JUST ON THE SURFACE
CHAPTER TWO
There is no reason for her to be nervous.
She tells herself that, but even so, she finds herself pacing her apartment before Castle arrives.
Her hair and makeup are perfect - as they should be, considering how much damn time she'd spent on them - and she looks damn good in her little black dress and high heels. And it's not like they're going on a real date; no, the fancy hair and sexy dress are entirely for the cameras.
The knock on her door is right on time, and she grabs her jacket on the way out of her bedroom. She hesitates for a moment, noting the clothes strewn across her bed, and shuts the door to hide it.
Not that he'll actually see her bedroom, of course.
They both freeze when she opens the door, their eyes locking for the briefest moment before traveling down each other's bodies in unison.
Damn.
"You look very nice, Beckett."
Her cheeks burn at his compliment, and she clears her throat. "Thanks. So do you."
And, dear God, he does. He'd worn a similar outfit the previous day, but this time his hair is just a little more polished, his coat tailored just a bit. He's an attractive man - she's harbored a crush on him for years, a crush she won't admit still exists even after learning how much of an ass he can be. And as much as she wants to be annoyed at this dating thing, she suddenly doesn't mind that she'll spend her evening staring at him.
Castle glances over her shoulder inside her apartment, but to his credit, he doesn't push his way in or ask to see her place.
And she doesn't volunteer it.
Instead, she grabs her clutch from the entry table, and checks that her phone and keys are inside. She has her badge, too, just in case, a fact that would probably make Castle salivate if she were to tell him.
"Ready to go?" he asks.
She nods and follows him to the elevator.
"When we get to the restaurant," Castle explains in the car, "ignore anyone who's there. We'll go straight inside, but no matter if it's one photographer or ten, they'll just keep asking questions, trying to get a reaction."
"Okay." Kate plays with the hem of her dress, a question she isn't sure she wants the answer to on the tip of her tongue. After a few moments she takes a deep breath and finally just asks it.
"What about kissing?"
Castle turns his head to her so fast that she's surprised he doesn't give himself whiplash. "Wh-uh-you-what?" he sputters, his eyes wide with panic.
Kate manages to stop herself from grinning at his discomfort. "There's usually a physical aspect to relationships," she explains, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. It isn't funny, the idea that she may have to reluctantly be physical with him, but for the first time in their very short partnership, he's speechless. And that's hilarious to her.
Castle's gaze turns serious, and although his eyes flick briefly to her mouth, he shakes his head. "I won't force you to do anything you don't want to," he insists. "I think if there's zero physical contact, people might get suspicious, especially considering my reputation."
His cheeks flush a deep red.
"But," he continues, "I will defer to you. If you want to limit it to holding hands, maybe the occasional kiss on your cheek, I am okay with that."
Her cheeks burn with the memory of his lips against her cheek, the light scratch of his stubble a stark contrast to his warm, soft lips. She doesn't care anymore that he'd used the kiss as a distraction so he could steal the Tisdale file.
No, it was the ghost of his touch that kept her up that night.
"Holding hands is fine," she agrees. "Maybe kisses on the cheek, if it's appropriate."
Castle gives her a crooked grin. "Okay. You're in charge."
Their conversation comes to an end when the car pulls up to a quaint Chinese restaurant. When he'd informed her where they were going, he'd explained that he knows the owners, and he wanted to give them free publicity.
"Everyone knows the splashy places," he'd explained. "I want to be able to show off lesser-known restaurants."
It would have been easy to just go to the fancy celebrity favorites, so his intention had given her pause. Maybe he isn't just a cocky smartass. Maybe, deep down, he's actually okay.
Much to her relief, only a couple of photographers show up, so the yelling of questions is minimal, and the dinner itself is amazing.
If this is a preview of dates to come, she's glad she agreed.
The paparazzi disappears at some point during dinner, so by the time Castle pays and helps her into her coat, she's completely relaxed from not needing to put on a show anymore.
Even though there's no audience, that she can see, anyway, she hooks her arm through his as they exit the restaurant. Castle's steps falter for a brief moment, but he recovers quickly, holds her tight against his side.
