stalk you," and his answering smirk brings up an overwhelming desire to remove that smugness with her own lips. "I'd be too afraid you'd sic your thug of a bodyguard on me, and he'd," his fingers glide over his jaw line, "disfigure this ruggedly-handsome mug."
"Hmm, it would certainly be a shame to mar that pretty face."
"I thought we already discussed this," and his lower lip juts out adorably, trying to portray he's offended. "Pretty's not an adjective to describe me."
"You have a pretty endearing way about you that's hard for a woman to resist."
"Yet somehow, you were able to say 'no' to all this," and his hand swoops down over himself in a Vanna White impersonation, "temptation."
"I hate to admit it," and her eyes drift down his body slowly, "but you certainly wear 'temptation' well."
"Why Diamond, are you hinting your resolve to stay away from me is wavering?"
"No," she laughs and her eyes light up teasingly. "I'm hinting I can understand why women find you attractive."
"You can't take that back now, you know," he teases, winking in an, It's-only-a-matter-of-time-before-I-destroy-your-defenses-and-make-you-surrender-to-me, vibe.
"Wouldn't dream of it." Her hand rises to the wedding ring around her neck, rubbing it unconsciously. "Thank you for the flowers. They were such a nice surprise, extremely beautiful."
He chuckles, and it's deep and sexy and Oh Gawd, he looks so freaking edible right now in a black-as-a-starless-night suit with crisp white shirt that makes him look hotter than Jason Statham walking down the red carpet.
"I'm happy to hear at least I did something right."
"It was more than right, Rick, it was exactly what I needed to remember you by."
"There are so many other incredible, INAPPROPRIATE things I could give you to remember me by."
His unnerving, I-could-push-you-up-against-the-nearest-wall-and-eagerly-fuck-you-in-front-of-all-these-people stare, has her flushed and feeling lightheaded and needing a drink immediately.
"Would you mind ordering me some water?"
"Not at all. . . Max," he calls out to the bartender, "a water bottle for the lady please."
"Coming right up, Mister Castle."
Once she has the bottle in hand, taking delicate sips, he pulls his eyes away from the mesmerizing glide of her throat to say, "I meant every single word on those cards."
"I know," she sighs softly. "I wish you didn't because it makes our situation that much harder. . . You're too eloquent for your own good."
His lips widen into a dashing, I'm-taking-that-as-a-compliment-and-running-with-it, grin. "Being eloquent goes hand-in-hand with the writer territory and if you like, there's certainly more where that came from."
Yeah, more where that came from, she thinks salaciously, in a locked bedroom with 1000 count thread sheets, whipped topping, caramel sauce and silk ties.
He takes a gulp of his drink, eyes never leaving her face as they peek above the rim.
The air crackles between them, sparks of attraction she feels with every fiber of her being, from her finger tips to her tippy toes, making her overtly aware of his masculinity; - his strong shoulders, wide chest, massive guns that would have no problem lifting her up and holding her in place against any hard surface while he had his dirty way with her, those masculine thighs barely straining from the effort.
How the hell does this man make me feel like I've never truly experienced sex before?
She senses he's trying to gather up the nerve to say something straight from his heart, - something sensual and poetic which might make her finally succumb to him, so she quickly asks, "How many bouquets did you send?"
"Ten. How many did you receive?"
"Seven."
"Seven just happens to be my lucky number."
"You planning on getting lucky tonight, Cas - sle?"
"Who me?" and his eyes mold to hers. "No, I happen to be stupidly waiting for the unattainable woman."
Her smile slowly fades at his words while her eyes glint a hazy shade of emerald.
"She needs you to stop waiting, Writer Boy," and she looks away from him, unable to hold his electric gaze any longer. "She's a lost cause."
Her creamy skin has been calling to him ever since she walked towards him like a Grecian Goddess in an elegant, flowing, dark purple gown, and he can't resist the temptation any longer.
The backs of his fingers trickle over her angular jaw and down the feminine slope of her neck, sliding along the chain.
