Dark Passions Read Free Page B

men. Her fingers retained the feel of aroused skin, and she felt wetness between her legs that wasn’t sweat.
    But she was sweating. Another cool trickle seemed to sizzle down her warm back. She shook her head, hoping to clear it.
    â€œNot bad,” Mark said. “Mostly young professionals. A couple of weird artists. Me.” To Susan he said, “I see you’ve noticed the remains of a bygone age. The elevator operator’s seat was screwed to that bracket. It would swing down from the wall so the old guy could sit on it.”
    â€œOh,” was all she could muster. Was he leering at her?
    Instead of feeling upset, she felt ... tingly.
    The elevator opened, and when she touched the rubber-encased doors, they were like the soft skin of a vagina.
    What the hell’s the matter with me? she thought, her breath hitching in her throat. What am I thinking?
    â€œFifth floor: beach wear, lingerie, and vacant apartments,” Mark said. He smiled innocently as the three of them slipped out of the elevator.
    The hall seemed cool and dark compared to the intense swelter of the elevator. Susan suddenly felt self-conscious, almost embarrassed. She reached down and buttoned the top of her blouse.
    Down the hall, a young woman emerged from her apartment. She wore a well-tailored business suit that showed off the gentle curves of her slender body. She carried a briefcase in one hand and her keys in the other and smiled at Mark as she passed them on her way to the elevator.
    To Susan the smile seemed too friendly, and she felt an unexpected jab of jealousy surge through her.
    â€œThis way,” Mark said, motioning in the direction from which the woman had come. Artie and Susan followed.
    Susan looked over her shoulder at the young woman by the elevator. She seemed to be watching them from the corner of her eye as she stepped through the doors. Or, more precisely, she’d been watching their ruggedly handsome guide.
    And Susan was envious, envious of her figure, of her features, of her hairstyle, but mostly she was envious of her apparent relationship with Mark Anthony.
    They reached the apartment door just as Susan heard the elevator doors slide closed.
    Susan took a deep breath and sighed. She was a happily married woman! And, although she could not deny that Mark was stunningly good looking, she knew she loved Artie despite his sometimes cold demeanor.
    Get a grip! she commanded herself.
    In the hall, a portrait caught Susan’s attention. An old oil painting hung in a gilded frame on the wall.
    â€œIs that Aurora DiLuisas?” she asked.
    â€œYes, it is.” Mark stepped back to admire the picture, a wide smile on his face. “She was known as ‘The Greek Marilyn.’ She’s our official matriarch. This was actually her building at one time. She died in the early seventies, still fairly young. Sexy thing in her prime, wasn’t she?”
    â€œWho is this Aurora-whoever?” Artie asked.
    â€œThe actress!” Susan declared, latching onto Artie’s arm. She had an urgent need to touch him, to reassure herself that things were all right between them. Or just to touch him. She stared at the portrait of a lovely woman, lush red lips parted in near ecstasy, dark eyes flashing below deep red hair piled in a single side-braid. “You know, on AMC. She’s a late-night, B-movie queen now but might have made it as big as Melina Mercouri, if she hadn’t died.”
    â€œThey say she still hangs around, haunting this place,” Mark said, mock fear in his voice. “But I’ve been here for three years now, and I’ve never seen any ghosts. It’s a great story to tell your friends, though.”
    Artie grunted.
    Mark winked at Susan and slowly slid the key into the hole. He turned the ornate doorknob, opening the place wide for inspection.
    Susan gasped. It was better than she had hoped. The floors were all bare hardwood, except for the art-deco mosaic