Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 (10 page)

Ingrid was surprised by
their outward shows of affection, something she'd never seen in her
other troupes. And their closeness didn’t diminish Staci and Sam’s
ability to focus and project. The Hudson River Troupe's mental
signature was translucid and sharp, their magic able to be shaped
to the actor's purposes with minimal effort, leaving them free to
add detail to their characters. She was happy to classify her
new
family
as
being exceptional.

Sam stuck out. His power to morph and
split his projection into multiples was seamless. Ingrid had
already decided to use him as her main collaborator during the next
scene, as long as he was agreeable. Staci was a kick-ass
powerhouse. Her witches put Staci Orchard’s to shame, and that
female was a legend in the business. Dave and Diane were the
weakest links, but still top of the line. She wondered if their
constant bickering affected their performances.

And Gene, well, he was the best acting
focus she'd ever partnered. His emotive powers alone must have
females sobbing hysterically when he died or moaning with need when
his projection touched them erotically.

Ingrid leaned back in her chair,
allowing her eyes to skim across the faces of the thetas she'd be
rehearsing and performing with. The potential in this room had her
heart beating faster. This could work.

"Now who's watching?" Gene teased.
Guilty as charged, she decided not to respond. "Penny for your
fantasies."

This guy didn't give up. "Be careful
what you wish for," she sighed.

"That dirty?"

"That dark."

Gene shot her another Sherlock glance
and whispered, "I'm a good listener."

"Thanks, but you wouldn't like what
you heard."

Gene was about to reply when Alan
asked, "We’re at fifteen. Anyone want another soda?"

"Water, please," was the general
response.

When Alan handed Ingrid her bottle,
she caught his gaze. "Your music was extraordinary."

When his cheeks pinked up, he looked
at his feet, his dark red hair hiding blue eyes. The kid was
adorable. "Thank you," he murmured.

Sam chugged half his bottle, then
wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "He inspires us to rise to greater
heights."

Diane snorted. "Yeah, Alan's the next
Mozart. Too bad he doesn't like girls, 'cause they really go for
the artistic types." She giggled and leaned in to kiss Dave on the
cheek. More embarrassed than ever, Alan excused himself, saying he
had to make a call.

Dave frowned. "He lies and says he’s
eighteen, but I read his file. He's seventeen." He pushed Diane off
his lap and onto the couch, throwing the remainder of his sandwich
in the trash. "We're all getting tired of the way you dig at
him.”

Gene stood and walked
closer, getting in her face. "Just because he won't fuck
you
, doesn't mean he's
gay."

“I’m having some fun. Sorry he can’t
take a joke.”

“The Director would kill him
if…”

“I’d never out him, even if he was.”
To avoid any more dirty looks, Diane ditched her sandwich and
walked upstairs to the roof.

A theta discovered to be gay or
lesbian was exterminated in a gory spectacle. The Director felt it
was fine to be bisexual or straight, but gays or lesbians who
refused to screw the opposite sex upset the balance, which meant
the performances would suffer and his profits would
nosedive.

"We've all been forced to watch some
of those executions," Staci spoke softly. The lively room had
turned glum.

In the quiet, Ingrid's thoughts
returned to The Director and what he'd threatened if she didn't
follow instructions. She felt a hand rest on hers, squeezing.
"You're safe," Gene whispered.

Their eyes connected and she smiled,
grateful for his friendship and support.

Mack returned from an errand and
greeted the group. "I’m calling an extra twenty minutes, so relax.
I need you in top form." He took a sandwich off the platter and
plopped in a chair over by the window.

Focus,
she reminded herself, going over all she’d learned during the
rehearsal. The axis power Mack had shared with the troupe during
the rehearsal was crystalline, the highest level, the most potent.
The actors were great, but without Mack, they’d never have reached
this level. If she could convince him to power her escape, then her
odds of kissing The Director goodbye for good would skyrocket. If
only she could keep herself from moving too fast and screwing
everything up.

Gene leaned over and whispered in her
ear. His breath smelled like salsa, spicy and tart. “That wood
sprite was burning hot. How did you do that?”

“I adjust her body temperature to heat
up as sexual desire peaks.” A skill she learned on her
own.

“I didn’t mean her temperature. I
couldn’t take my eyes off those breasts moving under that sheer
fabric when she ran. I was panting, and not because I was out of
breath." Ingrid laughed at his flirty grin, pleased with the
compliment. Keeping an eye on everyone else's projections while
conjuring one's own was a delicate business. Multi tasking during
rehearsals and performances was a skill learned in a theta’s
earliest days at the institute—skills beaten into her and a
thousand other students.

"You adjusted her body
temp?"

"It's quite effective."

His whisper held a hint of relief. "We
fit together perfectly.”

Ingrid sighed, relaxing muscles she
hadn’t realized she’d tensed. She was relieved too, more than she
could ever say. Here was a male she could partner with ease, one
who seemed to respect her, which hadn't always been the case. After
a difficult first rehearsal, her second Gene had her on the bed
within the first few minutes of their return to the apartment.
She'd kneed him in the groin and they'd discussed his overly
aggressive behavior at length. He more or less behaved after that,
although their energy was never quite in sync. Ingrid always had to
make up the difference with her own energy. Ironically, that only
succeeded in making her stronger.

Instinctively she knew that this Gene
would not force her into his bed. However, intimacy between
partners was expected of all actors, whether they liked each other
or not. To keep up with their busy performance schedule and reboot
quickly, actors had sex, connecting their psycores immediately
before orgasm. Fully charged, they'd be at their best at each
performance. The Director, who often popped in to see shows
unannounced, would accept nothing less. Actors were blamed if
reviews were poor, or tickets had to be refunded.

