Exclusive excerpt: 'Wild' by Sophie Jordan

Sophie Jordan joins HEA to share an excerpt from her new release, Wild, the final book in her Ivy Chronicles series.

Sophie: This is one of those scenes that I actually wrote into the book later ... after I had completed the first draft. I wanted to add a scene that was sexy (of course!), but one that also showed Logan and Georgia interacting together ... I wanted intimacy and chemistry and just the two of them getting to know each other. I wanted the hero and heroine to gain insight into each other ... and the readers to gain a fresh glimpse of them, too.

Excerpt …

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like how?"

"Your chocolate eyes all big. Like I'm some good wholesome guy. I'm not. There are things about me…" His voice faded. He was no longer smiling. "I'm just not."

I wanted to ask, to press, but I couldn't bring myself to demand for more information on the not good wholesome guy he was. We stared at each other for a long moment until the tension grew too thick and I looked back at the TV. I still felt his stare on my face, but pretended to be lost in the movie.

Eventually, he started watching it, too. Asking questions. We slid to the center of the futon, our shoulders touching as I caught him up on the various plot lines running through the movie.

"So they don't even speak the same language at all?" he asked, pointing the couple on the screen. "That's just wacked."

I shook my head. "No, that's the beautiful thing about it. They fall in love anyway. They're in sync without even knowing what the other one is saying."

I glanced from the TV and back at him as I was explaining, freezing when I caught the curious way he was looking at me. "You're a romantic."

My cheeks flushed at the almost tender way he looked at me.

I shrugged. "Me and every other girl."

He shook his head. "No. You'd be surprised how many girls don't care about romance. Or love." And then I remembered this was a guy who spent a lot of time at a kink club. I remembered his baseball game, too. The girls shrieking his name like he was some kind of teen heartthrob. Did they see him at all? Or just some hot jock with all the college scouts after him? A piece of meat they wanted to taste. Yeah, maybe Logan didn't have a lot of experience with girls who believed in love and romance.

I turned back to the movie, uncomfortable with these thoughts and realizing I hadn't been that different from those girls in the beginning either. I hadn't seen beyond his good looks and reputation. "You want a drink? Snack?"

"I could eat."

I went in the kitchen and popped some popcorn. Tucking a couple cans of soda under my arm, I returned with a big bowl.

We sat back on the couch and continued to watch the movie, munching on popcorn and chatting, covering a wide range of subjects. From why husbands always cheat with the secretary to why girls loved guys with British accents.

"It doesn't matter," I insisted.

"Oh. Come on. You can't tell me that if I opened my mouth and started talking like Hugh Grant girls wouldn't drop—"

"You're not a proper test case. Girls drop their panties now when you open your mouth," I accused.

"Not every girl," he shot back, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully at me.

"Oh!" I blew out an outraged breath and tossed a handful of popcorn in his face.

Chuckling, he grabbed a handful and hurled the stuff back at me. Buttery popcorn pelted me and my laugh twisted into a snort.

I clapped a hand over my mouth and nose, staring at him in horror.

"Oh, nice." He threw back his head, the tendons in his throat working as a deep belly laugh rumbled up from him.

I plucked a piece from my hair and flicked it at him. His hand shot out and walked along my ribs.

I looked down at his hand and back at his face, arching an eyebrow. "Sorry. I'm not ticklish."

"What?" He looked at me like I was crazy. "Everyone is ticklish."

"Nope. Not me. I'm an anomaly. It's a freak genetic trait. My mother isn't ticklish either."

"I bet you are," he insisted, looking knowing and smug. And sexy as hell.

I shrugged and shook my head. "Nope."

His eyes narrowed on me. "Well, let's see then."

I held out my arms, inviting him to tickle me again. "Go ahead. I won't laugh."

He stroked his chin, considering me for a moment like he was trying to decide his strategy.

"Come on," I taunted.

"What do I get if I make you laugh?"