He husks out, "The last thing you are is a 'lost cause'. You're a beautiful, desirable woman,- inside and out. You're someone who deserves true happiness in your life, and I happen to believe I'm the one man who can give it to you."
There he goes again, the irresistible Don Juan.Making love to me with just his words.
"It's nice to see my tirade the other night didn't bruise your ego."
"I certainly didn't walk away unscathed," he purrs, looking at her as if she's comparable to Venus or Aphrodite, "but it made me realize something vital about you." His index finger lands on her wrist, swirling erotically. "Even though you're an expert at controlling men, relishing in the power you have over them, it's all a ruse to protect your heart."
His eyes fall daringly to her heart, where her chest rises and falls rapidly.
"Don't assume you know me," she says gently, eyes tinted with fear.
"I've only barely begun scratching the surface, and hope one day you'll trust me enough to let me see the real you."
His sexy smirk turns outright devilish as he continues, "Besides, my manhood demands I get the chance to prove I deserve the title of Writer Man."
She smiles in response, - light and carefree. "Not gonna happen," she teases, "as I'm kind of partial to the cute, little boy in you."
"Well, this little boy is dying to play with you. If you get the courage to let the woman behind Diamond come out and play, give me a call."
"Rick," and she hates how she's going to be the one to dim the hope and excitement in his eyes, her sorrowful voice only adding to the complexity of the situation. "I haven't changed my mind. There are too many reasons why we won't work."
"And I can give you twice as many more as to why we would."
Her mouth parts as she assesses him and she's just so damn lovely with her hair pulled back from her face, enlarging those colorful, expressive eyes and highlighting those model cheekbones, that he has to consciously stop himself from leaning forward an inch to skim those luscious lips.
Those kissable lips covered in dangerously sinful cherry-red lipstick.
He wishes she would let her guard drop, if only for a second, and pry open the door to her cement cage and allow him in.
"Diamond, there you are," Vaughn approaches her with a, 'You're-with-me-tonight-and-don't-you-dare-forget-it,' attitude. His hands brush down familiarly over her slender shoulders. "Are you ready to head back into the theater?"
Rick's eyes reveal shock and just a little bit of awe as he takes in the billionaire inventor.
"In a moment, Eric. I'd like you to meet, Richard Castle, the mystery novelist."
Rick's first to respond, holding out his hand in greeting. Eric grabs his, squeezing unnaturally hard, and he gets the impression the billionaire's trying to mark his territory, put him in his rightful place.
"Rick, this is Eric Vaughn."
"Hello. It's nice to meet you. I have to say how impressed I am with your newest charitable foundation. Your plan to add more recreational parks for inner city youth is just what this city needs."
"Yes, I agree. There aren't enough basketball courts or skating parks in the Bronx. Good to know you've heard about the project."
"Yes I have. It would be hard to miss on the front page of The Times."
"So you're the author of the Storm series? My mother happens to be a fan."
"Yes, one and the same," Rick chuckles. "If you'd like, I'm happy to send your Mom an autographed copy of my latest book."
"How gen-er-ous of you," but his condescending tone relays he feels the author's beneath him. "I may take you up on that offer for her next birthday."
Rick scoffs to himself as it's easy to tell Vaughn is only humoring him.
Well, at least now I can scratch him off my bucket list, the high and mighty prick.
"Diamond, the second act is about to start," Eric expresses, but it's obvious he's more anxious to pull Diamond away from him, than concerned about missing part of the play.
"It was lovely seeing you again," Rick says sincerely, his eyes reflecting hope that this isn't the end.
"Ditto, Castle. Have a nice night."
Something dark and sinister rises within him as he watches her pert ass walk away from him, arm linked through the billionaire's.
Panic swirls through his bloodstream as this could very well be the last time he sees her. He has to do something drastic to make an indelible impression on her, something she'll remember for the rest of her life.
Before he can think it through, he's reached her and grasped her slim waist, yanking her back towards him, her to-die-for ass pressed intimately against his member.
He breathes into the shell of her ear, "When Vaughn touches you tonight, the only face you'll see is MINE."