Ride the Thunder (10 page)

“Hello, Jordanna,” her brother inserted his greeting into the exchange.

“Hello, Kit.” Her gaze softened as it shifted to her brother. “I stopped by to see you yesterday.”

Tall and lithe, Kit had his mother’s rich black hair and his father’s dark eyes, outlined by long and thick, curling lashes. His features were chiseled in classic lines. Maturity had hardened the sensitivity in his mouth and eyes, overshadowing it with a certain air of cynicism. He was a handsome man, as close to perfect as Jordanna had ever seen.

“I came back to the apartment a half an hour after you had left,” he said.

A rustle of tissue paper drew Jordanna’s gaze to the hallway. Tessa was walking by with a shaded plastic garment bag draped over her arm. The hem of an emerald green gown peeked out of the bottom.

“What’s that? A new dress for the party, Livvie?” Jordanna’s tone was caustic. Her mother had a closet full of gowns that hadn’t been worn more than twice.

“Yes. A Christopher original designed especially for me for the party tonight,” was the quick retort. “I thought you were in your room getting ready for the party, Jordanna.”

“There’s plenty of time,” she shrugged. “It doesn’t take me as long as it takes you.” That wasn’t true. Jordanna looked at the features that had been nipped and tucked by skilled hands into an ageless face.

As Olivia bristled, Kit laid a quieting hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you lie down and rest, Mother? I know you want to be at your best for the party this evening. I’ll see that the caterers have everything
ready,” he promised. “You’ve had a long afternoon with all the preparations. You deserve some quiet before the party starts.”

“Yes.” Gentleness beamed in the look Olivia gave her son. “That is an excellent suggestion. Thank you, Christopher.”

With tightening lips, Jordanna watched her sweep from the room, all regal grace and pride. Glancing back at her brother, she shook her head in wry confusion.

“You are always pampering her, shielding her like a child from any hint of unpleasantness. Why? She’s a grown woman—with claws.”

“You have no compassion, Jordanna.”

“I have no compassion?!!” She nearly lost her temper. She struggled to control it, then vented her bottled fury at the fates. “Why can’t we exchange ten words without getting into an argument, Kit?”

“We are two different people.” He was calm. He always seemed to be calm. “No matter how much we care about each other, we can’t get along. When will you realize that our parents have the same problem?”

He was asking too much of her to equate their situation with her parents. She turned away to walk from the room. “I don’t have time to discuss it with you. I have to bathe and change before the party.”

After a long soak in the luxuriant bubble bath, Jordanna stepped from the sunken tub and toweled her skin dry. Her short terry cloth robe was hanging on a hook behind the door. She wrapped it around herself and tied the sash. Walking to the dressing alcove, she pulled the pins that held her hair piled atop her head and shook it free. As she picked up the jar of cream to moisturize her face, there was a knock on her bedroom door.

“Who is it?” Jordanna called out.

“It’s me,” her brother answered. “Do you mind if I come in?”

After a second’s hesitation, she replied, “Come in.”

The door to her bedroom opened and closed. She heard his footsteps on the parquet floor as he crossed the room to the open door of the Italian marble bath. She smoothed the cream onto her face and gently massaged it in. Christopher stopped in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame. She glanced at his reflection in the mirror, afraid that he might intend to resume the argument they had begun in the living room.

“I wanted to thank you for the present,” he said.

Her mouth relaxed into a smile. “You’re welcome. I hope you liked it.”

“I did. It has an honored place on the coffee table.”

“I like what you’ve done with the apartment.” Jordanna picked up an eyebrow brush and began stroking the natural sweep of auburn brows. “What does Mike do?”

“He’s an engineer for a high-rise construction firm.” His dark eyes watched her. He appeared to be waiting for another question.

Jordanna searched for something to say. “He seemed like a nice guy,” she offered.

“He is.” Christopher paused again, but not as long. “How long before you and Dad leave on another hunting expedition?”

“I don’t know for sure. We’ve drawn a permit for bighorns in Idaho. The season opens in September. Dad mentioned something about doing some sport fishing in August, but he’s been working out at the Club to get in shape for the bighorn hunt.”

