Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 (6 page)

He was good at his job,
keeping the troupe running at its peak and his troupe members
relatively happy. So why had the gods or the heavens or
the source
decided to
torture him with this stubborn, insubordinate, spectacularly
beautiful ingénue?

With one touch, Ingrid had
sent his outer shields to ground. How that could have happened was
beyond his expertise, but he was determined to find the fuck out
ASAP. Gene might be able to research it, see if it had ever
occurred with another pair. Not that they were a
pair
. That could never
happen. The Director didn't tolerate tech thetas and acting thetas
hooking up. Plus she was a royal pain in the ass, beautiful but way
too high maintenance. At least that’s how she was described in all
the reports.

But that full mouth was going to haunt
his dreams tonight. No getting around it. And he'd gotten a fairly
good look at that perfect ass as she was walking away with Gene.
Nice.

Mack covered his face with his hands,
mumbling between his fingers, “Why the fuck now?”

Gene and Ingrid were in her room,
getting to know each other. They'd be in bed together soon, because
it was necessary for all acting partners to hook up in order to
reboot their psycores. Rehearsals and performances drained them of
energy, making them unable to project. Researchers had found the
only way acting thetas could reboot was through sex. Mutual orgasm
was what opened the pathways and recharged their
batteries.

But why did he feel uncomfortable when
he thought of Gene and the new Ingrid together? Although he’d heard
the stories of what went on in other troupes, Gene was one of the
good guys. He’d never hurt her. In fact, he’d probably be a calming
influence on Ingrid. At least Mack hoped so. That female could use
a little calming down.

He'd gone too long without sex, and
having this beauty in his troupe, one his body was definitely
responding to, was going to be tough for his libido. He'd always
found a long-term commitment without genuine affection a cold
prospect, unappealing and difficult to manage. Still, if the
torture continued, he'd look up a former lover and see if she was
interested. None of his prior relationships had ended on bad
terms.

A hard run and a cold shower should
work for tonight. But first, he'd call The Director's secretary and
give his report.

He moved to his office to make the
call, preferring to keep the rest of his residence private. A buxom
female with dark red hair appeared over the tablet. She was seated
at her desk, a painting by Rafael visible behind her. "Hello,
Annie. Ingrid is at the house, unpacking."

"I'll connect you to The
Director."

"That's not necessary."

But she'd already forwarded the call.
"Mack?"

"Hello, sir." The Director hadn’t
turned on the visual, which made Mack’s day. Trying to read the
archdemon’s expressions was more difficult than rowing a boat
across the Pacific, and could be just as dangerous if you
misinterpreted them.

"Well?"

"She is quite a handful. Intelligent.
Spirited. Beautiful.”

“Your team of ingénues is already
ratcheting up performance prices. I’ll allow Gene and Ingrid to be
seen together in public, but I don't want it spread about that
she's screwing him right away. Let’s keep the innocent romance
angle going,” he chuckled.

"But her fans know she’s not an
innocent, sir. She’s been with other Genes.”

“An innocent? Fuck, no. She started in
at eleven, beginning her whore's journey at quite a young age,
wouldn't you say?”

“I wouldn’t…”

“When she has to fuck Gene to reboot,
make sure they do it in the house and not some hotel suite. All we
need are nude pictures spread around by the staff of some
hotel."

"Raped at eleven? That wasn’t in the
file.”

“Her guardian was sleeping one off and
the lush's boyfriend showed up at the door. Ingrid seduced him. It
wasn't rape."

“She was a child.” The pencil Mack was
holding snapped in half. He looked at the broken pieces in surprise
and dropped them into the small trashcan alongside the desk. "You
had him arrested?"

“He was a journeyman sorcerer. I don't
get involved in their affairs. The guardian was punished and
fired.”

“The master he worked for should have
been told."

“Don't start feeling sorry for her.
She got what she deserved. I want another report tomorrow, after
the rehearsal.”

On the verge of saying something that
might get him killed, Mack took in axis power to calm his anger and
clear his head.

"Mack?"

“Yes.
Sir
.” He ground out the term of
respect with a great deal of effort.

“We'll speak later.”

Mack grabbed a beer and lowered
himself into his office chair, taking a long pull from the bottle.
In his usual style, The Director had dropped a bombshell in his
lap.

Raped at eleven
was no little thing to be swept under the carpet.
Her institute guardian, her teachers, and The Director himself had
failed her when she was a child. Winning her trust was going to be
a tough sell.

Not one to let things fester, he
decided he'd have to talk to her about this soon, as well as get to
the bottom of the Atlanta debacle. There were probably layers and
layers of incidents in her past that fed her anger, affecting her
ability to trust. When their axis energies had connected, he'd
sensed a thread of her pain, but mostly her strength, her vibrant
spirit.

What had Ingrid seen of him in that
moment?

He finished his beer, setting it on
his desk and relaxing back in the chair. It had felt so good, that
brief moment of connection, the filling of a stark emptiness every
theta was forced to live with. He closed his eyes and went to work
on his shields, cementing every chink, welding the holes he’d
allowed to form through carelessness.

When he finished, he thought one more
time of that amazing moment. He wanted it to happen again, but knew
it never could.

CHAPTER FIVE

Opening the first door on the right, Gene made a sweeping
gesture with his right hand and spoke with a sexy southern drawl.
"Miss Ingrid, your new abode."

She giggled, freezing in place as she
took in the room. It was quite large, with a canopied bed, a lovely
Victorian-style desk, chair, dresser, and bedside table. A wingback
chair upholstered in a tiny floral pattern sat next to a bookcase
full of leather-bound books. Three tall windows complete with
window seats and elegant drapes, offered up a lovely view of the
garden below.

