Ride the Thunder by Janet Dailey

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. Livviewill 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 fascinatinggreen 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