It was hot: so incredibly hot! And in the darkness he could feel that her skin was also hot against his. Together their bodies were creating red-hot steam: sliding, entwining, writhing against each other as they entangled themselves in the bed sheets. She was all limbs and curves and satin soft skin wrapped around him, sliding under him, rolling on top of him, demanding everything he had more than wanted to give. Then when she put her lips to his ear and he could hear the distinctive sound of her voice he knew it was her and the realisation sent his heart thundering with all the more excitement.

"Rook," she groaned. Okay it was the wrong name but he really wasn't that bothered about the details just then. "More…more now!" Her warm, intimate breath in his ear sent shudders through his body; her demands were driving him to breaking point!

And then it happened. It was the same every time. It began with the faint sound of piano music rising up somewhere into his consciousness. It was a cruel and mocking sound and about the only thing that could have stopped him at that point from fulfilling his ultimate fantasy. He closed his eyes and prayed for it to stop. It just got louder until finally he heard the incredibly annoying voice of his mother singing loudly,

"I'm just a gal who can't say no,
I'm in a terrible fix!
I always say "come on, let's go!"
Just when I orta say nix..."

Even before he opened his eyes he knew what he would see, he'd seen it every time before: his mother flinging her arms in the air, twirling around the room in a red off the shoulder sequined dress.

"Mother!" he exclaimed in frustration, glancing down into the startled face of the woman underneath him and back at his mother.

She twirled around a little too suddenly to focus on her son and stumbled slightly before recovering her balance.

"Hey there kiddos, don't mind me. I'm just showing Burt here how we did it at The Palace. Hit it Burt," she said, pointing to the man sitting at the piano in the corner of the room. "One, two, three, four! I'm just a gal who can't say no…"

Damn it! Not again! He looked down and she'd gone, no more mind shatteringly sexy woman in his arms.

"Mother!" he shouted out again angrily as he came back to reality with a jolt, sitting bolt upright in bed.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hot damp hair. "Another Beckett dream," he groaned, relaxing back against the pillows.

The dreams had started with a vengeance when he had contemplated the sex scene of 'Heatwave', in fact they had very much contributed to it. The only problem he had had was how to cool it down enough for publication! But since he had left New York for his beach house in The Hamptons the dreams had taken on a bizarre twist. They were by no means any less steamy as far as 'the woman' was concerned (he had taken to think of her as 'the woman' as it was unclear who she really was, Nikki Heat or… okay, who had he been kidding?) but what the hell was the appearance of his mother all about?

Perhaps it was his subconscious telling him that a physical relationship between himself and Beckett, like the one he had described in his first book between Rook and Nikki, would be wrong, or at least was doomed never to happen. He was quite literally dreaming as far as that was concerned. But what a dream! Well, the first part anyway….Maybe if he laid back and fell asleep again he could pick up from the good part? Nah, he'd tried that before: it never worked. He gave up, threw the bed covers back and hauled himself out of bed.

He padded sleepily and somewhat sulkily across the polished hardwood floor of the master bedroom, across the hallway and down the curved staircase where he headed straight through the entrance hall to the open plan kitchen area with connecting family living room. This was the place where they had hung out most when Alexis was younger, the room was so light and airy as the sun always streamed in through the patio door windows which ran across the whole thirty metre stretch of the room, from kitchen, to eating area, to living room. The décor also gave the impression of light and space: the kitchen units and breakfast bar were white, the kitchen table was glass topped and the chairs cream, the rugs in the lounge were cream, as were the two huge sofas, and the whole room was designed to make the most of the fantastic view of the sand and sea beyond it. Castle made for the huge stainless steel Viking refrigerator complete with iced water dispenser and dispensed himself a long, ice cold glass of water. The heat of the midday sun had penetrated every patio window door, of which there were many in the house, and built to fever pitch whilst Castle had been sleeping.

He had purposely closed every window and resisted turning on the AC the night before in a desperate attempt at finding inspiration for his second book in the 'Nikki Heat' series. The first time he had done this it was more for a joke than anything else, but to his amazement the swelter of the bedroom had evoked vivid dreams and images of one sultry female New York cop involved in wild and electrifying liaisons with one irresistibly handsome writer. He had found his stimulus! It was so fitting; heat had inspired him to write about 'Heat' and he had completed a further twelve pages the following morning. That was all very well at the time but it wasn't long before writers block came back to haunt him with a vengeance. He sighed and slumped back against one of the stools at the breakfast bar, taking another gulp of water and running an agitated hand through his damp hair.

He had known why he couldn't write, although he hated admitting it to himself: there was no substitute for the real thing. How ironic, he had left New York for the Hamptons to escape the distractions of the NYPD in order to finish writing his book and yet by doing so he had only made the whole process that much harder. She wasn't there and it was now plainly obvious that Kate Beckett was his muse, his source of creativity, without which he was left padding around his huge luxury beach house alone, frustrated and utterly lacking in inspiration!

He stood up and began pacing in front of the windows, glancing outside as he had done so often over the last month as if the view would provide him with some much needed inspiration. The truth of the matter was that the best of his writing had emerged when he had focused on the relationship between Rook and Nikki, however now for some reason this had become a stumbling block because he couldn't see how to move their relationship forward and this had prevented him from developing the rest of the plot too. So now he was well and truly stuck because his pride wouldn't allow him to go back to the NYPD before the end of the summer and besides, he didn't really relish having to face Beckett and Demming smooching in the office every chance they got; he'd had a gut full of that. His pride had even prompted him to persuade Gina to join him for the summer, okay clearly a ridiculous mistake but at least he had appeared not to be affected by the fact that Beckett had turned him down when he'd initially invited her. Why would she do that anyway? I mean, who in their right mind would turn down an invitation to a luxury beach house from a famous author, and one that she had been an avid fan of too? Things weren't going his way as far as Beckett was concerned and he didn't like it, not one bit! He wasn't used to being turned down, brushed aside for some other guy. That's not how it usually went for him. And now, just when he'd met someone who he felt excited about, someone who really interested him, he'd lost it. The famous Castle charm had gone the same way as his writing: down the pan! He was all washed up, it was the end of his career, the end of his love life the end of…

Just when he was about to drown in his own self pity he was startled to hear the front doorbell echo through the house. Who could that be? For a moment his spirits lifted slightly until a thought hit him. It had to be his bloodsucking ex wife come back to demand the last drop of his soul! Who else could it be? No one else had come around to see him in months since Gina had left him to his own devices, but not before issuing implicit instructions to all his Hampton friends to give him 'space' to finish his overdue book. He stomped into the entrance hall, determined not to let Gina get the better of him, and yanked open the front door only to be utterly astounded by the visitor on his doorstep. His heart thundered; it was Beckett.