Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 (15 page)

Sure, they had food and a nice house.
They dressed in haute couture, limousine shuttles taking them to
movie premieres and awards dinners. Their headshots decorated Times
Square billboards, e-mags and H-tab screens. But all of it was paid
for with the blood of millions of innocent lives. One day it would
be him who’d have to pay up.

Thetas might be slaves, but they had
choices too, especially now that she was on the cusp of discovering
how to pick the lock on their chains and open the cell
door.

Entering her room, she flung her shoes
at the closet. She started to strip, intending to take a bath and
drift away into oblivion. When she was down to her bra and panties,
she noticed Gene standing in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Do I fucking look like I’m okay?” she
snapped.

“Actually, much better than okay.” He
smiled impishly as he looked her over from head to toe.

Ingrid glared, placing her hands on
her hips. “Why are you here?”

“You’re my assignment for
tonight.”

“Oh, great. Mack sent a babysitter.
What does he think I’m going to do?" She stretched out her arms,
palms up. "Slit my wrists in despair? Oh, the horror! He shouted at
me. I’ll have to kill myself now.” She clutched at her heart,
mimicking an old-time movie actress.

“Ingrid…” Gene wasn't
amused.

“What? I’ve been raped by my
guardian's sleazy boyfriend, I’ve had the crap beaten out of me by
three production managers, and I’ve been called the most disgusting
names you can imagine by The Director himself. And I'm not even
counting what the assholes at the parties have done to me. A little
shouting from my PM is not going to turn me into a quivering lump
of fear.”

He stood in silence for a moment as
what she’d said sunk in. “I’ll run you a bath.” To her
astonishment, Gene walked past her into the bathroom and leaned
over to turn on the faucets.

“I think you should leave.”

“Sorry. I’m here for the night.” She
was surprised at how relieved she felt. She pushed that thought
away and frowned.

“You’ll be sleeping on the
floor.”

He shrugged. “I’ve slept in worse
places. Mack sent me up here so you wouldn’t be alone. He cares
about you.”

“He cares about kissing the ass of The
Director.”

Gene frowned, sitting on
the ledge of the large bathtub, his voice a little colder than she
was used to hearing it. “He’s trying hard to protect us, even
you.
Especially
you. Do you know how many low-grossing troupes are retired on
the east coast alone? At least five every year. They’re wiped out.
Exterminated. As long as we’re bringing in the cash, we’re safe.
Start trouble, Ingrid, and we’re all dead.”

“Yeah, well what no one gets is that
we’re all dead, no matter what!”

She stalked to the picture window and
sat in the cushioned seat, as angry with herself as she was with
Mack. She'd acted like a brat downstairs, in front of the others.
Maybe Mack had been right about how she always lashed out to
protect herself. It was a lot easier to hold onto anger than to
face up to her pain. The memories of the dark times in her life
held too much power over her.

After months of unleashed emotion,
tears began to wet her cheeks, her body beginning to tremble. Gene
turned off the water and sat on the window seat beside Ingrid,
wrapping her in his arms as she clung to him and sobbed.

God, she'd never lost it like this.
Sure, all that stuff in the past flooded in whenever she let her
guard down, but she'd kept her emotions under wraps for a long
time. What had triggered the tears, the hurt, was the anger etched
across Mack's face. Her craving for his approval and support made
her vulnerable, and that really sucked.

Gene lifted her easily, pulling her
into his lap, wiping her face with a tissue from a box he’d grabbed
on the way. “Shhh, it’s okay. Mack won’t stay mad for
long.”

She swallowed down another sob. "I'm
not afraid of the wolves or the vamps, if that's what you think.
Moving was stressful and…”

"Mm hmm." Gene didn't sound convinced,
but the backrub was soothing her nerves and she didn't feel like
messing up the moment. "We’re all afraid. We walk the plank after
every performance, hoping we've done enough. We go to these parties
and do whatever The Director expects us to do. Then we bury it
deep.”

Talking to another actor who really
seemed to understand, was a gift. "Maybe..."

"Maybe? C'mon, fess up."

"Fess up? What planet did you come
from?"

"I'm a redneck, honey bun. Deal with
it."

The idea of this gorgeous, classy,
sophisticated male being anything close to a redneck threw her into
a fit of giggles. "I'm...I'm sorry." She was snorting, her tears
still running freely.

"Finally a smile. But blow your nose.
You're a mess." He stretched out his arm, a tissue dangling from
the tips of his fingers.

"You like to give orders?" She
snatched the tissue and blew hard.

"Don't you?" His grin was half
mischief/half seduction.

"Sometimes."

“Good. We can alternate days. You boss
me on Tuesdays and I’ll boss you on Wednesdays and so forth.
Sundays we can agree to compromise.”

“You gave me Saturday night.” They
always had shows on Saturdays, and afterward partners would need to
reboot.

He eyed the headboard. “Handcuffs are
adjustable.”

“We weren’t discussing
sex.”

“We weren’t? Forgive me.” He winked,
kissing both of her salty cheeks and leading her back to the other
room to restart the bath.

"Thanks."

"Here to help, Ma'am."

Giggling, she stripped and sank into
the heavenly heat, as tired muscles and stressed-out nerves floated
away in the bubbling warmth. Gene kept her company while she
soaked.

"Feelin' better, darlin’?" He used his
long fingers to massage her neck.

"Why're you being so nice?"

"We're stuck together, good times and
bad. Might as well work toward a friendship."

"You're a smart guy."

"Shhh. Let's keep that on the
down-low, okay?"

"Ah, sure. No problem."

While she dried off and dressed in
pajama shorts and a tank, Gene called Alan to order Chinese
food.