She slides into the back of the car first, and she isn't sure whether it's the wine or the fact that Castle was actually polite during dinner, but she stops in the middle seat so her thigh presses against his when he joins her.
Castle drops his hand to her thigh, but immediately lifts it, and he clenches and unclenches his fist several times before putting his hand on his own leg.
"Beckett?"
Kate swallows, and she looks down at his hand, at his thick fingers, his knuckles white from gripping his knee. She takes a deep breath, and she covers his hand with hers, shifts her gaze to his when she hears his breath catch.
"I had a nice time," she husks, her gaze dropping to his mouth. To his full, soft lips, lips that she's dying to taste, to feel on her-
The car jerks to a stop and the trance is broken, a loud honk and yelled curse interrupting her haze of desire. She clears her throat and moves to the far seat, leans against the door. She thinks she hears Castle utter her name, but she ignores him, spends the short ride to her building staring out the window, watching the streets pass by.
She barely sleeps.
Her mind races the entire night, confusion about why she almost made a move when she barely even tolerates him. And every time she closes her eyes, he invades her thoughts, leaves her almost shaking with desire at what could have been.
"Good morning, Detective."
Kate groans at the entirely too cheerful greeting from her shadow-slash-fake boyfriend, and before she can admonish him for his mere presence, a takeout coffee cup and pastry bag appear in front of her. She manages to stop herself from smiling when she sees the bear claw inside the bag, instead reaches for the coffee, turns to face him as she takes a long sip.
He has the most smug, self-satisfied look on his face, and she wants to smack him. Or kiss it right off.
Aware of their very public setting at the precinct, though, she does neither, instead allows herself to wonder why he looks so damn happy.
Did he call one of his sure-to-be-many lady friends after their date for some physical release, and she's observing his "I just got laid" face? Or, perhaps he did as she had, let his own hand wander during the night, when the desperate need became too much to bear.
Wanting, but not having, the real thing just made her cranky.
"What's that look for?" she asks after staring at him long enough for him to visibly squirm.
He tries to look innocent. "What look?"
Kate raises a sharp eyebrow, one of her most successful interrogation tools. It's broken some of the most hardened criminals. Rick Castle doesn't stand a chance.
"A guy can't be happy?" he continues. "I had a good day yesterday. And today's already showing promise."
Kate snorts. Sure it is. Whoever he called after their date probably stayed overnight, so he probably had a morning quickie to start his day off right.
"It's seven in the morning, Castle," she points out, removing the bear claw from its bag and tearing off a piece. "Isn't it too early to know how the day will go?"
Castle levels his gaze at her, a tender smile tugging at his lips. "It started with a call from you, Beckett," he points out. "There's no way it can be bad after that."
"Oh," she manages after a long moment, her cheeks warming at his words.
"Speaking of conversations, I enjoyed ours last night," he adds. "And, according to Paula, so did Page Six."
Any warmth Kate has at his kind words disappears when he mentions the tabloid. Of course he'd worry about the press; that's the whole reason for their fake relationship, after all.
She turns back to her computer and pulls up her email, skimming the subject lines for anything to give her an excuse to ignore him.
"I'm glad the press liked watching us walk into a restaurant," she says in a low voice, trying to hide the bitterness that burns through her chest. She reminds herself that she'd agreed to this charade, and he's assured her that she can end it at any time. But she'd been so sure of the spark between them, and it stings that he doesn't seem to share her opinion.
It's disappointing, to say the least.
Castle falls silent, and when Kate glances at him from the corner of her eye, his gaze is on her, intense, studying her. After the longest minute of her life, she turns to him and crosses her arms.
"What?" she snaps.
"What's wrong?"
Kate rolls her eyes. "Nothing," she lies. "I'm just trying to get some work done before I get called to a scene." That part is true, at least.
Castle opens his mouth to say something, but she's saved by her phone ringing.
Thank God.
