She can't help scanning the patrons for him before the lights dim and the second half of, 'Phantom of the Opera' begins.
She finds him within seconds, some innate sixth sense which binds them drawing her to him. Castle's sitting six rows in front of her, off to her left side.
She takes a deep cleansing breath because she fully expected him to be with a voluptuous blond, a talkative, flirtatious woman who was more cleavage than brain, who would delightfully drape herself over him and enjoy raunchy displays of public affection.
But instead, she finds his arm's slung over the back of a petite red-head's shoulder and he's laughing at something she just said, - his eyes warm, filled with love. She assumes correctly she must be his daughter Alexis, and a desire sparks to life to meet the teenage girl who is obviously the center of his world.
Gawd, how sweet is it that he brings his daughter to the opera?
"I wish you would have let me have security intervene when Mister Castle grabbed you earlier. What did he say to you?" Vaughn asks, an unfamiliar darkness residing in his eyes.
"I told you, Eric, it was nothing. I consider the man to be an, - umm - "
How do you feel about him, Kate? . . . A man who makes you yearn to believe in destiny? A man who makes you feel like you've never before experienced true intimacy? A man who has the power to make you feel like you're the only woman in the world for him?
"friend. He's a dear friend who only has my best interests at heart."
"That's not the impression I got from him. Is he a client of yours?"
She smiles tentatively, unsure of where the conversation is headed. "You know I'm not allowed to speak about my clients, but no, he's not a john."
She's not happy with the way he treated Rick, the condescending tone he took with the author, or the air of, I-happen-to-be-the-better-man-because-she's-with-me-tonight-instead-of-you.
Eric's mouth curves into a self-satisfied smirk. "Good, because you're mine tonight."
He's never before shown such a possessive attitude towards her and it's unnerving. She settles back in her seat, a feeling of uneasiness swirling around her, putting her on-edge.
She doesn't belong to any man.
He starts touching her in the back of the town car, his hand sliding beneath the plum gown, fondling her crossed shin.
"How did you like the opera?" Vaughn asks, all silken voice.
"I enjoyed it immensely. Phantom happens to be one of my favorites."
"The story is a bit too cliche for my tastes, - disfigured man falls in love with the pretty, way-out-of-his-league-young-woman and in the end, tragedy strikes, allowing the hero and heroine to live happily ever after."
"And here I thought the hero of the story is the Ghost," she teases, "and it plays out as a terrible Greek tragedy." As she gazes into eyes that are muddy brown, a fierce desire to have sky-blue eyes looking back at her engulfs her. "The best part about the play though is the music; it speaks to me."
Eric sidles next to her, smelling like a rare bottle of wine and crisp dollar bills.
"The music is certainly beautiful," and his lips land on her neck softly, "But not anywhere near as beautiful as you."
"Thank you," she sighs as his lips continue a path up the side of her throat.
Her heart flinches at his ministrations, wishing it was another pair of full, masculine lips sliding up her neck.
I'm in serious trouble, she thinks, trouble of the six-foot-two, voice-as-delicious-as- his-vocabulary, eyes-that-can-see-into-my-soul, variety.
"I've never asked you before, but a man of your caliber and wealth could have any woman you wanted. . . Why turn to an escort?"
"It's every wealthy man's dilemma. It's very difficult to tell whether or not a woman is interested in who I am, or my money. I've found that an Escort makes my life less complicated. I know exactly what I'm getting so it's a win-win situation."
"You do enjoy winning, don't you?"
"There's nothing better in life. . . Come here, Diamond," he demands and his hand curls behind her right hip, hauling her towards him.
She briefly hesitates, but then lets the force of his action pull her towards him and ends up straddling his lap.
"The actress who played Christine tonight can't hold a candle to you," and then his lips are on hers, relentless and controlling.
His mouth is thin, smooth and he tastes like stale coffee and spearmint tic-tacs; the unusual combination making her stomach turn, making her feel queasy.
As his tongue delves for hers, a shiver of repulsion runs through her and she hears Castle's voice in her mind, "You are someone who deserves true happiness in your life and I happen to believe I'm the one man who can give it to you."
Jesus Christ,what has that author done to me?
Vaughn's left hand snakes up her thigh and it feels wrong on so many levels, - small, narrow digits that are cool and clammy on her flesh, while his other hand tenses around her neck, drawing her closer to him.
His fingers get bolder and as they dig into her skin, searching for her panty line, something snaps inside her and she recoils from his touch, yanking her lips from his.
"God Eric, I'm sorry," and she can't look him in the eyes. "I've got some personal things I'm dealing with right now and have so much on my mind that I can't think straight. Do you mind if we end the night early?"
"Yes, I do mind. Just don't think, Diamond." She hears a tear in the fabric as he aggressively jerks down the zipper on her dress causing a shoulder strap to fall, exposing creamy, unblemished skin. "Only feel."
Her hands plant firmly on his chest, keeping him at a safe distance, while her emerald eyes turn cold as ice. "Please listen to what I'm saying. Tonight is over. I'm happy to give you a rain check, but I need you to have your driver take me home. . . Now."
Something sinister flashes in his eyes and fear, swift and deep, pummels through her system as she fully believes he's going to refuse and take her by force.