He combed out her hair, still damp
from the bath, speaking softly. “I was raped as a kid,” he
confessed. She started to respond, but he shook his head. “And
again as an ingénue. Not every bastard wants a female in his bed.
We all have our horror stories." He shifted to meet her gaze. "This
troupe is our safe haven. We take care of each other here. Try not
to fuck it up for the rest of us, okay, love?” A grain of
irritation bit into his words.

She winced. “I’m sorry I’ve been such
a bitch.”

"You should apologize to Mack, not
me."

"I know, I will. Thanks for being so
sweet to such an undeserving soul."

He kissed her forehead and smiled as
he pulled her into a hug, resting his chin on her head. He smelled
citrusy and comforting. “You’re my partner and I'm here for you.
The last Ingrid and I became… We became very close.”

"You miss her?"

"Every day." Gene was strong and
generous, but broken too, like all acting thetas.

“Do you hear from her?”

“We’re not allowed to contact each
other.”

Gene Hudson was the first male who'd
ever shown Ingrid this degree of tenderness or compassion. She and
Gene Stone had been friends, and he’d never hurt her the way her
first two Genes had, but he’d also never understood her emotional
outbursts, her passion. He’d refused to talk about anything but
their work and their occasional forays into Atlanta.

Any strong feelings he might’ve had
were locked in a box inside his heart—the way most thetas dealt
with pain.

She snaked her arms around her
partner’s waist and hugged him back, wondering if precious moments
like these were commonplace to humans or other races. She felt as
if she’d been starved for years and tonight was finally feeding.
And all it took was a gentle touch and an understanding
word.

Ingrid looked deeply into his emerald
eyes and tugged on his hair. "Why aren't you trying to... you
know?"

"Take advantage? Get into your
pants—er—pajamas? Cop a feel?" They laughed
companionably.

"Put that way, it doesn't sound so
great."

"Tonight you're hurting. Tomorrow
night… Tomorrow, we'll reboot.” He actually looked shy. How sweet
was that?

They heard the downstairs doorbell.
"Sounds like our food’s arrived." Gene jumped up.

They sat together at the lovely
antique desk and ate moo shu pork, shrimp fried rice and egg rolls,
laughing over their fortune cookies. Like a couple of teens, they
watched funny movies on her H-tab, chatting about the troupe and
some of the crazier experiences they’d had as thetas. Eventually,
Ingrid fell asleep in his strong, safe arms.

Ingrid woke up the next morning to
find that Gene had gone. It was nine and Mack was sitting in the
chair next to her bed, a sour expression on his face. She couldn't
really blame him.

She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.
"Do you prefer using the cat-o-nine-tails or the
flogger?"

He twisted his mouth, leaning back in
the chair, arms crossed. "A few whacks on the butt are not out of
the question. One day, I might surprise you." The vision of those
hands on her ass caused muscles down low to clench in
anticipation.

The attraction between them was
growing stronger. The fact that she was in bed, dressed in sleep
shorts and a thin camisole only made her more aware of how exposed
her body was, how easy it would be to… Before she lost all control
and pounced on the guy, she swallowed down her inflamed libido. "My
ass might protest but I can't deny I’d deserve it. I might even
enjoy it, which would defeat the purpose. Just a heads
up.”

She smiled and his eyes widened, his
gaze automatically stroking over her body. It was sweet and sad at
the same time, because unless he got with the program, the chances
of them being together were slim. He shifted in his chair and spoke
quietly, the vibration of his voice igniting every one of her
erogenous zones. “I'm putting you on probation. Your behavior—your
disregard for my authority within the troupe—puts everyone at
risk.”

And that cooled her down fast. “What
exactly does probation entail?”

“You’re confined to the
troupe house and grounds, unless you have my permission, and
only
my
permission, to leave them. You will keep your conversations
with the rest of the troupe to a minimum, and stick only to generic
topics, such as food or the weather. Gene and I are the exceptions,
of course.”

"I see." Her last production manager
would have beaten her brutally and then raped her while she cried.
But Mack Hudson, this male, whose presence made her tremble with a
vulnerability she'd always denied herself, would never choose to
hurt her. She wiped away a tear with the back of her
hand.

He sighed and leaned closer. “What
happened, or almost happened between us was amazing, for me at
least, but it's better for everyone that I got that call when I
did. When we're together, I forget who I am. If our troupe is going
to survive what The Director has lined up for us, I can’t be with
you again.”

“You aren't only a production manager,
you know. You have the right to a life separate from your
job."

"Maybe that's true for other workers,
but I can't be selfish if it means everyone else will
suffer."

"You still want me?"

"More than I can express in words, but
it doesn’t matter what I want or what you want. You’re part of this
family now, and I expect you to do your part.”

"Did you report what I said about The
Director?”

“If I had, you’d have already been
picked up by his soldiers. If you mention anything about The
Director to the others again, I’ll be forced to send you packing.”
She tried not to look hurt as he raked his hands through his hair
in frustration. “I’m responsible for six other people, besides you.
How could I live with myself if I crawled into your bed, and the
troupe was retired because I’d disobeyed The Director?”

Ingrid sighed and lay back on the bed,
placing her arm across her forehead. “Wouldn't it be easier for you
if I was replaced?” She stared at the ceiling, afraid to meet his
gaze.

“Not for me. The day they took you
away would be the worst day of my life.” Her eyes grew large as she
turned, the marked sadness in his gaze cutting through to her core.
"You must know how I feel,” he whispered, lowering his body beside
hers on the bed.

With that, Ingrid sat up and took his
hand, her shields blocking the connection between them. She wanted
so much to see him smile again, desperate to make things right
between them. "I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. I was a
bitch. I'll do whatever you tell me to do."