"Beckett," she answers, picking it up before the second ring. She jots down the address, then stands and grabs her coffee and bear claw. "Dead body," she announces. When Castle doesn't react right away, just stares at her like she's a puzzle he's trying to put together, she jerks her head towards the elevator. "You coming, or what?"
He jumps out of his chair and follows.
Their second fake date goes similar to the first. Castle is a complete gentleman, picking her up at her building, complimenting her dress, giving her his undivided attention during dinner.
This time the paparazzi arrives while they're eating, and like before, they ignore the flashbulbs and questions shouted at them as they leave. Kate hooks her arm through his once again, tries to ignore the way his solid body warms her from the inside out, and at the same time, shields and protects her.
It's fake, she reminds herself. He's only interested in the publicity.
When they get in the car, Castle instructs the driver to zigzag through the city to make sure nobody follows them and finds out where Kate lives. He'd done the same thing after the previous date, and she finds it endearing that he apparently wants to protect her privacy as much as possible, even though they're in a public "relationship."
They're silent during the drive until the car pulls up to her building. She grabs her clutch from the seat between them, and she reaches for her door, turns to look out the window to make sure no cars are approaching.
"Here," Castle says from beside her. He opens his door and gets out of the car, steps onto the sidewalk. He holds out his hand, and she hesitates, then sighs and slides across the seat towards him.
Remembering the stark disappointment from the previous day, when he'd only cared about how they'd been received by the press, she ignores his outstretched hand. She's fully capable of getting out of a car. But her heel catches on the lip of the door, and she pitches forward, her clutch flying from her hand as she flails for something to grab onto.
Strong fingers curl around her biceps and stop her from hitting the ground, and she gasps as her body presses against Castle's solid frame. Her hands come up to brace herself against his chest, and she takes a deep breath before lifting her eyes to his.
His eyes are black as night. And she is very aware of his desire pressing against her belly as she straightens.
"I got you," he husks, his voice almost a growl.
Her breath catches in her throat and she grips the lapel of his coat, her cheeks burning, her nose filling with the intoxicating scent of his cologne and something else, something that's uniquely him.
"Castle," she breathes, her gaze dropping to his slightly parted lips.
His tongue darts out to wet those lips, and her mouth goes dry, all of her blood racing to the juncture between her legs.
Fuck, she's horny.
Castle clears his throat, but as she starts to lean forward, his lips attracting her like gravity, he lets go of her arms and takes a step back.
"I should go," he insists in a strangled groan.
Kate blinks several times, and when he bends down and retrieves her clutch, she looks at it, then back up at his face, her brain short-circuiting, words eluding her.
Castle leans forward, but instead of meeting her mouth as she wants, his lips brush the rise of her cheekbone, and he pulls away, moves back to the car. "Goodnight, Kate."
She can only stand and watch in an aroused and confused daze as he shuts the door and the car drives away.
The next few weeks, and dates, pass without a repeat of their near-kiss. Castle remains polite - and surprisingly helpful in the precinct - but she notices his demeanor change. Gone is the joking smart-ass who shares anything and everything about himself. Instead, he seems to keep her at arm's length. Their conversation during their dinners is pleasant enough, but there's no depth, and he's careful not to touch her unless it's for the cameras.
She even dresses up and crashes his book reading, and although she can tell that he's taken by surprise, he doesn't provide anything more than a professional welcome. At the very least, she'd expected flirting, maybe more for the sake of the press. But he barely reacts.
It isn't until they go undercover at a glitzy fundraiser that his professional demeanor falters.
As much as Kate doesn't want to go, everyone thinks she and Castle are an item, so she can't exactly pretend she's security. So she accepts the dress he sends, grumbling to Lanie the entire time, and grits her teeth. It's a few hours, it's for a case, she can handle it.
Until she sees the look in Castle's eyes when he opens his door.
His eyes darken immediately, and he rakes his gaze down her body, the desire in his eyes as naked as she imagines him in her dreams.
Her mouth waters at the sight of his tux, the shoulders and chest perfectly snug. She even sneaks a look at his ass when he turns to retrieve his shoes.
