Chapter 9: Dinner a deux

I knocked on Joss's door that night at seven, considerably dressed down from the last time I'd been there. I'd changed into jeans and a blue button-down shirt after a fast shower. My hair was still damp, and the humidity hanging heavy in the air wasn't helping it to dry.

Jocelyn must have been riding the same wave-length as me, since she was more casual as well. Still, the high slit in her long denim skirt and the way her black tank hugged her chest made my jeans just a little tighter than they had been. I had to remind myself of my hard-and-fast rule: no girl more than once. No way, no how.

"Hey, Rafe." She stepped back. "Come on in. Do you mind if we eat in here? I've had a busy few days, and I really don't feel like going out again tonight."

"Sure." I followed her inside. "You should have told me. I could've brought a pizza."

Joss rolled her eyes. "Please. Pizza? I'm having something sent up to us. Real food. Let's sit down."

I sank into the overstuffed chair and leaned back, crossing my ankles. "You like ordering food for other people, don't you? Is it a control thing?"

She lifted one eyebrow. "I do like control. In all areas of my life."

And just like that, I was picturing her in the elevator, hands above her head, eyes wild...

Focus! I shifted in the chair, ignoring the gleam in Jocelyn's eyes.

"So, you've had a few days to think things over. Have you come to a decision?"

I thought I had. I came here ready to tell her no. But now, I wasn't so sure. I didn't know whether it was the weird conversation with the lady at Chalmette or just being with Joss again, but suddenly, I wanted to second-guess myself and Gram's emphatic suggestion.

"My grandmother told me I shouldn't do it." I blurted out the words, and right away, I wanted to shoot myself. What was I, a two-year old who had to ask permission?

But Jocelyn didn't blink. She sat down on the chair opposite me, crossing her legs so that the skirt fell open and I could see almost all the way up to her...Christ.

"You have to be comfortable with whatever path you choose, Rafe. I know from reading your history that your grandparents are important to you. They sound like wonderful people. And of course, you have an advantage most other people we recruit don't: you've got the support of your family, and you didn't grow up feeling like a freak."

I nodded. "Yeah, all that's true. I guess you run across a lot who don't have it so good."

She laughed. "Oh, you don't know the half of it. Most of them are just so grateful to find someone who believes them about what they can do. And then when we can help them learn to control their powers, that's the icing on the cake."

I stretched my head back, hearing my neck crackle. "Tell me what you do. Once you get these people to work for you, what do they do?"

"I'm not really supposed to tell you that, Rafe. Not until you've committed. Like I told you the day we met, I deal with clients who require a shit-load of discretion. I can't just go tossing names around."

I sat up, leaning forward across the space between us. "Come on, Joss. I'm not asking you to give away all your secrets. And you don't have to name names." I reached out to trail one finger down her leg, just above the knee. "Just...give me a rough idea. Tell me what you do."

She fastened me with an inscrutable gaze, and her cheek twitched—just slightly, but it was there. I was getting to her.

"I can give you a vague idea." She was reluctant, but she wasn't flinching from my touch. I called that a win.

"That's all I ask." I held her eyes, staring her down until she glanced away, licking her lips. The room seemed to be a degree or two hotter.

"We work for companies, and for individuals. Sometimes people like lawyers need to know if someone is lying to them, for example. In that case, we'd send in an operative who could read minds. Or maybe a client needs a precog, for whatever reason—to help with making a decision."

"And just what would you do with someone like me?"

"A manipulator?" At my expression, she laughed. "Sorry. It's what we call people like you, who can make people do things they don't necessarily want to do."

"Nice. I don't think I find that flattering."

"So join us and come up with a new term." She winked at me. "Okay, someone like you—sometimes we put manipulators in with hearers. That way they can prompt the subject to think about something so that we can hear it. Or they can suggest a different course of action to a person who's heading down a dangerous road."

I rubbed my hand over my jaw. "That would be what I'd be doing? Making people do things they don't want to do?"

Joss leaned back in her chair. "Partly, but it's not as harsh as you're painting it. We always send two operatives into any mission. Sometimes you'd be there as support. And we never manipulate anyone into doing wrong, or harm to themselves or others. We're the good guys, Rafe. I promise you that. I wouldn't be part of Carruthers if that weren't the case."

A knock on the door interrupted us, and I watched Joss walk across the room to answer it. I'd never seen a woman move like her. Tasmyn was beautiful, and she had turned me on just by flicking her eyelids in my direction. But Jocelyn walked with a sinewy grace, a kind of seductive dance that made me forget to breathe.

The room service attendant wheeled a cart into the room, nodding to me. Joss and I were both silent as he set up the table, producing several domed plates, silverware rolled in linen napkins and crystal glasses. He muttered to himself as he worked, and I hid a smile.

Finally, he stood back with a flourish. "Dinner is served, mademoiselle and m'sier!" He whipped the silver cover off one plate. "Ici, we have a filet mignon, medium well, with a crabmeat garnish, baked potato and steamed broccoli. Et ici, pour m'sieur, another filet, medium rare, with a lobster tail and au gratin accompaniment. Caesar salad on the side."

"It looks amazing, Paul." Joss flashed a mega-watt smile. "Thank you so much."

He bowed, and Joss handed him the black folder containing the receipt. I saw the familiar green of a folded bill inside, and by the size of Paul's smile, so did he.

He slipped out, and I stood to hold a chair for Jocelyn at she sat down at the table. "So, does my order meet with your approval tonight?" She stabbed a bit of potato and smirked at me.

"No complaints here. Steak is always good. I guess you knew I like it medium rare from your research?"

She shrugged. "Not really. My experience has been that most men like their meat rare and their women..." She tilted her head, one side of her mouth tipping up. "Well-done."

And there it was again. I wanted to kick the table over, grab this woman and throw her on the bed. Pound into her until I felt satisfied. Something deep inside was saying it was going to take more than once.