Excerpt 1:

From this close I could see the scruff growing in on his jaw area, it was dark blond too and made him look totally delicious.
Holding my shirt up with one hand he reached out with the other, gliding his fingers across my stomach, just below my ribcage. “Here?” he whispered, staring at the area.
I nodded, not bothering to glance down. The skin stung lightly as he caressed it. I didn’t care. Frankly, it could hurt like hell and I still would have let him touch it. Desire suffused my limbs, making them heavy. I felt goose bumps break out over my bare skin, and maybe I should have been embarrassed at my reaction because really there wasn’t anything sexual to what he was doing but my body sure as well acted like there was.
He frowned a little when my muscled trembled beneath him and glanced up. “Does it hurt?”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
“It’s just red. No blisters,” he answered, not looking back down at the “burn” but not pulling his fingers away either. Spencer watched me as he dragged the tops of his knuckles down the curve of my waist and moved across my navel.
“You burned anywhere else?” he rumbled in a low, throaty tone.
Man, I wish I was. I wished I could point out a thousand injuries just to give him a reason to not lift his hand.
“No,” I whispered.
He glided his hand over my hip and curved his palm around the dip in my waist, tugging me just a little bit closer. Just one step… that’s all I needed to take to bring my bare waist up against his body.
I tilted my head back when he bent, lowering his face toward mine. I anticipated his kiss, I craved it… part of me thought I might need it.
He stopped just inches away, his heavy lidded eyes spearing mine. “Nice drawers,” he whispered.
It took me a second to realize what he said, I was too far under his spell.
But when his lips turned up in an onery smirk his words penetrated my lust laden brain I gasped and leaped back, pulling my shirt from his hand and yanking it down over my “drawers”.
“Oh my God!” I burst out. “You are such a pig!”
He laughed. “What? I was paying you a compliment.”
I groaned, still yanking at the hem of my shirt. “You’re making fun of me!” I challenged.
He laid a hand over his heart and looked at me solemnly. “I do swear that no one wears polka dots like you do.”
I. Was. Going. To. Die. Of embarrassment.

Excerpt 2:

The room was completely silent except for the light scrawling of my pen across paper. Maybe that’s why I heard the sound.
It was a low scraping sound, like wood rubbing against wood. I tilted my head, confused. It was an odd sound to hear in the middle of the night, something I might not even think twice about if it were daylight.
But it wasn’t.
A muffled thump overhead caused my entire body to tighten like a shoelace with a double knot. My head snapped back to stare up at the ceiling.
I was being crazy.
I was being paranoid.
Thump.
There was someone in the apartment!
A surge of adrenaline so powerful it blurred my vision for a few seconds rocketed through me. My brain tried to think as my body went into overdrive. That first sound, someone had opened a window upstairs. The thump was when that someone dropped their up-to-no-good ass into my house.
Still clutching the pen, I raced for the stairs, out of my mind with fear. All the times my mother told me I needed to get a landline phone installed haunted me in that moment. My only means of calling for help was upstairs, beside my bed, in the form of my smart phone.
She was never going to let me hear the end of this.
If I survive. The thought floated through my head like a vicious taunt. Another light scuffling sound upstairs had my heart thumping even harder.
My God, it might not be me they hurt!
I wasn’t quiet on my way up the old wooden steps. In fact, I sounded like a herd of elephants that needed to lose about twenty pounds.
Good.
It would draw all the attention of the no good dirty rotten bastards in here.
Come get me, assholes.
It was dark upstairs except for the nightlight that lit up the hallway. Against the long wall across from that light, I saw a dark, lurking shadow pass. I gasped and my blood pressure skyrocketed so high that my scalp likely should have blown off the top of my head.
Holy shit, this was scary.
But I had to be strong. I had to be a fighter. I was a fighter.
The intruder appeared at the top of the stairs, slipping out of my bedroom just as I cleared the top step. His body tensed when he saw me, and then he rushed me without warning.

TYLER (Inked Brotherhood, #2)

RELEASE PARTY AND GIVEAWAY!

  WELCOME to the Launch Party for TYLER (Inked Brotherhood, #2)!!! TYLER is a New Adult contemporary (erotic) romance by author Jo Raven. It?s book #2 in the Inked Brotherhood series (coming right after ASHER) ? but can be read as a stand-alone title, as well. We?re celebrating the release with giveaways of ebooks and gift cards on Jo Raven?s author page! We?ll be celebrating all day, so join us to read steamy excerpts and teasers from TYLER and for the chance to win electronic copies of Tyler, Asher and others!

SYNOPSIS

Four years have passed since I left home, my parents, and my brother Asher behind ? since I shut out my past. And Erin. Four years since I last saw her, since I heard her voice and held her in my arms. I?ve spent my time forging a path from woman to woman, from bed to bed; trying to find an answer. But I think I?ve lost my way. There?s no light at the end of the dark. No big surprise. I carry the dark inside me. I?m a bastard ? branded as such from the start. I never give my phone number and address; I take my pleasure and don?t come back for seconds. No commitments; no promises and no happy endings. Yeah, I?m a bastard down to the bone and I don?t give a damn. But now I?m back in my birth town, the town I fled at eighteen ? back to make amends to the brother I abandoned and watch from afar the only girl I?ve ever wanted. Hope isn?t a currency I can afford; I learned that lesson long ago. Yet when she looks at me and says my name, I can?t help but hope. This is book 2 in the Inked Brotherhood series which started with Asher. It is a stand-alone work. No cliffhanger. The expected publication date is end July 2014, on all of your favorite e-book websites.  

 

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?EXCERPT

?Why?? I blurt out, to break the spell. ?Why what?? his voice rumbles, low and deep, sending shivers skittering over my skin. I can?t let his face, his scent, his body take away my reason. I came here to talk. ?Why did you leave four years ago?? His mouth flattens and he shoves his fingers through his unruly hair. Those broad shoulders roll in a shrug. That?s it? He thinks he?s off the hook that easily? No way. I push off the counter and get into his face?well, I crane my neck and almost rise on tiptoe, but it?ll have to do?and grab a fistful of his T-shirt. ?Why didn?t you tell me you were going? Why didn?t you ever call? Where were you, for chrissakes?? ?What do you care?? he says, so quietly I?m only sure he spoke because I?m looking right at his beautiful mouth. My grip on his T-shirt tightens. ?Are you seriously asking me this?? ?You told me I should go and never come back.? His eyes close briefly, and a pang goes through my chest. ?That I was a bastard and an asshole and wasn?t worth the trouble.? I let go of him and take a faltering step back. I did say those things, didn?t I? ?I?m sorry.? My hormones played havoc with my feelings back then, intensifying every feeling. ?What about you? Why did you leave instead of talking this out? I never got a chance to tell you I?m sorry, you just?? I bite my lip and let out a long breath, but it catches in my throat. Maybe he hears it because he reaches for me and trails his thumb down the line of my jaw. The gesture stills me completely as his dark eyes nail me. I see sadness there, and fear. What is he afraid of? ?I had to go,? he whispers and his hand drops away. ?You left town, Tyler. Left everyone and everything and nobody knew where you were. God, I was so worried.? My throat constricts; I can barely swallow. ?You were?? There?s a hitch in his voice, as if he doesn?t believe it. ?Yes, I was.? I?ve been so afraid for him for so long, I can hardly believe he?s here, alive and well. I reach up and slide my hand over his chest. It?s hard; solid. ?Why, Tyler? Tell me why you left.? ?I don?t wanna talk about it,? he grinds out. I want to bang my fist on his chest and slap his face. My fingers curl against the soft fabric of his T-shirt, and I feel his muscles clench underneath. ?Screw you,? I whisper and I hope my voice won?t break and betray me. ?That?s all you have to say to me? I?m not going to?? ?You?re so beautiful,? he whispers. Shocked into silence, I stare at him. His gaze is moving over my body, a hot, silky glide that steals my breath. His pupils are dilated, making his eyes look black. I try again. ?After all this time, I just want to know?? His hand hooks around my back, pressing me to his body and he bends his head toward me, dark hair falling in his eyes. His mouth descends on mine, sealing the words inside. The world falls away with a murmur as he kisses me. I gasp and his tongue pushes inside, tangling with mine. He licks at my mouth, and he tastes so good?like dark chocolate and pepper. Familiar. Thrilling. Sexy. I want more. I slide my arms around his hips and kiss him back. His chest vibrates against me as he moans and then he drags me closer, until my breasts are crushed against his firm abs. A tiny voice at the back of my mind is screeching in protest?this shouldn?t be happening, we should be talking, explaining, finishing this off?but it?s drowned in the rushing of blood in my ears, the thundering beat of my heart. His smell, his taste, the feel of his muscular body, it sends waves of scalding heat over my skin, through me, tightening the tips of my breasts, starting a pulse between my legs. I cling to him as I burn from the inside out; I desperately need him?need to feel him around me, against me, inside me. Everywhere where he?s been missing for so long.  

