Excerpt & Giveaway: Exposed by Jasinda Wilder

This series is edgy and hot, and will push into those grey areas! Read the excerpt provided below and make sure to enter our rafflecopter for a chance to win Exposed! 

Exposed (Madame X #2) by Jasinda Wilder
Publication Date: March 1st 2016 by Berkley
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

About the book:

New York Times bestselling author Jasinda Wilder presents the second darkly seductive novel starring the mysterious Madame X.

Everything Madame X has ever known is contained within the four walls of the penthouse owned by her lover, her keeper, the man who controls her every move and dominates her desires. While Caleb owns her body, someone else has touched her soul. X’s awakening at the hands of Logan’s raw, honest masculinity has led her down a new path, one that is as exciting as it is terrifying.

But Caleb’s need to own her completely knows no bounds, and he isn’t about to let her go. Not without a fight that could destroy them all…

Excerpt:

I wake sobbing.

Nightmares of sirens and flashing lights and a pair of cold cruel dark eyes staring haughty and inscrutable down at me as I am used like a receptacle. Nightmares of a perfect body pinning me to an elevator door. Sorcery, stealing my will, manipulating my desires, cool silk of a tie wiping my face. Rain cold and wet and windblown, shifting shadows and blood and pain.

My dream is pervaded by a voice: “Isabel, you’re okay. It was just a dream.”

Who is Isabel?

The voice is in my ear, soft and tender and warm. “I’m here, Isabel.”

Oh, it’s me. I’m Isabel.

I am Isabel; I have to remind myself that it is true.

I am lifted, cradled. I hear a heartbeat under my ear, feel soft cotton under my cheek. I am lying on top of him, as if he is my bed. His hands smooth in caressing circles on my back.

I cannot stop sobbing.

My eyes burn with hot tears, and I try to stop them, but I can’t. “L-Logan—”

“Ssshhh. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—I can’t—can’t stop—”

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart. Cry if you need to. I’ve got you. I won’t let go.”

I can only cling to him and cry. My whole body shakes with shuddering, wracking sobs, as if a lifetime of pent-up tears are being ripped out of me wholesale.

I don’t know how long it lasts. Minutes? Hours? A measureless time of weeping. I think I have cried more in the last twelve hours than in all my life.

Eventually, I am able to breathe normally and the sobs and shudders fade.

I remain still, barely breathing now.

On top of Logan.

Aware of him, suddenly.

Completely attuned to every inch of him, stretched out beneath me. His arms around me, his chin tucked against the top of my head. His denim-sheathed thighs beneath mine, thick and hard. His breath on my hair. His hips nudging mine. My hands on his pectoral muscles, my breasts crushed against his sternum.

There is a shift then. A charge to the air. Electricity crackling.

And now, between one breath and the next, it is sexual, the way I’m lying on him.

I can’t breathe again, but for a different reason.

I can’t breathe for wanting him.

Needing him.

“Isabel . . .” he breathes.

“Logan—”

“I need you to get up,” he says, and it isn’t what I expected. “There are still some people working out there, and in a few more seconds I’m going to forget that.”

“What would happen if you did, Logan?” I ask. I don’t recognize the daring, the boldness, the raw hunger in my voice.

His fingers twine gently into my hair and pulls, tipping my face up to his.

It’s me, this time,

kissing him,

and kissing him,

and kissing him.

My fingers wrap around the back of his head, clinging to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, pulling myself higher on his body, needing needing needing to be closer to him, to press my lips more completely against his, to taste him, to feel him. I breathe him. His hand, resting on my back, slides lower. I arch against him, press my body against his. There is no part of me that isn’t touching him. I pause to breathe, gasping against his lips. I want more of me to touch more of him. I want all of him, all of me, all of us.

I crave completion, of a kind only Logan can provide.

He feathers his mouth against mine, a teasing brush of lips against lips, heat of breath on tasting tongue.

“That will happen,” he whispers.

“Oh,” I murmur.