“Eat your nachos, southern boy," she
teased, trying to keep things light.

"Let's go out tonight."

"You and me? A date?” He nodded.
"Tonight?" This was not what she'd expected.

“We'll eat at my favorite sushi
restaurant and then go dancing."

“What if I say no?"

"I promise you a delicious meal and an
entertaining evening." He ran a hand through his hair. "I've been
craving sea urchin for weeks. Plus, watching you eat raw fish with
chopsticks will be a hoot."

"What makes you think I'm not a blue
ribbon chopstick handler?"

"Just a guess." She forced a glare and
Gene held up his hands in defense. "I didn't learn until I moved to
New York. Mack made fun of me for weeks."

"He's an expert, huh?"

"Yep." He nudged my arm. "Every time
you drop something, I get a reward."

"What kind of reward?"

"I'll think of something, but you get
final approval."

"And what do I get?"

"Delicious food, a fun time at the
club, and a date who will remain a gentleman for the entire
evening."

"Pfft. Likely story."

"C'mon. Give me a chance to make you
laugh." He took her hand in his, exploring her fingers, stroking
her palm.

"I'm not one of those giggly fans of
yours."

"Thank the gods. How's this? If I
can't make you laugh at least three times tonight, you can pick
your reward.

"What if I want a trip to
Hawaii?"

"No problem. Mack can arrange a tour."
Gene rested his ankle on the opposite knee, relaxing into the
banter.

"A diamond necklace?" she teased. It
would only sit in her jewelry box with all the others. Thetas were
treated like celebrities—paid like them too.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I can
scrape up the dough.” Ingrid giggled and turned toward
Mack.

Mack was watching them interact, his
expression pleasantly neutral. He stood and deposited his trash,
then strode to the terrace railing. Although he was on the other
side of a sliding glass door, Ingrid could still feel Mack's power
snaking sinuously through her skin, distracting her with pleasantly
erotic notions, urging her to get a hell of a lot closer to the
source of those surprising sensations.

An unexpected twinge of
guilt bit at her heart, along with a sadness she couldn't quite
fathom. The guilt was clear. To gain her freedom, she'd put a male
who’d worked hard for the benefit of his troupe in serious danger.
She'd ruthlessly call on every power at her disposal to gain her
freedom, even employing
Influence
to convince him. And if successful, she’d be
despised, hunted, and alone.

Mack was watching the boat traffic on
the harbor, keeping himself apart from the acting pairs, alone by
choice. The very nature of his work probably discouraged him from
forming any kind of deep relationship. Responsible for so many,
spread so thin, no time for himself.

“You want him, don’t you?” Gene
whispered, keeping their conversation private.

“Of course not,” she snapped, shocked
that he’d noticed. Was she that easy to read?

“Liar.” He touched her hair
tentatively, pushing a strand behind her ear. "You can't stop
sneaking peeks at him."

Placing her hand over his, Ingrid
returned it to her lap, keeping them entwined, “I can’t. It's not
allowed for actors and techs to hook up.”

“Since when do you follow
the rules?" She smiled at his blunt jibe. "None of us would say a
word. We know he’s lonely and we worry about him." Gene shrugged.
"You’re the first person we’ve ever seen him look at in
that
way.”

“What, like he wants to kill
me?”

“No, like he wants to suck on your
tongue and then bang you into oblivion.”

Ingrid laughed. “He's got no interest
in my tongue or any other part of me."

"Oh, you're wrong there."

"The Director would beat the crap out
of us. Or worse.”

“I need you with me to reboot,
darlin’, but I’ll share you with Mack if that's your
choice.”

His enthusiasm toward the idea had her
puzzled. None of her other Genes would have agreed, unless The
Director forced it. "Why?"

Gene was quiet for several moments.
"Mack saved my ass a few times and I want him to..." He sighed,
meeting her gaze with a sincere expression. "I know what it means
to curl up with someone special after a difficult day, to unload
your feelings and let go of the stress. I want that for
him."

“You've had…someone like that?" She
couldn't hide the sadness in her own tone.

“For a time." He gently kissed her
palm, smiling in an impish way. "I know you’re afraid of something,
but Mack and I will both protect you."

If only that were true, she thought.
Thetas were a race deprived of their rights, labeled Ingrid or
Gene, Staci or Sam, without even the ability to name themselves.
Robbed of their families and childhood friends, all they had was
their troupe to support them, good or bad.

She smiled into Gene's gaze, finding
him sweet and smart. Part of her wished it could be different with
him. But to wake up next to Mack, the male her body and her magic
yearned for. That would be so much more.

Ingrid looked toward the terrace.
“Would Mack agree?”

"Give it a shot, sugar." Gene gave
Ingrid a nudge to get her moving. She closed the curtains as well
as the glass doors. Privacy was essential.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The half sandwich he'd eaten sat in Mack's stomach like a
chunk of iron, contributing greatly to his deteriorating frame of
mind. He washed down his irritation with a swig of soda, resting
the can on the terrace railing. The caffeine wasn't helping
either.

Mack's mood confused him. Was he
angry? Jealous? Gene and Ingrid were ingénues. All ingénues hooked
up, like the divas and the swings. It was expected and necessary.
Ingrid was off-limits, so he'd better pull his head out of his ass
and focus on the rest of the rehearsal. According to his H-tab, the
break would be over in ten minutes.

Another ten minutes spent obsessing
about the glorious female in the other room.

He winced when the glass doors slid
shut behind him. He made a play at acting nonchalant by relaxing
against the railing, but the smell of her lavender soap had his
cock already twitching.