"You can sleep in the bed." His eyes darkened and a flock of butterflies took off in my belly. I quickly added, "I'll sleep on the couch."

"Well, that would be kind of d*** of me."

"Chicken."

"Ohh." He shook his head. "It's on. Prepare to laugh."

His fingers started at my ribs again and then drifted under my arms. Nothing. Well, nothing except that flock of butterflies in my belly got so seriously out of hand and I suddenly thought that I might puke.

His wide eyes fixed on me with awe. "You're not human."

A burst of laughter escaped me and I held up a finger. "That didn't count."

He moved his head side to side as if deciding. "Debatable, but okay." His fingers hovered claw-like over me.

I clenched my teeth, waiting for his touch again.

"I've got a new tactic." He gripped the hem of my shirt and tugged it up.

I squeaked and grabbed his hand, stopping him.

"C'mon. Don't be a prude. I can't really tickle you through your shirt. That's an unfair advantage for you."

"You sure you're not trying to get me naked?"

It was his turn to look offended. "I don't resort to manipulation to get girls naked."

Sighing, I released my death-grip on his hand. "Fine. It still won't work though. You'll see."

He pushed my shirt up, stopping just below my bra. He stared at my bare stomach for a moment, holding one finger aloft.

"Go on," I said tightly.

He flicked me an annoyed glance. "Patience. I'm trying a different approach."

That finger landed in the center of my stomach, feather-soft. He dragged the blunt-nailed tip down, then up and around. His other fingers joined in. So slow and barely-there that a chill ran down my spine. My breathing grew harsh, a hoarse rasp, and I squeezed my thighs together against a familiar ache. This was so not a good idea.

He looked up at me from hooded eyes, braced over me like some sort of hungry beast. At least that's how I felt. Like someone about to be devoured.

"Nothing?"

I shook my head, afraid to speak.

He clucked his tongue. "That's too bad. I guess I lose."

A ragged breath shuddered past my lips. My right hand dug into the side of the futon like I was hanging on for dear life. Only he didn't move away. No. His fingers continued to work a lazy pattern over my quivering skin.

I looked from his face to his hand, strong and tan, so much darker against the peaches hue of my skin.

He traced a fingertip over my belly, his expression intent and serious. Like he was doing important work.

I wasn't even close to giggling. That was the furthest possibility. Moaning would be more probable. Begging him to keep touching? Check. Pleading with him to move his hand lower? Double check.

He bent his head and fixed his gaze on the flesh above my navel, moving his finger in a deliberate, precise manner.

My stomach muscles contracted and quivered. "What are you doing?" I whispered.

"Writing my name."

And then I felt the letters there. His name written on my skin. L-O-G-A-N. As though he'd just marked me. Branded me for life. Yeah. Fitting, I supposed. That's how I felt right now.

Here's the blurb about Wild (courtesy of Avon):

A good girl goes fabulously bad in the final book in New York Times bestselling author Sophie Jordan's sexy New Adult romance series, in which three Ivy League suite-mates seek higher knowledge of just how far they can go.

Months after her boyfriend dumped her, Georgia can still hear the insults he hurled at her. Boring. Predictable. Tame. Tired of feeling bad, she's ready to change her image, and go a little wild. What better way to prove her ex wrong than a hot night of sexual adventure at the secret campus kink club?

In the shadowy den of the kink club, she unexpectedly runs into Logan Mulvaney, her friend's little brother. A player extraordinaire too hot for his own good, he may be younger, but the guy is light years ahead when it comes to sexual experience. Now he's telling her to go home—"good girls" don't belong here!

Georgia is tired of having others define her. She's going to teach Logan a lesson he won't forget—one white hot, mind-wrecking kiss ... that leads to another ... and another ... and ... Realizing she's way in over her head, Georgia runs.

Only Logan won't let her go. Everywhere she goes he's there, making her want every inch of him. Making her forget who she is. Who he is. And just how wrong they are for each other.

Find out more about Sophie and her books at www.sophiejordan.net.