Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 (5 page)

CHAPTER THREE

And it’s starting already. Sleeping here tonight and every
night, huh? Sure, until The Director sends me off to screw one of
his alpha cronies.
Ingrid shivered with
anger, pulling Sass out of her bag.

"Cancelled? We'll see,"
she mumbled, hoping Mack would hear.
Why
were PMs all asswipes?
"Sass, call the
Marquis Grand Hotel. The concierge extension."

Sass spoke in her sultry electronic
purr. "In approximately ninety minutes and thirty-two seconds you
may speak to the concierge personally."

"Sass, I'm not in the
mood."

"Yes, Mistress."

The call went through. "Hello. Marquis
Grand Concierge Desk. This is Samantha. How may I help
you?"

"This is Ingrid Stone. I'm confirming
my check-in time this afternoon."

Silence greeted her
statement. "I am extremely sorry, Ms. Stone—forgive me, I mean
Ms.
Harbor
, but
your room was cancelled."

"I did not cancel my room. No one else
has the authority to cancel a reservation that I made
personally."

"That is incorrect. As your production
manager, Mr. Harbor has the right to cancel any reservation you
make. Of course, The Director has final say. Shall I put in a call
to his secretary?"

She was tempted. Boy was she ever
tempted, but no. The Director would side with Mack and then there'd
be another strike against her. This was her fourth troupe and her
last chance. She had to make this work.

"No, thank you." She ended the
call.

Mack was trying not to smile, but it
seemed to be a struggle for him. "Eat, Ingrid. You can use a meal
and maybe a nap. I've called our regular masseuse, Deborah, and
asked her to come this evening. She's excellent. We all use
her."

She was pissed, hungry, and exhausted,
but she wasn't an idiot. A meal, a nap, and a massage sounded like
heaven. "Thank you."

She kept her voice cool
and professional, hoping that when he’d said they
used
the girl, he didn't
mean other than as a masseuse. Humans had very few options when
approached by a supernatural, and it wasn't only vampires, demons,
and wolves that took advantage of their weaker neighbors. Thetas
might be born from human parents, but that didn't necessarily mean
all of them treated the human race with respect.

Thetas were born with a core of
psychic ability, based in an area of the brain that was relatively
dormant in humans. To power that psycore, thetas were born with an
extra organ known as their axis, a tiny generator that when
boosted, gave them access to as much magical energy as a high level
vampire.

Mack smiled as he put a slice of pizza
on a paper plate and slid it across the table. She reached for it,
their fingers accidentally touching. A lovely tingle danced across
her skin, warming it in such a pleasant way, urging her to move
closer.

Would his face feel rough
with stubble or smooth?

Ingrid loosened her grip on the plate,
scooting her chair back from the table. Holy hell. Their axis
energy had connected, their energies bridging the psychic walls
they kept in place to keep this kind of thing from happening. "Did
you push power at me?" she asked. The rules were clear, allowing
energy exchanges only during rehearsals, performances or when
rebooting. Any other exchange was forbidden.

"I would never breach
protocol." Mack tilted his head, looking more puzzled than angry by
what had occurred. "Did you push power at
me
?"

"No, of course not. I'm an actor." An
actor's axis was traditionally very weak, their strength centered
in their psycores, which they used for projecting fantasies. Ingrid
was a freak in that regard. Thankfully, Mack wouldn’t have been
able to sense…

"You have a powerful axis. It's not in
your file. The Director never..."

Oh great.
"The Director doesn't know." She slumped in the
chair, instantly regretting her outburst. Now he'd go to The
Director and that would be the end. But how could Mack Hudson tell
how strong her axis energy was with only a touch?

"This is a recent development?" She
nodded. “When did it change?”

No point in lying now. "When I joined
the Atlanta troupe."

"And what was different
there?"

"Gene Stone and I..." Ingrid blinked,
biting her lip to stop the tears. Over the past month, she’d only
allowed herself to remember the good times: flying above his head
during a show, sharing a meal or a dance at a club. She and Gene
hadn’t been in love; they’d been taught in the institutes it wasn’t
a possibility for a theta to fall in love, but they’d been best
friends—family.

"Tell me..." Mack angled his body
toward hers, showing only his interest.

"Gene and I cared. We were very close
friends."

Mack's expression was thoughtful; his
warm hazel eyes glittering with golden streaks, his mouth twisted
to the side as he puzzled out what she'd told him. He had such a
nice face: intelligent eyes, a strong jaw, a tiny bump on his nose.
His hair, a darker brown than hers, was a bit longer than the
current style. She decided she liked it that length. She'd like it
even more if she could twist it around her fingers.

Uh…wait a minute. This was her PM. PMs
were off limits for actors. Plus they were power-hungry assholes.
Except…this Mack didn’t seem to fit that mold. She gave her libido
a mental slap. He’d show his true colors soon enough.

Mack sat up straighter, seeming to
come to a decision. "The pizza might have cooled, but we shouldn't
waste pizza this good." He opened his mouth and took an enormous
bite of his slice, chewing and swallowing, then smiling
blissfully.

A bit of the tension between them
drained away. He was letting it go for now, although she was sure
he'd bring it up again later. The pizza smelled like heaven. She
slid her chair back in place, drawing the plate closer and taking a
bite. "What is this cheese?"

"Fresh mozzarella." He'd given the
word an Italian flare.

"It doesn't taste like mozzarella." He
smiled when she imitated his pronunciation.

"That's because it doesn't come out of
a package at the market. Salumerias sell it, those are Italian
delicatessens, but Tony makes it himself.

She smiled, finally starting to feel
normal again, whatever that was. "And the sausage. Yum." She was
shocked that she'd already finished the first slice and was
reaching for another. She’d trained herself to eat slowly and
sparingly.

"Homemade sweet Italian sausage. I
told you, Anthony's Pizzeria is the best."

"Mmm."

They ate for a minute without talking,
Ingrid concentrating only on the food, trying not to think about
the energy exchange. "I want to explain my reasons for canceling
the hotel," Mack said.

She waved her hand in his direction.
"Pfft. PM’s never explain anything."

"This one does." Gene Hudson was
standing in the doorway, hanging his jacket on the coat rack in the
corner. "Sometimes he goes on and on and on. We can't shut him up,"
he teased. His sneakers and socks were deposited on a mat by the
door. "Hi, Ingrid. Give me a sec to clean up, then I'll join
you."

Ingrid had a chance to check him out
as he crossed the room to sit beside her. She'd seen tons of
pictures. He was the most sought after Gene, more popular to fans
than she was, mainly because his fan base was mostly made up doting
females. They'd stand in line for days to get a glimpse of this
blonde Adonis.

And she could understand why. Gene
Hudson was tall, six feet or more, and built like most male
ingénues, long and lean and in perfect physical condition. His hair
was more neatly trimmed than Mack's, his clothes more fashionably
styled. His grace and strength were obvious with every movement,
attributes that placed him at the top of his field.

Dancing was a workout, especially
since so much of his job involved lifts and the precise partnering
that added to an ingénue’s ability to project. Each motion was
translated into thought, which translated into story, sent out to
the minds of each psychically connected audience member, bringing
the audience pleasure unknown before the existence of
thetas.

It was a type of magic unique to their
species, enslaving them for almost a century.

The first thetas had been
touted as geniuses or future super heroes by their human parents,
but The Director put a stop to that as soon as he heard about the
new genetic mutation. The
firsts
were taken in and studied, many of them killed in
the process. Laws were passed to require that any child thought to
be theta be handed over at the age of three and placed in training
institutes where The Director would decide how best to use their
talents. Because he was a creature ruling a country in chaos, he
steered them toward becoming a race that delivered pleasure, their
magic a calming balm to his most violent citizens.

Gene sat next to her and extended a
hand. "I'm Gene. Welcome to our happy home." She glanced at his
hand and winced. "You don't shake hands?" He seemed
amused.

She made a show of wiping hers with
her napkin. "No. I do, of course. I'm sticky." To her great relief,
there was no exchange of power when they locked hands and made the
usual motion.

Mack had been watching, and as Gene
dug into the pizza, she and her new boss exchanged curious glances.
There was no denying that something incredible had happened between
them. The moment they'd touched, her outer shield had liquefied
like butter in a hot pan. Thank heavens her innermost psychic
shields had held, otherwise he might have seen it all: her dreams,
her plans, her secrets.

A flashback of the Atlanta stage and
murdered audience hit her in the gut. She shuddered, reburying that
vision as quickly as she could.

“You okay?” Gene asked. “You lost your
color.” He patted her cheek in a friendly way.

She took a few swigs from her water
bottle. “I’m good.”

"Feel up for a walk, sugar? Not too
hot or humid today.” A hint of a southern accent had reared its
head.

"I haven't even seen my room or
unpacked or...”

"You must be tired. I’ll help and
maybe we can go for a walk after you rest a while.”

Mack gave Gene a stern look. Gene
rose, shrugging, gathering up the empty pizza boxes and taking them
outside to the trash bin. "Do you have enough energy to morph?"
Mack asked.

Ingrid frowned. "That's really
necessary? In Atlanta, Gene Stone and I never morphed when we left
the apartment."

"Do you remember what I told you about
the number of supernaturals in the area?"

"My memory is excellent," she snapped,
folding her arms.

He ignored her tone, pissing her off
even more with his smug smile. "I'm glad to hear it. Can you
disguise your scent as well as your appearance?"

She leaned forward. "You didn't just
ask me if I could do something any fifteen-year-old theta could
do."

He leaned forward. "Guilty as
charged."

"I don't think you deserve an answer,
especially after the way you pushed power..." She’d inched
closer.

"I did not push power in your
direction, and never will outside of a rehearsal or a performance."
They were only a foot apart, the two of them glaring, breathing in
the other’s scent.

Nothing in his face or
aura screamed out
liar
. "Then what happened between us?" She relaxed back into her
chair.

"I honestly don't know."

"You're the PM. Don't you know
everything?"

His eyes had narrowed to slits. "I
know my role, believe me."

"C'mon, let’s go check out your room."
Gene, who’d been watching the exchange, grabbed her hand and pulled
her out of her chair. "Mack knows you're tired from your trip.
We'll go out another day when everyone’s in a better
mood."

Better mood, my
ass.
She stomped up the stairs, mumbling a
few choice curses.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mack raked his hands through his too-long hair, flopping his
tired body into the armchair he kept by the fireplace in his small
home, his fingers tapping out a moderate rhythm. This day had not
gone as he’d envisioned and the most unexpectedly pleasant incident
had also been the most disturbing.

He closed his eyes, attempting to
block out the memories, but he was unsuccessful, as he had been all
day. Every time she'd wiped her lips with the napkin or opened her
mouth to take a bite, his attention had been drawn there, a hot
fantasy springing to mind several times during their meal. He would
take the napkin away and lick the sauce off her mouth, maybe
spreading the sauce and melted cheese to other parts of her body so
he could taste her there.

He groaned, his groin
tightening along with his jeans.
Why the
fuck now?