You probably won't believe this, but I already had the part written in this chapter about 'boredom' before the last epi aired, lol.

Thank U for all the fun, amazing reviews! I will write an epilogue probably this summer.

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It's a good thing they're in a supply closet because paper towels are readily available. She watches him beneath hooded lashes as he cleans up, straightens his appearance, enjoying the view, - the way his forearm muscles ripple with the movement, - the way his shirt pulls taut across his chest as he tucks it into his jeans.

"Should I be worried, Mister Castle?" she asks demurely, wondering how the sky-blue depths of his eyes seem to disintegrate a portion of her wall every time he looks at her.

He buttons up his pants, looking decidedly sheepish as his eyes rake over her.

"Worried about this never happening again between us? Worried about me becoming disinterested? ... Rest assured, that's a big fat, NO… If you're worried about this," his index finger swipes back and forth between them, "becoming a regular habit though and possibly becoming addicted to me?" He smiles all male ego and Casanova charm, "Then yes, dear Detective, you should be worried."

She smiles around the anxiety in her tone. "I'm worried about you barreling your way into my life and dissecting my every move. I'm worried about not living up to your expectations, Castle, - not living up to being your muse."

"Hey," he soothes, tipping her chin up so she can meet his gaze. "All I'm asking is for the chance to get to know you better, - both inside and out... I want to see you in action, peel away the Beckett onion one layer at a time. If there comes a day when all I am to you is an irritating tag-a-long, simply a nuisance or bother, tell me, and I'll give you some space."

As she looks at him with laser intensity, trying to determine whether or not he's telling the truth, he relays, "Trust me on this. I'm a man of my word."

Her pursed lips suddenly curve into a 'I-know-exactly-who-you-are-Richard-Castle' smile. "You, - being a nuisance?" she asks all bright eyes and teasing lilt. "Now there's a stretch."

"I know," he smirks. "Hard to imagine you being annoyed with this handsome mug following you around 24/7."

"Mmm," she purrs, running her fingers through her hair, "I think it's easier to imagine me suffering more from boredom... Boredom from your repetitive questions and possible theories."

He chuckles, devious and low. "Take that back, Detective, as 'boredom' is the last thing you'll suffer from being around me."

"I refuse to take anything back, because I don't know you well enough to make a conclusion."

"Well, I can solve that problem." He winks at her boldly before saying, "Pack your bags and be ready to leave tomorrow morning."

She couldn't have been more surprised if he'd said that he was planning on running for the President of the United States.

"I'm coming for you, Kate Beckett," he says in that sultry bedroom voice which makes her want to fuse her mouth to his and try and taste the seductiveness rolling off his tongue. "I'm happy to return the favor and drug and kidnap you if you'd like, but of course, - I'd rather you be a willing participant."

I'd certainly be more than a willing participant, she thinks naughtily before her cell phone chimes, signaling an incoming text. She reluctantly pulls her eyes away from him and draws her cell phone out of her pocket.

She can hear Lanie's sassy tone as she reads: We have to talk, girl. Get your skinny ass down to the morgue pronto.

Her hazel orbs roll in exasperation as Lanie shoots her another text: And don't try to tell me that you're too busy as I happen to know Montgomery's through with you.

Uggh! This can't be good and a sinking suspicion engulfs her that the ME's urgency has to do with a certain missing drug from her medical bag.

"Kate, everything okay?"

"Yes, I just have to calm down a very high-strung Medical Examiner," she chuckles while texting Lanie that she'll be down in 5 minutes.

Before he can pout about her cutting their interlude short, she's suddenly in his personal space, pushing those tantalizing breasts into his chest, running a slim finger up his forearm teasingly. "Why are you such a hard man to say, 'No' too?"

"Because no one has ever been able to read you before like I can." If it's possible, his chest puffs out like a proud peacock. "It comes with the writer territory."

"How presumptuous of you to assume that I'd want to spend my last free weekend with an egotistical author ."

"Presumptuous? Yes. Daring? Yes. Hating that I'm waiting with my fingers crossed for your answer? Yes."

"Ah, there's that word 'hate' again... Do you want me to elaborate more on the topic?"

"Yes, give me more 'hate' please," he teases, consciously keeping his hands to himself as she coyly pulls up her boy shorts.

"I sincerely hate how excited I am at the thought of spending another weekend with you."

With flashing eyes he responds, "I sincerely hate what the thought of you in an itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny bikini does to me."

"I hate how every time I hear your voice, I can't stop my body from responding."

"I hate how much I've missed you over the past nine days."

"Nine days, eleven hours, and - " she looks at her father's watch, "thirty-two minutes."

"God," he says with hint of surprise, finding it extremely sexy as well as a bit creepy that she knows the exact time frame. "It's been that long since we've been together?"

"Yes, and I've decided I'm going to have to think about your offer... I've found, - " and her eyes fall to his lips, "I like watching you squirm, Castle."

"You've found something you like about me, huh?" His expression one of pure boyish glee.

"There might be a few things I like about you," she teases, adoring how committed he is to his mother and daughter, plus his brilliant mind and debonair style and ruggedly-good-looks, not to mention his fuckin hard body.

She interlaces his fingers with hers, thinking that the one thing she likes most about him are his erotic hands. Large hands with soft callouses and long fingers. Fingers that know how to play her body like a bloody full string Orchestra. Fingers that write sensual love stories upon her skin.

"Only a few things?" he asks with a quirked eyebrow.

"Okay... Maybe more than a few," she concedes grudgingly but at his over-the-top, roguish grin she quickly replies, "Don't let it go to your head as the 'hates' definitely outweigh the 'likes,' Writer boy."

"I thought we just proved that I deserve the title of Writer-man."

"Jury's still out on that one."

His lower lip juts out in a dramatic pout and she has to stop herself from grabbing it with her own teeth.

"Let's just say I'm contemplating coming with you... What would you like me to pack?" she asks all glimmering forest eyes. "Naughty lingerie? A skimpy bikini? Or would you simply prefer nothing at all?"

His mouth moistens at her words and he practically drools as he answers, "Any or all of the above. Whatever you'd like to pack is good with me."

"I just have one question for you..." she says as she opens up the janitor door a sliver to see if anyone is out in the hallway. "White or red?"

"Are you talking about wines? Because I prefer a hearty red."

"No, Castle," and she saunters away from him purposefully swaying her feminine hips. "A very provocative bikini."

As he watches her provocative form retreating from him, Richard Castle thanks his lucky stars that a beautiful, damaged homicide Detective decided to make a dream-come-true by kidnapping her favorite author.