 

AUTHOR BIO

Jo Raven writes New Adult erotic contemporary romance. She loves sexy bad boys and strong-willed heroines, and divides her time between writing and reading. When not cooking up plots, she putters in her cluttered kitchen and dreams of traveling to India and Japan.  

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Four years ago, Frankie Rios walked away from her best friend and big sister, Iris. To Frankie, Iris died the day that she last rejected Frankie’s attempts at getting Iris alcohol and drug treatment. Rather than accept grief for her beloved sister’s loss, Frankie turned to her music. A renowned cellist, Frankie has managed to ignore the pain and suffering of losing the person she loved most in this world. With Iris out of her mind and out of her life, Frankie was able to move on...or so she thought. Until Iris really died. 

Topher went to war in 2001 only to return two years later damaged and broken. Unable to reconcile the war vet with the boy he used to be, Topher gave up on life. When Iris Rios, his long-lost childhood best friend, dies from liver failure at thirty-two years-old, Topher is forced to confront his past. He must decide whether he deserves to heal. He must decide whether he will take that first step and then take another until he can recover what he lost: himself. 

Weeping Angels is a story of grief carried and grief ignored. It’s about learning to love and moving on. Mourning someone once is hard enough, but mourning someone twice is unimaginably harder.

 

 

Weeping Angels

Cristy Rey

 

Goodreads

Genre: Women’s fiction, romance

Release date: June 27, 2014

Purchase Links

Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Smashwords

Excerpt #1

A woman hurls herself into the parking lot without even checking to see if a car is coming. Long blonde hair flies like a cape and she moves as though propelled by a rocket. Black, slinky heels flick off her feet, smacking into the asphalt with every rapid step. The scarf wrapped around her neck, despite this god-forsaken humidity, flaps over her shoulder. Any other day, I might have tried to stop her. If not, I might have fallen to the ground and covered my head with my hands, brought back to Afghanistan by some misapprehending synapse fire. But not tonight. Tonight, I merely stand by and watch her go.

She stops abruptly at the edge of the parking lot and just stands there. Her back to us, she drops her arms to her sides and her shoulders slump. I’m not sure what I’m looking at, but whatever it is unfurls as I watch. A woman like that doesn’t need to be crying at the end of the parking lot alone, and we’re watching like a couple of jackals who are just man enough to smoke outside a funeral, but not man enough to rescue her from herself. I’m not sure what it is about her, but I can’t stop staring, so I don’t even try.

I suck on my cigarette, taking the longest pull I can to give myself time to keep from engaging in conversation, when the woman slams her palms to her thighs. If she were any closer or if there was any less traffic on the highway, we might have heard the smacking sound echoing in the air. Even without sound, I feel it. A sonic wave crashes into my chest. My heart stops beating for a second in its wake.