“Yeah, oh.” His fingers are tangled in my hair, applying gentle delicious pressure to my scalp, keeping my face tilted to his. “And now I can’t stop.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“I have to,” he says. “Or there won’t be any stopping at all.”

“Logan . . .”

“I want you. I need you. But Isabel, you deserve better—we deserve better—than on a couch in my conference room, with a dozen people on the other side of the wall.”

The lovely people of Berkely have generously provided a Paperback Copy of Exposed by Jasinda Wilder to giveaway to one lucky Waves of Fiction follower.  Simply fill out the rafflecopter for a chance to win. Good luck!

Blog Tour Review & Giveaway: Madame X by Jasinda Wilder

I super excited to be part of the Blog Tour for Madame X by Jasinda Wilder because the story is thrilling and different, and I'm seriously dying to continue the series!  For my tour stop I have my review, an excerpt sure to leave you wanting more, and a chance to win a SIGNED Copy of Madame X along with swag!

Madame X (Madame X #1) by Jasinda Wilder

Publication Date: October 6th 2015 by Berkley

Purchase Links: Amazon | Kindle | B & N | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | Books a Million

About the book:

My name is Madame X.
I’m the best at what I do.
And you’d do well to follow my rules...

Hired to transform the uncultured, inept sons of the wealthy and powerful into decisive, confident men, Madame X is a master of the art of control. With a single glance she can cut you down to nothing, or make you feel like a king.

But there is only one man who can claim her body—and her soul.

Undone time and again by his exquisite dominance, X craves and fears his desire in equal measure. And while she longs for a different path, X has never known anything or anyone else—until now...

My Thoughts:

Madame X is good at her job training the young rich how to be capable, confident men instead of arrogant and spoiled twits.  As confident as she seems, Madame X doesn’t know her real name, or much at all about herself.  Six years ago she woke up in a hospital broken after an attack, but not alone.  Caleb was by her side and he took her in while she healed, gave her a home and a job.  As benevolent as that seems it’s quickly apparent that X lives in a gilded cage, at Caleb’s beck and call and for his use only.  He holds a strange allure and power over Madame X.  She doesn’t go out, have a cell phone and isn’t allowed to form any relationship with her clients, and there’s hell to pay if any lines are crossed.  Caleb comes and goes as he pleases without explanation and I couldn’t STAND him!

“You are Madame X, and you…are…mine.”

I swear, I wanted to STRANGLE X more than a few times for allowing Caleb to treat her like a possession, and for some of her decisions!  I wanted to strangle Caleb even more, though!  Also, what about (Highlight for spoiler) CONDOMS?!! I’m disgusted that she would even let Caleb touch her after everything X discovered. (End of spoiler) But I know that Caleb’s manipulated her, and fed her his version of events for so long it’s going to take time before X can truly stand up on her own and up to him:

I feel shame, embarrassment, revulsion.  Hatred. I fell for the sorcery again. Caleb has some way of weaving a spell over me, of making me forget all my objections and all my thoughts and everything that is logical or rational.

The spell that Caleb has cast is slowly fading, though, when one of X’s clients causes a change in her thinking and expectations. X does start to demand more, and I was pleased by some of the backbone she finally started showing. She comes awake even more after meeting the irresistible Logan.  He’s a man of power, resources, and the ability to get answers.  I loved their connection, because it was shared, both swept away by their intense feelings. 

All the world ceases to exist. Fades. Flickers and gutters, a candle flame extinguished.

Oh, this kiss.

It is all.

Logan didn’t treat X as property, he made her feel “treasured” and X knew more about Logan in the short time they know each other than Caleb in the last six years.

Going into this story I knew it would be a trilogy, and I was incredibly hesitant, because I usually hate it when a romance is dragged through three books.   To me, a romance can usually be wrapped up nicely, and with far less frustration with one book.  However, Madame X has several layers, much to uncover, and I can see how three books would be necessary.  There is a great deal X doesn’t know about herself, and doesn’t realize (or doesn’t want to realize) about her situation, and it’s going to take time for her to get past Caleb’s brainwashing, because that IS what he’s done to her.  Yes, he saved her, well according to him, anyhow.  Who knows what actually happened?  I look forward to finding out, because I don’t think things are what they seem.  I don’t believe it’s as simple as Caleb swooping in as the knight and shining armor.

