What if Castle had started out as a soap opera? Or worse, a romance novel...
Kate Beckett gasped as Castle, reaching for the file across her desk, accidentally brushed against her breast. Or was it accidental, she wondered?
His lips were pursed, not curled into the flirtatious smile that so annoyed and attracted her at the same time. His eyes, fixed on the file, were lowered, the deep blue still visible. The crinkles that accompanied his smile were absent. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, his forehead wrinkled in a way that spoke of intelligence behind that handsome face. And that hair. Oh, that hair.
It had been a mistake to put on a sheer bra and silk blouse this morning. Glancing down, Beckett saw her erect nipples straining against the thin fabric of her blouse. That combination, along with the slight brush from Castle's arm, was all it took to become aroused. Very aroused, actually. She felt a sheen of perspiration on her forehead.
Closing her eyes for a moment, Beckett imagined leading Castle to the coffee room and closing the blinds. He would smoothly open her blouse and undo the clasp of her bra. Then, as she gripped his thick mane of hair, she would pull him to her so he could suckle on those nipples, so in need of his attention.
Her eyes popped open. She had to regain control. There was a murder to investigate.
As her breathing returned to normal, Castle looked up from the file.
"I do have some thoughts about this case," he said. "I wonder if I could go over them with you? It's getting late, but perhaps this evening, over dinner?"
She shifted her chair slightly so her knees brushed against Castle's thigh. "That sounds wonderful," she said. "Dinner and then…?"
Castle's hand drifted to her knee, then came to rest on her stockinged thigh, just under the edge of her skirt.
Smiling, he said. "Dinner and then dessert."
Kate smiled back. "Sounds yummy."