"Obviously," he returns, with exactly the same dismissive headshake.

There is no no part of Richard Castle that is obedient to objectivity right now, not when honour -- and manliness -- is on the line. While the moon slides closer to the shore, Castle slides closer to his partner, trenching his feet in a bed of sand. His hands fill a pressure around her hips, drifting, before they settle in place against her bones. She has perfectly sculpted hips, he notes, his thumbs fitting nicely against her bare skin.