Her heart practically thumps out of her chest as he looks at her leeringly, like no woman has ever dared refuse him before. A chill settles over her as he says darkly, "It's him isn't it?"
She plays coy, hoping her acting skills are up to par. "Who are you talking about?"
"You know exactly who I'm talking about, Dia - mond," and her name flows disdainfully from his lips. "The writer, Richard Castle."
She doesn't answer him, refuses to hint she might have feelings for Rick when she hasn't even had the nerve to express them to the man in question. She gingerly backs off Vaughn's thighs, expecting at any moment for him to grab her and demand she fulfill her contract.
"Why do you think that?" she questions softly.
"Because," and his eyes fill with pain as he practically shoves her off his lap, "For the last two months we've been seeing each other, I've wished you would look at me just once, . . . the way you looked at him tonight."
God dammit, maybe he's not as secure in his manhood as he originally thought.
He's pacing again, has been for over an hour, thoughts racing, pent-up emotion roiling through his veins.
When he started researching New York's finest Escorts, Diamond's name kept popping up in elite circles, so he shouldn't be surprised thee Eric Vaughn hired only the best.
Vaughn, the man he looks up to, aspires to be, dare he say it? . . . His hero?
Well, all that changed after tonight.
And he never would've believed it if he hadn't of witnessed it firsthand. The man for all his brilliance and all the good he's done in the world, beneath it all is just an arrogant prick. A grade 'A', Class 1 jackass.
And that jackass just happens to be with the woman of his dreams.
His sardonic side mocks him, shouting, You obviously both prefer the same type of woman, something else to admire in the man.
Jealousy, righteous and fierce, eats away at him with every step he takes. He scoffs outright at the notion because she was never his in the first place.
He contemplates her job, is actually fine with it as long as she's sleeping with unknown, faceless men. He doesn't need to know anything about her clients, would prefer it that way, but for all his talk of bravado, telling her that her job wouldn't make or break them, he's now pacing the floor questioning himself, torturing himself with the idea of Vaughn's hands all over her, the man's smell seeping into her skin.
He's determined to get the alluring temptress out of his head and so he does the only thing that brings him some semblance of normalcy. . . He walks into his office, sits down at the computer and starts pounding away at the keyboard.
He begins pouring out his anguished soul into Nikki Heat, the one woman with the capability to destroy Jameson Rook.
Rick's not sure how long he's been furiously typing away when he hears a soft sound.
It's most likely his Iphone signaling an incoming text, but he left it out on the couch in the living room.
It's commonplace for Gina to contact him at all hours of the night to hound him for updates concerning this new series, so he ignores it, and goes back to writing a particularly difficult scene where Rook is trying to get Nikki to open up about her past.
Sometimes, he thinks bitterly, real life inspiration is just a big bite in the ass.
Thirty seconds later, a quiet tapping on his front door startles him. . . Who would be on his doorstep at 1:15 am? . . . It had better NOT be Meredith showing up as a surprise for Alexis. He can't handle his ex-wife's drama on top of his own right now.
He's only in his SuperHero boxers and thinks about going into the bedroom and pulling on a T-shirt but he's concerned the continual knocking might disturb the neighbors, so he hurries to the door.
Another round of knocking, louder this time, has him flying to open the door, ready to reprimand the impatient visitor.
As he stares into hazel eyes he'd like to look at for the rest of his life, he couldn't be more surprised if William Shatner or Jonathon Frakes had been standing on his doorstep.
"What the hell did you do to me Richard Edgar Castle?"
There's the woman of his dreams, like a bolt of lightning, - striking, effervescent, electrifying with feverish cheeks, spewing indignation.
Her hands shove roughly on his bare chest, forcing him back into the loft.
"It's - all - your - fault!"
Ohh damn, she's fiery mad and about to make him utterly insane as every nerve ending in his body is electrifyingly aware of her: long curls falling in disarray, elegant cheekbones prominently displayed, bright red gloss staining her lips, the royal purple hue of her dress making her skin appear as delicate as porcelain, one strap slipping and falling off her shoulder exposing tempting flesh, the length of the gown covering every inch of those tall as an Aspen legs, making a man die of curiosity to see what lies beneath.
"Because of YOU, I couldn't bed him."
His eyes are wide as saucers as she pushes him again, the bold siren; he stumbles backwards, trying to reassure himself this is actually happening and isn't some sick, sordid wet dream.
"Kept seeing your damn gorgeous eyes and hearing your, 'I-happen-to-be-the-most-gifted-lover-on-this-planet,' voice."
She stops and admires his bare chest, eyes roving sensuously across his pecs before swiping her tongue over her bottom lip and glaring at him. "Don't give me that little boy, I-honestly-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about', look because you, Mister Castle, are talented in getting under a woman's skin with that mouth of yours and burrowing so deep, she has no clue how to get you out."
As her words sink in, he smiles then, gloriously smug, all brash, straight white teeth, and she gets the impression she'll never live it down now because he won't allow her to forget she's admitted to having feelings for him, the haughty bastard.
Her eyes shine delightfully devilish as she purrs, "I've come to the conclusion the only way to solve my dilemma is to FUCK you out of my system, - so get ready, Writer-boy, to graduate to Writer-man."
She's on him like a bumblebee on a blooming flower, all devastating lips and tongue, invading his mouth with sweet, addicting nirvana.