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?
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, pre
ferring 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.
Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 Page 4