BLURB:
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...
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...
REVIEW:
Jasinda Wilder is a phenom. A titan among giants. I could talk about this book for hours and barely even scratch the surface. I wanted to savour and devour it in equal measure. I decided to take it slow, peeling back the many layers. Madame X is easily a book where I could read a chapter every day then just sit and ponder the genius of it all.
Freedom of choice is something we often take for granted. How does one choose what they want when they really have no idea what choices are possible? X finds herself in a cocoon, protected from the outside world. A world where her every choice is made for her, where her past is near non-existent and her present is all she’s ever known. As her story unfolds and her interactions with other fascinating characters increase she begins to wonder about her life, her choices and about wanting more. What is the more? If actually given the choice could she choose? The answer is as clear as muddy water. I thought of the song Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars many times as I was reading. Bottom line ~ X is a master at composure. The development and presentation of her character is nothing short of brilliant. I look forward to her unraveling.
The men of the story are much more difficult to discuss without giving things away. I will say I love them both. In many ways I see them as the same person, just presenting themselves in a different light. Both with agendas I long to discover. Throughout all the ups and downs and past the unknown I was happy with where the book ends. Growth and discovery take time. I look forward to the continuation.
Each word on the page is choreographed with precision, especially chosen to engulf and envelope you inside Madame X’s world. Inside a sea of blue, drowning in uncertainty as to where the truth resides. Wilder is a chameleon, excelling at offering readers something different at every turn. The one constant is intelligent writing. Madame X is a must, again and again.
This review was prepared by Christine Borgford. An ARC was received in exchange for an honest review.
EXCERPT:
Hands blaze over my bared skin and ignite my desire against my will. I know all too well the heat of this touch, the fires of climax, the moments of afterglow when dark eyes drowse and powerful hands are stilled and I am allowed to let my guard down. I stand still, knees shaking, as lips scour and slide over trembling skin. My thighs are nosed open, and lightning strikes with the touch of a tongue to my slick skin.
I gasp, but a single look silences me.
“Don’t breathe, don’t speak, don’t make a sound.” I feel the
whisper on my hip, feel the vibrations in my bones, and I nod my assent. “Don’t
come until I tell you.”
I have no choice but to stand and accept silently the
assault on my senses: down-soft hair against my belly, stubble on my thighs,
hands cupping my backside, fury blooming within me. I hold it back, keep it
tamped down, bite my tongue to silence the moans, fist my hands at my sides,
because I haven’t been given permission to touch.
“Good. Let go now, X. Give me your voice.” A finger pierces
me, curls, finds my need and sets it free, and I loose my voice, let moans and
whimpers escape. “Good, very good. So beautiful, so sexy. Now show me your
room.”
I lead the way to my bedroom, push open the door to reveal
the white bedspread, plumped black pillows, all tucked and arranged, as required.
I lie down, setting aside pillows, and wait. Eyes rake over my nude form,
examine me, assess me.
“I think an extra twenty minutes in the gym would do you
well.” This criticism is delivered clinically, meant to remind me of my place.
“Trim down, just a touch.”
I hide the clutch in my gut, the ache in my heart, the burn
in my eyes. Hide it, bury it, because it is not allowed. I blink, nod. “Of
course, Caleb.”
“You are lovely, X. Don’t mistake me.”
“I know. And thank you.”
“It’s just that our clients expect perfection.” A lifted
eyebrow indicates that I should finish the statement.
“And so do you.”
“Exactly. And you, X, I know you can deliver. You are
perfect, or very nearly, at least.” A smile now, blazing and brilliant and
blinding, excruciatingly beautiful, meant to soothe. A finger touches my lips
and then traces favorite locations on my anatomy: lips, throat, breasts, hips.
“Roll over.”
I move to my stomach.
“On your knees.”
I draw my knees beneath my stomach.
“Give me your hands.”
I reach back with both hands, and my wrists are pinioned in
one large, brutally powerful hand. My shoulder blades touch each other as my
arms are drawn together, and my face is pressed into the mattress. I swallow
hard, brace, breathe.
Oh, the ache, the fierce throb as I’m penetrated. I’m rocked
forward and my shoulders twinge and the grip on my wrists holds me in place.
I have no choice but to feel the burgeoning blaze, no choice
but let it push through me and make me breathless, and I want to cry, want to
cry, want to cry.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
I let myself go when I’m told to do so: “Come for me, X.”
And then it’s over, and I’m turned to lie on my back,
gasping, and whispers bathe over me. “So good, X. So beautiful.” A finger to my
chin, lifting my gaze. “Did you enjoy that?”
“Yes.” It’s not a lie. Not entirely, at least.
Physically, I am rocked to trembling. Physically,
aftershocks still seize me and touch makes me shiver and I am breathless.
Physically, yes, I enjoyed it. I cannot help but enjoy it.
Yet . . . there is a space within me, a deep, deep, deep
well where truths I do not even dare think live hidden and always buried. Down
there, where those truths reside, I know I crave . . . absolution, freedom, a
breath taken in privacy, a word spoken without ulterior motive.
But I cannot let those thoughts bubble up. Cannot, and do
not. I am a master of self-control, after all. I could hold off orgasm
indefinitely. I could go without breathing until told to breathe or pass out. I
could remain sitting motionless for hours, until told to move. I know I can do
these things, because I have. I learned total control in the harshest of
schools.
And so it is child’s play to let my body drape loosely in
the guise of intimacy on a hard, taut, muscular body until a chime from
discarded slacks demands attention.
“I have to take this.” A pause, a breath, a tap of finger on
a cell phone screen. “This is Caleb. Yes.
Yes. Sure, give me twenty minutes. Of
course. No, don’t let him in until I get there.”
A kiss to my temple, a finger tracing my body from shoulder
to hip to foot. “I have to go.”
“All right.” I don’t ask when to expect a return, because I
don’t want to know, and because I wouldn’t get an answer.
“Will you miss me?”
“Of course.” This is a lie, and we both know it.
“Good. Your next client is in two hours, so you have time to
shower, dress, and prepare. His name is William Colin Drake, and he’s the heir
to a technology development company worth fifty billion. Usual terms and
conditions apply. The file on William will arrive in the usual manner.”
“Should I expect as much trouble with William as with
Jonathan?”
A quirk of a smile, amusement. “No, I should think not.
William is a much different animal, from what I’ve observed.” A pause, and a
speculative glance at me. “But, X?”
“Yes, Caleb?”
“Watch yourself with William. He’s got a mean streak.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
“He needs to learn to control it, so you’ll have to draw it
out of him and make him aware of it. But be careful.”
Draw out his mean streak. Poke a snake, prod a sleeping
bear. Risk injury. It won’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last.
Hopefully I won’t need medical attention like I did last time. That’s not
covered in the contract, of course, but it’s understood: Never, ever harm the
property of Caleb Indigo; it’s just not smart business.
When the door closes behind a broad, suit-swathed back, I
shower the sex-stink off. I scrub harder and longer than I have to and fight
the boil of forbidden emotions. When my skin is rubbed raw, I force myself out
of the shower and dress, apply makeup, remake the bed, prepare tea.
And then I seat myself on the couch and breathe, compose
myself, push down the vulnerability, put away the fear and the desire. Once
again, I am Madame X.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment