RIP Ryder
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Matanzas Moon
Ablaze by Elizabeth Raven
BLURB
These flames can’t be tamed…
After a wicked Halloween showdown with the vigilante ghost of a Voodoo Priestess, clairvoyant Bridget Quinn is hoping her life will finally cool off. Winter never poses much of a threat to the Nation’s Oldest City where there’s no shortage of Holiday Spirits when the blazing Florida sun sets. Again, the Ancient City is plagued by mysterious murders, this time masked by arson.
Hearse-driving Ghost Tour Guide, RIP Ryder, drowns his staggering guilt with excessive intoxication while Officer Nick Maddox’s heart breaks as Bridget’s peculiar behavior escalates. RIP has an epiphany, recognizing Nick and Bridget’s paranormal vexation as the work of RIP’s ghostly nemesis, Mr. X of Ripley’s Warden Castle.
Can RIP rally the troops to save Nick and Bridget before the flames consume them all?
EXCERPT
Across the room, RIP's cross buzz nearly incapacitated him, but he would've had to be dead not to notice Bridget strut by on her way out the front door of the club. His head whiplashed, tipping him off his bar stool as his feet staggered to regain balance and catch up. The air was chilly, so he pulled his light jacket closed as he stepped out onto the city block. Glancing in all directions, he saw her vivid copper hair gleam under a lamp post a few store fronts to his right, so RIP flicked his cigarette out and approached.
“Hola, chica,” he began with a slur. “You okay?”
“This is lame,” Bridget sulked.“ I wanna go somewhere else.”
“Well, we all came together,” he reminded her. “Drake still has another set before we can load up and motor.”
“There are other clubs and bars in Jax,” she insisted, stepping in to close the distance between them. The corseted bodice of her dress was cinched tightly, thrusting her breasts up and outward. Her skirt panels flapped with the wind as her long, shapely legs peeked between the skirt's high slits. “C'mon, RIP. Take me to another club. Or we can get a room or something and just hang out until they're ready.” She rocked from side to side seductively in her killer heel boots. At six foot tall, RIP was normally a few inches taller than her, but here she stood before him, face to face, an enticing challenge in her eyes.
“I can't drive anywhere, girl,” RIP declined with more rationality than he expected in his condition. Noticing her shivering, he paused. “Hey, want my coat?” She shook her head, so he offered an alternative. “Or we can sit in the hearse to warm up. I think I have a blanket in the back.”
Nodding, she followed him to his hearse parked behind the club. He opened the rear compartment door, reaching in to swipe the blanket to drape around her. They stood staring at each other for a moment; she leaned forward ever-so-slightly, her lips smiled an invitation.
Mesmerized, RIP caught himself just before their lips met. Realizing he still grasped the blanket, he released his hands and stepped back to lean against the vehicle, partially for balance but mostly to create a subliminal boundary between himself and his temptress, Bridget.
“Do you have any drugs?” she asked flippantly.
RIP snickered. Do I have drugs? Is the Space Pope reptilian?
“I have some weed up front,” he offered. “You wanna smoke out?” He figured she already knew he smoked weed. That was probably what she was asking for, anyway. No need to mention any other substances that may or may not be in his possession at that particular time.
“Hell, yeah!” she said.
He opened the passenger door for her, and she shook her head. “What?” he asked, his confusion amplified by intoxication. This is where she sat on the way here.
She pointed at the second passenger door of the cab leading to the middle section RIP modified to increase passenger capacity for tours. “Oh. You wanna sit in the middle?” He opened the door to usher her in. “Your chariot, m' lady.”
RIP followed close behind as Bridget slid along the cushioned bench seating. She accepted the beer RIP offered from the cooler stored in the coffin area.
“Thanks,” she said, tipping the bottle back for a swig, aware of RIP's eyes on her as he sparked a joint. Her head fell back a few degrees, elongating her neck, and enhancing his view as her lips closed around the rim of the bottle. After a few swallows, she slowly lowered it from her mouth, her tongue lapping the tip lightly to catch and savor any escaping droplets.
Not missing a millisecond of her demonstration, RIP suddenly remembered to exhale the massive hit he'd taken while under her spell. A couple of coughs followed the cloud of smoke as he passed her the joint. At this stage of his buzz, words were scarce. Looking around unsuccessfully for a topic of conversation, he sank into his floaty haze of complacency.
Sitting as close to him as possible without actual contact, Bridget exhaled the hit she'd been holding. She glanced at RIP, his body relaxed, his head resting on the back of the seat, bobbing slightly with the music playing inside his head.
Without warning, she inhaled the second hit and rolled his head to face hers, cheering, “Shotgun!” before planting her lips on his, blowing the smoke into his mouth. Her breasts skimmed along his arm and chest, rippling the hairs on the back of his neck and awakening many sensations in his body he'd assumed numb with drunkenness. She pulled back only an inch, still maintaining her intimate proximity.
Holding up what was left of the now extinguished roach, she asked, “You want any more?” Crinkling her nose to indicate she'd had enough.
Yeah, I want more. But not that. RIP thought wantonly, his eyes on hers. Grabbing the roach from her hand, he tossed it on the floorboard. Licking his lips in anticipation, he reached his hands to her face, hesitant to touch it, afraid it would evaporate before his eyes like before. The face that belonged to the one he loved so much, for so many years. Gwendolyn. His eyes closed tightly as their lips locked feverishly. He inhaled deeply as if her essence could get him even higher. Higher than he already was on the wave of lust and adrenaline mixed with various poisons circulating through his system.
She didn't resist as RIP pulled her onto him. Kissing feverishly, she slipped her arms around his neck as his hands roved her body. Straddling his lap, her hips bore down and rocked seductively against him. After exposing her breasts, RIP let his lips trail down her neck to sample her pink tips as both hands slipped under her dress, seizing her rear cheeks greedily. Grinding against each other and raspy with passion, both were eager for more carnal contact.
“Oh, God, GiGi,” RIP said as Bridget hastily untied his shoestring belt, tugging at his pants to unfasten them. “I love you, Gwen.”
“GWEN??” Bridget recoiled, astonished. “Who the fuck is Gwen?”
RIP's eyes popped open in surprise. The blurry contours of her face sharpened revealing a few trivial details distinguishing Bridget from Gwendolyn. “I'm Be—”
“Don't say it!” With his hand to her mouth, RIP silenced her. Hearing her name spoken would only document this depraved indiscretion. He pushed her off him, immediately penitent and ashamed of his treachery. How could he betray Nick like this? Clearly, neither he nor Bridget were in their right minds. But is that really an excuse? “This never happened! None of this EVER. HAPPENED.”
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I LOVE RIP. I've never gotten into the whole book boyfriend thing until I read about him. He's yummy!
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