God, that's a nice ass.
As with their dates, they ignore the questions and comments hurled at them from the reporters, although Kate's ears perk when someone asks when they're planning the "next step in their relationship." Kate glances at Castle, and when she sees his smirk, she relaxes a little.
Even so, when he offers to get her a drink, she asks for vodka.
When he starts to turn towards the bar, though, she grabs his arm, her fingers flexing when she realizes how thick his bicep is. It's not the first time she's felt his arm - they often enter and exit restaurants with their arms linked - but with the active case adding to her desire for him, every single look or touch sends shockwaves of desire through her.
"Beckett?"
She meets his eyes at the sound of her name, and her cheeks burn that she was caught ogling him. "Yeah?" she breathes.
Castle raises his brow. "Any particular vodka?" he prods.
"Lots of it. But," she continues when he smirks, "I'm working. So, water for me."
He gives her a crooked grin. "Got it."
After he drags her onto the dance floor so they can talk about the case, though, she allows herself a glass of champagne to try and calm down. It takes her every ounce of effort to try not to imagine whether his hands, so sure on her back when he dips her, would be just as confident on her bare skin. Or how his shoulder would feel without the barrier of clothes.
Her attention is drawn from her increasingly dirty thoughts to the emcee as the bachelor auction begins, and even though they're not there for that purpose, she still smirks when Castle's name is called.
"He may not be a bachelor anymore," the emcee announces, "but Mr. Castle was still kind enough to volunteer his time." She looks out over the crowd, and when her gaze lands on Kate, she winks. "So whoever the winner is, be sure to thank his girlfriend for lending him out."
Kate's cheeks burn when a spotlight lands on her and Castle, and she instinctively leans into him, finds his hand at his side. He turns towards her at the slide of her palm against his, surprise written all over his face, and he squeezes her hand before letting go and walking up to the stage.
By the time they make their arrests and close the case, Kate is exhausted. Her feet hurt from the strappy heels, there's so much product in her hair that it's literally stiff, and her back is killing her after standing up so straight in that dress.
And, although she's grateful that Castle accompanied her back to the precinct, his presence is more than a little distracting. It takes every ounce of willpower not to touch her mouth to the base of his throat when he undoes his tie and the top button of his shirt, or to grab his collar and tug his mouth to hers.
An hour after she sends their suspects to booking, she's working on the report, a restless Castle in the chair next to her desk. He's made a paper clip chain, and now he's clicking the top of a pen, nonstop. She manages to drown it out, but when he drops the pen to the floor with a loud clatter, she slaps her hands on her desk.
"What is your problem?" she snaps.
Castle's cheeks turn a bright shade of pink, and he leans forward to pick up the pen. "My phone died," he explains, giving her the pen when she holds out his hand.
Kate sighs and puts the pen in her drawer. "Look, why don't you go home?" she suggests, taking pity on him. "You can't exactly help me fill out the report. There's no reason for you to stay."
Castle shakes his head. "No, I'm fine. I'll be quiet, I promise. Here, I'll make you some coffee."
He braces his hands against the arm of the chair, but before he stands, Kate surprises both of them by covering one of his hands with hers. Their eyes meet, and Kate's breath catches in her throat at the arousal swirling through his.
Her name falls from his lips in a strangled groan, and she leans forward, moving in slow motion, her lips parting as they get closer, and closer…
Until she jumps back at the shrill ring of her phone.
She reaches for it without taking her eyes off Castle, lifts the receiver to her. "Beckett," she barks.
"Detective Beckett, you're up," says the woman from dispatch.
Kate watches as Castle rakes his hand over his face, then stands and walks away.
All of a sudden, she feels like she's at a crossroads, that she'll make either the right or wrong choice.
And she has no idea which is which.
Her eyes follow Castle as he retreats to the break room, and he stops in front of the espresso machine. He lifts his head to look through the window, and their eyes lock again, her golden hazel meeting his stormy blue from afar.
She knows what she has to do, and she turns her attention back to her phone.
"Call the next person. I'm off shift."