“Have you ever thought about settling down?” The look in his dark eyes was intent, almost anxious in its seriousness. “Quit flying all over the world killing dumb animals and build a life for yourself, maybe?”

“Just because you have been bitten by the bug to build a nest of your own doesn’t mean I have, or will.” Jordanna glanced at his reflection with amusement and reached for the jar of make-up base. “I enjoy what I’m doing, which, by the way, isn’t killing. It’s hunting.”

“Mere semantics. The end result is the same, a dead
animal,” The corners of his mouth were pulled down by a grim expression of disdain, black lights glittering in his eyes.

Jordanna attempted a patient explanation in defense of her position. “If there weren’t hunters in this country, the wild game would overpopulate. They would do endless damage to the agricultural crops, take away valuable grazing land, and ultimately starve to death. Their numbers have to be controlled. Hunting is a much more merciful way than hunger or disease.”

“I concede the necessity, but what I don’t understand is how you can enjoy it.”

“I like roughing it. I like being outdoors—away from everything and everyone. It’s fascinating to see wild animals in their natural habitat, instead of in some zoo. Have you ever seen an eagle soar on the mountain currents? Or watched a fawn gamboling at a dawn hour in some dew-studded glade? That’s the beauty of a hunt. The thrill comes from pitting your skills against an animal whose senses are twice or three times as keen as yours and a hundred times more wary.”

“Hear! Hear!” Christopher clapped when she finished, teasing laughter dancing in his eyes.

“Stop it.” Jordanna flashed him an exasperated look.

“Alright,” he agreed. “We’ll change the subject. Who is your escort for the party tonight?”

“I don’t have one.” She blended the beige and brown shadow on her eyelids and reached for a brown pencil.

“Why not?” A thickly drawn black brow arched in surprise. “You usually have a stream of beaus to choose from.”

“I’ve decided to swear off men. One promiscuous member of the family is enough. I have no intention of competing with Livvie for the dubious honor.” Her tone was acid and dry.

“Dammit, Jordanna.” Christopher straightened, his expression darkening with anger. “When are you going to let up on her?”

“When are you going to stop leaping to her defense?” Jordanna countered just as swiftly. “We both know all
about her many lovers. It’s past history—past, present, and future. She’ll never change. I have stopped expecting that. My only point is that I’m not going to follow in her footsteps.”

“Who said you would?” He followed the question without giving her a chance to answer. “I know you’ve had some empty relationships, but your choice of partners has left something to be desired. You can’t walk around in that body and pretend that you don’t have needs and desires.”

“I can control them,” she stated decisively.

“That isn’t your problem.”

“Oh?” she challenged. “Since you seem to know so much, what is my problem?”

“You seem to think sex has something to do with shame. Maybe that’s why you’ve been indiscriminate about your choice of men in the past. Sex is a beautiful experience, Jordanna, when it’s shared with someone you care about. There’s no shame afterwards, only a pleasant afterglow.”

“My, my,” she mocked the vehemence of his answer. “Maybe I should follow you out on a date and take notes.”

Christopher whitened, his features drawn into taut lines. “Perhaps you’ll better understand what I mean if I compare it with hunting. You don’t waste your time with an inferior member of the species. You keep looking until you find the best representative of the breed—one with stamina, heart, and looks. I believe your term is trophy class.” He paused, his composure slowly returning to calmness. “Everyone has a mate, Jordanna. You’ll never find yours if you stop looking. And denying your own sexuality will only bring you misery.”

Unable to meet his reflected gaze in the mirror, Jordanna studied the rolled brush tip of her mascara wand. His comparison made sense but it conflicted with her own resolutions. The silence that followed his words finally made her lift her gaze, but she saw only her reflection in the mirror. Her brother was no longer
standing there. Startled, Jordanna turned. The soft crackling whisper of tissue paper came from the bedroom.

“Kit?” Curious, she stepped into the doorway.

His back was to her as he bent over an object lying on her bed. Jordanna couldn’t see what it was with her brother standing in the way. At the sound of his name, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled absently.

“Come here. I have something for you.”

Jordanna walked forward. “What is it?” she asked, an instant before her brother stripped away the protective plastic and turned to hold up a long black gown.