Through a stream of white smoke, I jut my chin to the woman.

”Who’s that?” I ask Jose.               &nb sp;     

“That’s Frances.” He’s curt, and the sharpness when he says her name makes it sound like an offense. “I thought you knew her,” he adds, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

There’s a silence between us as we keep our eyes trained on Frankie. For the life of me, I would have never known it was her had he not just told me. I wonder now why no one makes his or her way toward her. If there’s a husband or a boyfriend standing about inside, someone needs to tell him that she’s out there alone, grieving.

“Frankie loved Iris. She’s probably taking this hard.”

As soon as the last word has fallen from my lips, Jose chuckles humorlessly and again my eyebrows furrow. I can feel the anger lining my forehead. Jose brings the cigarette to his lips and smoke pours from his nostrils as he inhales and exhales simultaneously like a fuming dragon. He shakes his head as his gaze wanders back to Frankie.

“Frankie loved Iris, that’s true, but Frankie also disappeared and refused to come when Iris got sick.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Shock slaps across Jose’s face when I declare him a liar. There is absolutely no way I can know if what Jose said is true or not.

An ephemeral summer breeze catches her hair. When it passes, she combs her fingers through her hair and twists it into a knot that she promptly releases. Even though she’s far away, I make out the shaking of her shoulders, as if she might burst.

I’ve never felt as intimate with Frankie as I do right now. Sharing in her private, raw space is wrong. I want is to throw a curtain between her and the rest of the world. I want to put my body between Frankie and all the smokers, spread my arms, puff my chest, and yell out, “There’s nothing to see here! Move along!”like some cop directing rubberneckers forward in traffic.

I take my first step off the curb so that I can go to her and do I don’t know what, when she turns around and hugs herself so tightly you’d think it was freezing, when it’s actually a humid ninety degrees Fahrenheit. Her head tilts forward and her blonde bangs sway, falling over her eyes.

She starts walking, slumped and dejected, in my direction. If a car whizzed by her, she might look up, but given by the way she ejected herself from the building, I’m not fully convinced she doesn’t have a death wish. So I do the only thing I can think of, I finish taking that first step and then take another.

 

Dreamcast 

 

Excerpt #2

What Frankie says breaks me. It breaks me. And it's not even about Iris or me; it’s about Frankie. Everything she said about Iris fills me in on years that I’ve missed. Even when I’d been standing right beside her, I was ignoring what now seems so obvious it’s blinding. Yet, for all the talk about Iris’s alcoholism and suicidal tendencies, what Frankie’s opened up about is herself.</ p>

I’m not even sure she notices because she’s so guarded. Never once has she reflected on what she’s said. She’s been stating facts, telling stories. That’s what she thinks, anyway. I know this like I know myself, because it’s what I do. I state facts and I tell stories, and what I’m actually doing is diverting attention from what’s going on inside.

Frankie’s all Iris this, Iris that, but what I hear is: I can’t live with myself because Iris was never happy and I couldn’t save her. It’s what I hear inside myself every minute of every day, and my heart breaks for Frankie and for me. What I do next comes so naturally that it scares the living shit out of me. I don’t let her leave. I hold her as close as I can because what I want is for her to be inside of me the way she’s let me be inside of her.

In this space and time, Frankie and I are one person. I’m angry with her. I’m aggressive about it, maybe even hurting her, but I reason that it can’t be any worse than how she’s been hurting herself by balling this all up for decades.

As much as I need her to be close, I want to push her away. I want her to leave and never come back. I want Frankie to take flight tomorrow morning, and I want to be the one to deliver her to the airport because what I’m feeling is something that I’m not ready to deal with. I tell myself to let her stay here, to give her this space from death that she needs. I’m surer now more than ever that we have an unbreakable bond, but I don’t want it.

