Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1

by Gayle Parness

  Diane gave her a patronizing pat on the head. "We thought you might be some kind of psycho nut."

  Ingrid laughed. She couldn't blame them. "That's okay. I'm glad it worked out."

  Mack seemed more than satisfied. “That was great. I didn’t want to give you something tough the first time you worked together. Take an hour break then we’ll take on an advanced script. There’s food downstairs.”

  Ten minutes later, Ingrid sat curled up in an armchair, eating a roast beef sandwich and sipping on a soda. Gene had pushed his chair so close their shoulders were pressed together, the fresh scent of his minty soap twisting up the corners of her mouth. This sort of physical contact after a rehearsal was normal between actors, especially if they were running a second script after lunch.

  However, the huggy-kissy stuff going on in the room made her slightly uncomfortable, not that she was a prude, but she’d never had that kind of close relationship with anyone. Guess she’d have to get used to it.

  Diane was sitting in Dave’s lap, feeding him from her plate, all differences forgiven if not forgotten. Between bites they’d kiss—long, passionate kisses. Staci was next to Sam on the couch, her hand resting high on his thigh. She whispered something in his ear and he lifted her hand to kiss her palm. When Staci crawled into his lap, Ingrid had to turn away, feeling as if she was witnessing something excessively private.

  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.

  Ingrid tugged on his sleeve, avoiding his skin. He turned to face the female, who against all logic, called his body to attention with only the barest scent of her skin.

  She smiled and spoke, her quiet words slipping between those lips he wanted to suck and kiss and lick repeatedly. Then maybe he’d…

  “Gene and I have worked out an arrangement.” She spoke as if this were good news.

  Mack slumped against the railing. Today must be Torture the PM Day. “I’m happy for you." He tried very hard to sound sincere.

  “Oh?” She walked closer, her smile turning sultry.

  Blood flowed south in a hurry, the intense need to touch and be touched a new wave forming in the distance. His sea wall was cracking. Big time.

  But even without contact, her closeness brought him unimagined pleasure. He drank in her scent—lavender soap, clean sweat, a fruity lip-gloss she might have just applied. She opened her mouth to speak and he leaned closer.

  “I want to feel what it’s like to touch you again, to connect to you,” she whispered.

  “Probably not a good idea, although I can’t stop thinking about you.” He moved closer, his mouth only inches from hers, their breaths mingling. “Extraordinary.”

  She giggled. “You think so?”

  “Touching you again would be exactly that. I’m sure, I…” This female had him twisted in knots and tongue-tied. He began to understand Alan’s problem.

  “I can’t stop thinking about what happened and what it might mean.”

  “It would put you in danger. The Director will know if..."

  She laughed, the vibration only adding length to a fast-growing erection. “You mean he’ll know if you’re getting laid on a regular basis?" She stepped away, placing her hands on her hips. "Why do you think the head honchos don’t want techs and actors mixing it up? Did your instructors tell you it was unsafe?"

  “And what do you believe?”

  "They suspect our powers in combination will be too strong, strong enough to bring them down." Ingrid tugged on the sleeve of her sweater, covering her hand with the soft fabric. With her cashmere covered hand, she tilted his face toward hers, urging
him to meet her gaze. "They're afraid." She took another step closer.

  “Ingrid…” Ignoring Mack’s warning tone, she leaned seductively into his body, their clothing creating a protective barrier to ward off any unpredictable connection. Her breasts pressed against his shirt, her dance leggings against his jeans. He sighed and shivered beneath her touch, his need for this female obvious to both of them. The way her small form nestled perfectly against him, her cashmere-coated fists resting behind his neck, created a crack in his armor that might never be repaired.

  And despite what his brain was shouting for him not to do, Mack followed his heart, burying his nose in Ingrid’s dark waves, allowing this secret pleasure, the wave of temptation breaching his private breakfront and crashing on shore.

  She smelled like hope, a female he could love if he were free to love. Mack wanted her touch with a desperation he'd never felt in his twenty-eight years. The evidence tightened his pants and tweaked his heart. "You bewilder me," he whispered, kissing her neck.

  The contact brought a rush of warmth, a baring of souls, a truth: physical, but so much more. Almost of their own accord, his arms snaked around her body, causing her to burrow closer with a motion that added fire to his already-heated libido. Instead of pulling away, he rested his cheek against her fragrant hair and breathed her into his lungs.

  Once. Twice. Again.

  For a dozen heartbeats, neither of them spoke, yet their bodies were in constant communication, their magics weaving an intricate pattern, axis to axis. He connected with his actors at every rehearsal, every performance, but gods, this was heaven—like nothing else.

  She smiled against his shirt then looked up with a questioning gaze. Her mouth was so sexy, with those full pink lips and that tongue that darted out to moisten them. Her mouth made him crazy, distracting him from all logical thought. He should push her away. Now.

  One more minute. Surely holding her for one more minute wouldn't upset the balance of the universe, would it? He ran a hand up and down her back, keeping the strokes gentle, more soothing than passionate. He heard her sigh, and smiled.