The rain had woken her from the blissful dozing she had fallen into, pitter-pattering against the apartment window and gently drawing her into consciousness. She had fallen in love with Paris, with the way the city looked at night and the beautiful view they had from their bedroom window, and she had been unable to resist catching a glimpse of the rain kissed sidewalks and elegant buildings through the mist.

Italy had been beautiful, Milan stealing most of their time and her breath, and she looked forward to Germany, to London and their final stop in Dublin, but Paris had proven her favorite so far.

"Come back to bed."

Kate glances over her shoulder with a smile playing at the edges of her lips. He's watching her, the comforter bunched at his waist and exposing his broad chest that she had momentarily abandoned, his eyes a cloudy blue like the sky outside, hazy with afterglow.

"Beckett," he hums, his voice a raspy, enticing husk that had filled her ear an hour ago, woken her along with the brush of his lips along her neck "I'm lonely. And cold."

She rolls her eyes when the sated quality of his tone gives way to whining, toying thoughtlessly with the top button of his shirt and inadvertently redirecting his attention.

"I like you in my clothes," he sighs out, resting his head against her pillow and raking wistful eyes down her body, lingering where his shirt ends just above her outer thigh, grazing slowly down the length of her legs. "I like you without my clothes too."

"The post coital rambling always suits you well, babe," she chuckles, resting the rounded edge of her shoulder against the glass pane, sparing one more glimpse out into the city that glimmers in light and the aftermath of another shower.

It's been raining since they had arrived a few days ago, one of the many cities on Castle's European book tour that she had been unable to resist joining him on when the opportunity had presented itself. They had only been scheduled to spend 48 hours in Paris, but she had failed at hiding her awe for the city, how reluctant she was to leave, and her husband had pulled some strings, endured a lecture from Paula to push the signing in Berlin back a week.

And she was grateful, so grateful to experience one of the most romantic places on earth with him at her side, but she doesn't think it's the city that has captured her heart, that has made this trip so special. It's still him, just him, making everywhere they go more magical than it could ever be otherwise.

The familiar snap of his camera app startles her, has her shooting him a glare over her shoulder. "Castle."

"I was capturing art," he muses, grinning at his phone like a mischievous little boy successful in his scheming. "At this rate, I'm going to be able to start a 'candid Kate in Europe' photo album."

"Stop taking pictures of me," she grumbles, but her cheeks are warm with the effort it takes to restrain her smile. Sweet man, so good to her.

"Then come back to bed," he coaxes, wriggling his brow at her, dropping his palm to the empty stretch of sheets beside him and fanning out his fingers.

She wonders how much that happened while she was gone, in their bed at home, how often he glanced to the empty space beside him that she was supposed to fill. Unthinkingly, she clutches at the fabric draped loose over her chest, swallows back the bile the memory of the pain she had caused often elicits.

They were better now, so much better, and this trip through the European continent had been convenient, allowing them to spend time together while successfully promoting his latest bestseller. It had also been therapeutic, a thorough way to heal the last of the wounds she had single-handedly inflicted upon them both a near year ago. Soothing the scars.

"Kate." His voice is soft, knowing as it floats through the air, and the sadness drains from around her heart, melted by the warmth of his presence, and Beckett drifts away from the window.

"I never thought I'd like Paris again," Castle murmurs, extending his fingers to dust along the knee she plants to the edge of the mattress.

"Kinda impossible to hate a place that allows me to wake up, spend a lazy Tuesday morning in bed with you," she hums, quirking her brow and crawling towards him. It's a little sappy for her, but Castle loves words, powerful lines and lasting declarations.

And just as she had hoped, his entire face lights up, beams for her, and that's all that matters, that she can make him happy.

"And spend the rest of the morning in bed with me," he adds pointedly, fingering the collar of his dress shirt, and Kate rolls her shoulder, allows the material to slip down.

Only one button is holding his shirt together and he slides the disc through its slot, allows the fabric to fall apart.

Kate descends back into the welcoming cove of his body, smiling against his mouth as he pushes the covers out of the way and slides his hands beneath the flowing back of his shirt, caressing the length of her spine, the sharp wings of her shoulder blades.

The shirt he had worn to dinner last night flutters to the hardwood floor beside the bed, where it had landed last night too, while her hair tumbles free of the messy bun she had scraped it into, falling around their faces like a curtain and tickling Rick's cheeks.

"So glad you're here, that you came with me," he mumbles, purring like the kitten that he is when she combs tender fingers through his hair, tracing the curve of his brow and outlining the shape of his lips with her thumb. He has happily adopted the habit of professing how grateful he is that she's with him every day since they boarded the first plane in New York, staring at her with sparkling eyes while they buckled in, preparing for takeoff.

And just like she had then in that moment, like she does every time he whispers the words to her, she pours her own gratitude into a kiss, hoping he can taste it on her tongue and hear it in the 'I love you' she manages to smear against his lips.

The rain is starting up again, a pleasant soundtrack to accompany the wonderful sensation of Castle's gentle hands mapping out every inch of her skin, and part of her wishes they never had to leave.