We have right now and I need it right now, but I can’t want to have it tomorrow. I can’t want to have it ever again. It’s like being with yourself all the time, but only with the ugliest parts of you. It’s looking at all the broken pieces of your psyche and being forced to confront them.

That’s what Frankie is to me. That’s what she’s been to me all day if I cop to it. Maybe it was like that last night when I went out after her in the parking lot and walked her back to the service. Maybe it’s why I couldn’t believe that she could be out there alone with no one to hide her sadness from the world. I’m making up for it today, though. Right now, I’m making up for leaving her naked and on a slab for the world to pick apart. The more I hold her, the more I fear that I’ll never be able to let her go, but I keep doing it because she’s something worth saving and, if she can be saved, then maybe I can be, too.

 

Ten Fun Facts about Cristy Rey

1.       I am a librarian.

2.      For the holidays last year, I knit a Cthulhu scarflette for my good friend, Dre.

3.      I have harvested over 100 mangoes from the tree in my yard in the last three weeks. (Please, no more mangoes!) I don’t even like mangoes.

4.      My parents are Cuban.

5.      I was a vegetarian and, later, a pescatarian for over fifteen years. Thanksgiving 2012 was the first time I had poultry, beef, or pork in half my life.

6.      I thought of Weeping Angels as I stood at the funeral of a good friend – the real Iris – observing the mourners, looking at photos of a woman who didn’t match the one I used to know, and holding the hand of my sister, her ex-fiancée.

7.      My dog is named after Indiana Jones and Sherlock, and my cat is named after a comic book character by Roman Dirge and a poem by Edgar Allan Poe.

8.      I am almost 6’ tall.

9.      I am a fangirl through and through: I read comics, I am a Whovian, I am a Sherlockian, I am committed to the Whedonverse, and I have a Fringe </ em>tattoo.

10.   I make my own Halloween costumes. 

 

Playlist

EXCERPT #1 

A cool wind rustled the leaves overhead—just starting to turn colours—and she shivered. He unzipped his hoodie and handed it over but she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he muttered and wrapped it around her. She reluctantly shoved her arms in the sleeves and he glowered at her as he reached for the zipper. The sweatshirt was way too big—he had a solid foot on her—and as he ducked low enough to grab the lower hem, their cheeks touched.
Damn double damn. Somehow this was totally different than the hug inside the dinner. His breath hot against her ear, the pounding of her heart in her chest. He froze, bent over her like that, and she opened her mouth to tell him to back up but nothing came out.
Ever so slowly, he dropped the zipper parts and slid his hands inside the warm fleece instead. He found her waist and tugged gently at her t-shirt, freeing it from the waistband of her jeans. He breathed her name against her skin, and she froze. Don’t say anything else. Don’t stop touching me but let’s not talk. Let’s pretend for a minute.
As if he understood, he pressed his mouth against her neck and sucked gently at her pulse point at the same time as he found bare skin under her shirt. With a groan, he lifted her up and pressed her gently against a tree, notching one of his super awesome thighs between her legs and under her butt. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and tipped her head back, letting him feast on her skin. This was a terrible idea. She was definitely going to regret muddying these waters.
Two years and they hadn’t so much as touched hands. Now two embraces in one day. At this rate she was going to let him fuck her in a forest.
But he didn’t move his hands higher or lower. He stroked one thumb back and forth across the bottom of her rib cage, but the rest of him was perfectly restrained. Except for the part where she was wrapped around him and his mouth was wet and hot on her neck, this was just a hug.
A completely naughty, nipple-tightening hug.
And then he shifted his pelvis and she felt his erection beneath her, and it was most definitely not just a hug. They were ten seconds away from dry-humping. And she couldn’t wait. 

EXCERPT #2 

Every Wednesday she worked a short shift, so she took the afternoon to head south. When they’d been together, she would have looked for his cruiser, that familiar black and white shape that made her so proud. And once they’d split, she’d look for it in a different way—a mix of longing and apprehension that filled her with sorrow. The Bruce Peninsula detachment had a lot of area to cover, so the chances of him randomly being in the same place as her were slim to none. Over time, she’d stopped looking.