Madame X was addictive and riveting!  I finished the book in one sitting going through a range of emotions, but by the end I was left wanting more.  Knowing that I have to wait not just until March for the second story, but months (hopefully not a full year) after for the third/final installment has left me a little twitchy, because I’m dying to know how this all plays out!

4.5 Suns

Excerpt:

A knock on the door, the silent swing of hinges, and then heat and hardness behind me, a faint but intoxicating hint of cologne, the creak of leather. Hands on my waist, lips at my neck. Breath on my skin.

I don’t dare tense, don’t dare suck in a sharp breath of fear. I don’t dare pull away.

Strong, hard, powerful hands twist me in place, and an index finger touches my chin, lifts my face, tilts my gaze. I cannot breathe, don’t dare, haven’t been given permission.

“You are lovelier than ever, X.” A deep, smooth, cultured voice, like the purr of a finely tuned engine.

“Thank you, Caleb.” My own voice is quiet, careful, my words chosen and precise.

“Scotch.” The command is a murmur, barely audible.

I know how to prepare it: a cut-crystal tumbler, a single ice cube, thick amber liquid an inch from the top. I offer the tumbler and wait, keep my eyes downcast, hands behind my back.

“You were too harsh on Jonathan.”

“I must respectfully disagree.”

“His father expects results.”

I bristle, and it does not go unnoticed. “Have I ever failed to produce results?”

“You sent him away after less than an hour.”

“He wasn’t ready. He needed to be shown his faults. He needs to understand how much he has to learn.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Ice clinks, and I take the empty tumbler, set it aside, and force myself to remain in place, force myself to keep breathing and remind myself that I must obey. “I didn’t come here to discuss Jonathan Cartwright, however.”

“I suppose not.” I shouldn’t have said that. I regret it as soon as the words tumble free.

My wrist bones scrape together under a crushing grip. Hard dark eyes find mine, piercing and frightening. “You suppose not?”

I should beg forgiveness, but I know better. I lift my chin and meet those cold, cruel, intelligent dark eyes. “You know I will fulfill the contract. That’s all I meant.”

“No, that isn’t all you meant.” A hand passes through artfully messy black hair. “Tell me what you really meant, X.”

I swallow hard. “You’re here for what you always want when you visit me.”

“Which is?” A warm finger touches my breastbone, slides into the valley of my cleavage. “Tell me what I want.”

“Me.” I whisper it, so not even the walls can hear.

“All too true.” My skin burns where that strong finger with its manicured nail traces a cutting line up to my shoulder. “You test my patience, at times.”

I stand stock-still, not even breathing. Breath whispers across my neck, huffs hot on my nape, and fingers toy with the zipper of my dress.

“I know,” I say.

And then, just when I expect to feel the zipper slide down my spine, body heat recedes and that hot breath now laced with hints of scotch is gone, and a single word sears my soul:

“Strip.”

My tongue scrapes over dry lips, and my lungs constrict, protesting my inability to breathe. My hands tremble. I know this is expected of me, and I cannot, dare not resist, or protest. And . . . part of me doesn’t want to. But I wish . . . I wish for the freedom to choose what I want.

I have hesitated too long.

“X. I said . . . strip.” The zipper slides down to between my shoulder blades. “Show me your skin.”

Reaching behind my back, I lower the zipper to its nesting place at the base of my spine. Hard, insistent hands assist me in brushing the sleeves from my shoulders, down my arms, and then the dress is floating to the floor at my feet. That’s all the help I’ll get. I know from long experience that I must make a show of what comes next.

I turn my head, and see tanned skin and the perpetual two-day stubble on a refined, powerful jawline, sharp cheekbones, firm, thin lips, black eyes like voids, eyes that drip desire. My hair drapes over one shoulder. I lift one knee so my now-bare toes touch the gleaming teak, curl my shoulders in, let my gaze show my vulnerability. With a deep breath, I unhook my bra, let the garment fall away.

