Free Ride the Thunder by Janet Dailey

America. Except here, he was surrounded by concrete instead of teeming plant life. Removing the lightweight jacket of his leisure suit, Brig swung it over his shoulder and started back to the hotel.
    A few minutes before five, he stopped at the desk for his key then walked to the elevators. Perspiration had plastered his shirt to his back. His skin prickled with the heat as he waited for the elevator. The doors opened and Max stepped out. Brig’s eyebrows shot up in momentary surprise, his alert gaze catching the furtive movement as Max slipped a room key into his jacket pocket.
    “Hello, Max. I didn’t expect to find you still here at the hotel,” Brig commented dryly, stepping to one side as the elevator was emptied of passengers.
    “I had an appointment.” The defensive response was as revealing as the cloying perfume that had attached itself to his clothes.
    A sarcastic sneer curled his mouth. “You’re still the ladies man, huh, Max?” At the moment, Brig didn’t like anybody very much. Max took the brunt of his displeasure at the world in general. “Who was it? That gorgeous black receptionist you’ve got working for you? I’m sure you’re taking the precaution of leaving the hotel separately.” Even as he made the accusation, he knew it hadn’t been the receptionist. Brig remembered the clean fragrance that had scented her skin.
    Max stiffened, a little white beneath his tan. “I don’t owe you any explanation.”
    “You’re right. You don’t. But you should do something about the way you smell before you go back to the office. It’s worse than the perfume counter at a department store.”
    The elevator doors were about to close. Ignoring the flush creeping into Max’s face, Brig moved past him into the elevator. On the ride up, he removed his hat and wiped out the sweatband with his handkerchief. A cool shower was uppermost on his mind.
    Unlocking the door. Brig stepped into the room. The drapes were closed and the room was dark. Tossing his jacket on the chair, he walked over to pull them open. Sunlight fell on the blue coverlet of the bed. He grimaced in distaste at the room, a carbon copy of a thousand others in the building.

Chapter III

    H UMMING TO HERSELF, Jordanna walked down the apartment’s corridor. She shifted the heavy, bulky package in her arms to a more comfortable position. It was wrapped in shimmering silver-green foil with a bright emerald green bow that kept tickling her chin.
    Inside the box was one of those modern art sculptures that didn’t resemble anything. As far as Jordanna was concerned, they were strictly conversation pieces, but her brother loved such pieces. They were expensive, too. She wouldn’t have had enough money if she hadn’t persuaded her father to chip in on the gift during lunch. After the argument last week, she hoped Kit would accept the present as a peace offering, even if it came in the guise of a house-warming present.
    She sighed at the thought of their argument. She couldn’t even remember what had started it. It was supposed to be natural for a brother and sister to quarrel, but she felt they argued more than was healthy. Her problem was the quickness of her temper,all the fault of her dark red hair. And there wasn’t any closeness between them. She and Kit were too different, their interests too divergent. They were at opposite ends of a spectrum, their opinions colored by different viewpoints.
    Her searching gaze located his apartment number on a door. Jordanna stopped in front of it and juggled the package to push the doorbell. She heard the muffled buzz it made and waited.
    As the door opened, she smiled and said, “Surprise,” but the smile faded at the sight of the strange man standing in the opening instead of her brother.
    Recognition flashed in his eyes. “Hello, you must be Jordanna.”
    “Y . . . Yes,” she faltered, staring at the sandy-haired man. “I was looking for my brother.”
    “Christopher isn’t here right now.