"Wow." She peered through another door
and was amazed to find a private bathroom with a large walk-in
closet right next to it. There was even a fireplace in the main
room with a wooden mantle, decorated with hand-carved flowers and
exotic birds. “This is lovely.”

“Diane moved in with Dave, so you got
her room. When they argue, one of them will sleep in Ingrid's old
room."

“Do they argue often?”

Gene chuckled. “Yeah, it's their
version of foreplay. They’re even louder when they make up.
Fortunately for us, Dave’s room is at the other end of the house.
I'm across the hall." He tilted his head toward a door directly
opposite hers.

"Is your room this size?"

"No. Mack caters to the females, and
we males know our place. Dave, Sam, and I share a bathroom. You
ladies don't have to suffer that indignity." He winked impishly,
sprawling in the armchair near the bookcase.

“Where do the techs live?”

"Alan lives out back in the carriage
house and Mack has a small house nearby."

"Lucky Mack."

"They're both here all the time. We're
a fun group."

"Mack wants us to get to know each
other.” Might as well get the tough part over quickly.

"I’ll help you unpack." He jumped up
from the chair, yanking her heavy suitcase onto the bed with
ease.

"You don't have to help...”

"I don't mind. We're rehearsing
tomorrow, so it’s better to break the ice today, right? The
rehearsal should go a lot smoother that way."

"Okay. Thanks." She was suddenly wary.
Breaking the ice could mean any number of things.

"Hold on." Gene slipped his H-tab out
of his pocket and pulled up some music. "Hmmm, let me guess.
Country?"

"Country's—um, fine."

"You're lookin' at me like I'm some
sort of alien. Not what you expected?" He grinned, spinning around
gracefully, giving her a chance to check him out.

She’d already indulged. He was wearing
jeans and a dark tee shirt, which managed to emphasize his chest
and abs. "You want the truth?"

"That bad, huh?" He pretended to look
upset.

"I thought you'd be a narcissistic
pain in the ass."

Gene’s grin spread quickly across his
face. "Nice. I like a girl who doesn’t hold anything
back.”

"You've got a bad boy image in the
vids."

"It took me a while to
cultivate. Like your
sweet young
thing
image."

She laughed loudly. “You're right on
the mark. I'm no sweet young thing."

"Yeah, I'm not feeling it. And what
did you think I'd be like in private?"

She flipped over her hands, lifting
her shoulders. "Maybe into violence. Your old Ingrid seemed meek,
so I thought…”

"Your other Genes were like
that?"

"Gene Stone became a close friend."
She turned away, remembering the last time they'd danced, right
before he'd fallen.

Gene took her hand and pulled her in
for a hug. "I'm sorry you lost your friend." He tilted her head so
he could look into her eyes. His were such an amazing shade of
green, like spring leaves. "I'm a gentleman, through and through.
Mack would string me up by my balls if I hurt you or any other
female."

"He likes to take care of that end
himself?" she added, remembering her last Mack.

He stepped away, his expression
turning serious. "Mack isn't that type."

He was angry. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t
have said that. Just tired, I guess.” It was way too early to know
if these guys were telling the truth about not using violence.
She’d have to wait and see. Ingrid opened her case, changing the
subject. "Are you a southern boy?" She unpacked her sweaters and
jeans, shaking them out and then refolding each one.

"Yes ma'am," he said, grinning. "I was
born in a small town in Alabama. My Dad works for a tech company. I
have three sisters, two older, one younger."

Her chin dropped. "How...? How do you
know that?" Ingrid lowered herself onto the bed, feeling a little
faint. Thetas were taken from their human parents at a very early
age. None of the children at her training institute were told who
their parents were or where they'd been born, including her. None
of them even knew their real names.

"I was taken at the age of eight—too
old to forget my roots. I fall into my accent when I'm relaxed. I
got into trouble for it all the time during training. They want all
of us to sound the same."

"I like your accent. Goes with the
southern charm bit. I worked in Savannah, Atlanta and Myrtle Beach.
The South is lovely." Her forehead creased. “But what happened to
your family?”

“I don’t know. The demons said they
wouldn’t be hurt, but I haven’t been able to locate them.” He
pulled out his H-tab. “I search online every day.”

“I’m sorry.”

He waved his hand in a dismissive
gesture, not wanting to talk about it. "What should I do with this
stuff?" He picked up a red silk camisole and black silk panties,
giving her a wicked grin.

"I'll handle that myself, if you don't
mind."

"You're ruining my fun."

"You'll survive. These go in the
bottom drawers, please." She pointed at the dresser and handed him
the freshly folded sweaters.

"Yes, ma'am."

After half an hour, her suitcases were
empty and the items put away to her satisfaction.

He fiddled with his H-tab and the
music switched to Salsa, the band projected in a holograph above
the device. "C'mon, let’s dance. I got the band to play for us," he
teased.

"I'm awfully tired."

"Ten minutes. Then you can rest." He
held out his arms. "Let’s see what we got." Ingrid sighed and
stepped closer. This was probably it. They'd dance and then he'd
start kissing her and she'd have to explain everything.

Only all they did was dance. He moved
like a dream, leading her with his body as if they were attached at
the hip, then spinning her away and drawing her back. Holy hell, he
was good. And fun. And sweet.

After two songs, Gene kissed her on
the forehead and pushed her gently toward the bed. "You're amazing,
sugar, but another song and I'll have to carry you to the bed.
Sleep. I'll wake you up in a couple of hours." He left her with a
wink and a mischievous grin.