I reach for my underwear.

“No,” comes the purr, “leave them. Let me.”

I let my fingers graze my thighs, wait. My underwear slides down slowly, and where fingers touch, so too do lips, hot and damp, touching my skin, and I cannot flinch, cannot pull away or express how badly I want only to be alone, to even once have the right to want something else.

But I do not have that right.

About the author:

Jasinda Wilder is a New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal, and international bestselling author. She is a Michigan native and currently lives there with her family. Visit her official website at jasindawilder.com. 

Waves of Sunday #56

Welcome to our weekly edition of Waves of Sunday where each Sunday we spotlight a book that has been making waves in the book scene or has simply caught our attention causing a riptide on our TBR.

Today we are spotlighting:

Forever & Always (The Ever Trilogy #1) by Jasinda Wilder

Published December 16th 2013

Ever,

These letters are often all that get me through week to week. Even if it’s just random stuff, nothing important, they’re important to me. Gramps is great, and I love working on the ranch. But…I’m lonely. I feel disconnected, like I’m no one, like I don’t belong anywhere. Like I’m just here until something else happens. I don’t even know what I want with my future. But your letters, they make me feel connected to something, to someone. I had a crush on you, when we first met. I thought you were beautiful. So beautiful. It was hard to think of anything else. Then camp ended and we never got together, and now all I have of you is these letters. S**t. I just told you I have a crush on you. HAD. Had a crush. Not sure what is anymore. A letter-crush? A literary love? That’s stupid. Sorry. I just have this rule with myself that I never throw away what I write and I always send it, so hopefully this doesn’t weird you out too much. I had a dream about you too. Same kind of thing. Us, in the darkness, together. Just us. And it was like you said, a memory turned into a dream, but a memory of something that’s never happened, but in the dream it felt so real, and it was more, I don’t even know, more RIGHT than anything I’ve ever felt, in life or in dreams. I wonder what it means that we both had the same dream about each other. Maybe nothing, maybe everything. You tell me.

Cade
~ ~ ~ ~

Cade,

We’re pen pals. Maybe that’s all we’ll ever be. I don’t know. If we met IRL (in real life, in case you’re not familiar with the term) what would happen? And just FYI, the term you used, a literary love? It was beautiful. So beautiful. That term means something, between us now. We are literary loves. Lovers? I do love you, in some strange way. Knowing about you, in these letters, knowing your hurt and your joys, it means something so important to me, that I just can’t describe. I need your art, and your letters, and your literary love. If we never have anything else between us, I need this. I do. Maybe this letter will only complicate things, but like you I have a rule that I never erase or throw away what I’ve written and I always send it, no matter what I write in the letter.

Your literary love,

Ever

Arlene's Thoughts
I've heard great things about Jasinda Wilder, but have yet to pick up one of her books. This one might be it. I'm a sucker for epistolary fiction and if this book is written in the form of letters like the description leads me to believe, then I'm in. I like the idea of a literary love. How romantic is that? Well I hope my first exposure to Wilder's writing blows me away. I'm definitely looking forward to reading Forever & Always.

Rachel's Thoughts: 
This sounds like a fresh kind of story telling, for me anyhow, and I'm excited to see how a romance like this would play out.  It sounds like a sweet, longing type of love, the type that develops with a slow burn.  I do love a slow burn romance! I'm a Jacinda Wilder virgin as well, so I'd love to try her writing out!

Blog Hop Giveaway: Blooming Love Spring Blog Hop

Today, Waves of Fiction is excited to join the Blooming Love Spring Blog Hop hosted by CBL Reviews.

For our stop we are giving away...

Falling Into You by Jasinda Wilder

The winner will have a choice if either an eBook from US Amazon or US Barnes & Noble OR a paperback copy from The Book Depository.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
Be sure to hop on to the next giveaway for more great prizes!!

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