“I designed this for you.”

The simplicity of the design caught her eye first. “It’s beautiful.” The bodice consisted of two straps, wide where they joined the high and broad waistband, tapering to narrow bands over the shoulder, and even slimmer strips of the cloth down the back. “It’s daring,” Jordanna observed with a half-laugh.

“It’s perfect for you,” he insisted. “It will show off the ideal symmetry of your figure and your beautiful skin. The flare of the skirt will permit that strong and graceful movement that is unique to you. And I prefer the word ‘provocative’ to daring.”

“But I’ve never worn black before,” she offered the hesitant protest. It had always seemed her mother’s color.

“It will bring out the fiery highlights of your hair. Trust me,” her brother urged. “You will be beautiful in this. And it’s time you wore something that brings out that earthy quality that sets you apart from other women.”

She sent him a glittering look that was both sharp and amused. “Is this all part of accepting my own sexuality, Kit?”

“It’s a step,” be conceded smoothly. “Will you wear it tonight?”

“Yes.” Then Jordanna remembered, “You designed a dress for Liv to wear tonight. We are being used, aren’t we? We’re modeling clothes you designed. Livvie
will show off your look for the mature beauty, and I will portray the femme fatale of the young jetsetter. You’re hoping to drum up some business among the party guests,” she accused, but without malice.

A wry, cynical expression touched his handsome face as he shrugged. “It’s done all the time.” He moved toward the door. “I’d better check on the caterers.”

Jordanna watched him leave, not moving until the door to her bedroom had closed. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she really didn’t know her brother at all. The confused sigh that whispered through the room belonged to her.

Taking her time, she finished applying her makeup before returning to the bedroom to dress. The sheer simplicity of the black gown made it stunning. Made of a stretchable jersey, the bodice followed the contours of her breasts, the low cleavage revealing the swelling sides that formed the valley between them. The waistline was snug, compressing her ribs and relaxing to flow over her hips.

The black sheen of the material was a perfect contrast to show off her ivory-smooth shoulders, while accenting the scarlet lights in her hair. Jordanna left it loose, lifting the hair away from her face with a pair of combs. She limited her jewelry to a pair of earrings, plain gold studs polished to a high gloss.

When she ventured into the ball, there was still a quarter of an hour before the guests were due to arrive. Instead of going to the main section of the apartment, Jordanna turned toward the master suite where her parents had adjoining room, to see if her father was ready.

The door to her mother’s room stood ajar. As Jordanna started to walk past, she heard her father’s voice come from within. She stopped, not intending to eavesdrop but only to wait for her father to come out of the room.

“That’s a beautiful gown you’re wearing, Olivia,” her father commented. “It intensifies that fascinating
green of your eyes. It’s new, isn’t it?” His words were complimenting, yet there was a sarcastic tone to his voice. Lately, it was always there when he addressed his wife.

“Yes, it is. Christopher designed it,” her mother announced with a challenging lilt.

“Ahh, yes, my son the dress designer,” Fletcher declared with a wealth of bitter contempt.

Shock rippled through Jordanna. She had known there was a chasm between her father and her brother, but she hadn’t realized her father regarded him with such derision. She had been aware of his disapproval, but not this.

“That’s enough, Fletcher.” Her mother’s defense was immediate. “Christopher is a gifted designer. He will be famous someday.”

“God help us all when he is.”

“Be honest for once, Fletcher. You are only thinking of yourself and what others will say about you,” Olivia retorted. “You are concerned that it will reflect badly on you, that perhaps your own manliness will be questioned.”

“Kit is what you made him,” was the swift, angry reply.

“Yes, blame me,” she taunted. “Everything is always my fault. I suppose I’m responsible for Jordanna turning into a gun-toting adventuress. I’m sure you’ll deny you had anything to do with it.”

“Leave Jordanna out of this!” her father snapped. “She’s a woman. No one would mistake her for anything else. Even when she’s carrying a rifle, she’s all woman.”

There was a sound of something being slammed onto a table top. “Why did you come in here, Fletcher? Was it just to start a quarrel before the party?” Olivia demanded. “You aren’t going to spoil my evening because I’m not going to let you!”