So when someone tapped her on the shoulder as she stood in line for coffee, she thought maybe she’d dropped some money. Instead she got a face full of navy blue flak jacket. She tilted her head up and was rewarded with a slow grin that said Rafe remembered just how much she liked his uniform. She blushed. “Coffee break?”
He nodded, his gaze never leaving her face. Maybe he liked the way she’d pinked up. She liked remembering how she used to strip him out of the uniform when he wore it home. He cleared his throat and leaned in close. “But if you keep looking at me like that, I might need to forgo the coffee and drag you back to my cruiser so we can make out a little.”
God, that thought made her a little lightheaded. But it also made her laugh, which was a good thing. She chuckled and shook her head. “Oh, Rafe.”
He grinned wider still. “Yes, baby?”
“Nothing.” Nothing. She needed to remember that.
“I like it when you say my name like that.”
“I didn’t say it like anything.”
“Mmm, I disagree. I heard a breathy little catch there.” He dropped his gaze to her mouth. “And I liked it. A lot.”
He needed to stop before she did something stupid. She lowered her voice and tried to sound stern. “Rafe.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I like it like that, too.”

EXCERPT #3 

“I’m not moving for a while yet. Let’s revisit this conversation in a few months.” She reached for the beer bottle and their fingers brushed. A shiver danced up her arm at the rough slide of skin on skin, igniting way too much desire. A simple, accidental touch and she was squirming in her seat. Right after talking about moving on.

“You cold?”
She gave him a pointed look through narrowed eyelids. “Don’t you dare offer me your shirt.”
He gave her an innocent who me look and she laughed. “What? You look cold!”
“Here’s how that plays out,” she said, tipping the last of the bottle back. She licked her lips, enjoying the last drops of his beer, then pointed her finger firmly in his direction. “You wrap it around me, taking the opportunity to be all close and big and strong. Show off your muscles. Then I’m actually surrounded by your yummy smell, and now you’re cold, so you stay close. Put an arm around me. All in the name of warmth, of course. And then all of a sudden, your hand is on my ass, your tongue is down my throat, and everyone is talking about Rafe and Olivia making out in the back of a truck at a bonfire.”
He stared at her for a minute, then bit his lower lip and nodded. “Right. K. Well, I’m gonna grab another beer.”
He hopped off the tailgate and unbuttoned his shirt. She gasped as he tossed it into her lap before he ambled over to the cooler.
Between the moon overhead and the orange glow of the bonfire, it was almost like he had a spotlight on him. And from her perch on the back of his truck she felt like she could watch him safely from the darkness. Without anyone else noticing her hunger for his broad shoulders and long legs. His strong arms and tight butt. Even with the warm flannel that she greedily wrapped around her body—and it did in fact smelly yummy—he still sent shivers down her spine. From thirty feet away. The man was dangerous.
He stopped to talk to a couple people on the way back, then handed her the beer before continuing to the cab of the truck. He returned wearing an OPP sweatshirt and she was absurdly disappointed that he’d gone and covered up most of the muscles she’d just complained he might show off to her.
He hopped back up next her, leaving a solid six inches between their thighs, and smirked as she stared at the blanket between them. “Miss me?”
Like you wouldn’t believe. “Nope.”
“Can I have a sip?” He nodded to the beer, and it dawned on her that he’d only brought one bottle back from the cooler. The first one had been shared…well, sort of by accident. But he could have brought two back and he didn’t.
The hoodie, the space…that was for her. The public show of Rafe and Olivia just being friends. But the single bottle of beer, passed back and forth? That was something else. She twisted the cap off and drank first, then quietly handed it over. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he tipped the bottle back, his lips where hers had just been.
When he handed it back again, she reached across her body and took it with her right hand. Leaving her left hand pressed on the itchy blanket between their bodies. He pressed the bottle into her grasp, then dropped his hand on top of hers.

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