Continuing my March celebration of strong women in my books, I’ve got an excerpt today featuring one of the strongest: Olivia Alcott, intellectual, free spirit and labor activist during the age of the Robber Barons at the beginning of the twentieth century.
As it happens, Olivia also has submissive desires that complement the dominance of the book’s hero. Now, people who have a superficial understanding of BDSM might question whether this undermines her natural power and authority. I can tell you – from personal experience – that a true submissive must be strong. It takes tremendous courage to surrender, not just physical courage but emotional fortitude as well. It’s scary putting yourself in the hands of a Master or Mistress, even when you trust them.
Blurb
She’s his natural enemy – and the only woman who can satisfy his perverse sexual needs.
Andrew MacIntyre, heir to a vast empire of railroads, mines and mills, is by far the most eligible bachelor among the society folk summering in Newport, Rhode Island. His mother has filled their opulent mansion with the daughters of bankers and industrialists, but Andrew knows none of these callow young women would ever consent to being bound and beaten, to serving and obeying him the way he craves. His money gives him the freedom to purchase anything except his heart's desire: a submissive partner to share his life.
Labor activist Olivia Alcott is dedicated to helping the exploited factory workers responsible for Andrew’s wealth. The strike she organizes triggers a confrontation between her and the handsome billionaire. Although their disparate backgrounds and values make them natural foes, something stronger draws them to one another: his need to command and hers to surrender.
The Hook
“We’d rather starve quick than starve slow. A living wage or we just say no.”
Olivia Alcott chanted along with the mill girls as they marched in a circle in front of the rambling brick factory buildings. A semicircle of police and spectators fanned out in front of the strikers, but no one made a move to hinder them. Behind her, the normally clattering machinery lay quiet. When the workers paused for breath, Olivia heard the muted rush of the falls.
Itchy sweat gathered under her arms and at the base of her neck, where random strands of her hair had come loose from the pins that secured it. It was several hours past noon, and the summer sun battered them all. Like the women with whom she marched, Olivia wore a drab, ankle-length shirtwaist and heavy, laced boots, though her clothing was of finer fabric and in better repair. A red scarf knotted at her throat added a spark of color—and soaked up some of her perspiration. She was desperately thirsty, but they’d agreed not to take a break until three o’clock. She certainly wasn’t going to be the one who gave up early.
She glanced around at her companions. They ranged in age from thirteen to fifty-five, though most were younger than her twenty-five years. Their lean, wiry bodies showed the effects of their twelve hours of back-breaking labor per day, six days a week. Even the young women had lined faces and streaks of grey in their hair, and the older ones looked frail, almost skeletal.
In the cool of the morning, when they’d started the strike, there’d been a holiday atmosphere. Liberated from work, they’d laughed, joked with one another and sung old Québécois songs. Now each woman’s face was a grim, dusty mask. Each was determined not to surrender to fatigue or discomfort. They had made a commitment to one another. No one was willing to betray that commitment—certainly not Olivia.
Doubts assailed her, though, as her back ached and the blisters on her feet stung. Had she done the right thing, coming here and stirring up these women’s aspirations? Would it do any good? Greed ruled the modern world. Profit was all that mattered. Human beings were expendable, just cogs in the great industrial machine that was America. If one component failed, it could be replaced. Meanwhile, the masters of the new century grew ever richer.
She could have been at home, reading in her father’s shady garden with a glass of iced lemon at her side, or walking with her sister under the spreading elms of the Common. Indeed, if the strike failed, she could return to her safe and comfortable life in Amherst—become a teacher like her parents or an author like her brother Will.
These women around her, though, didn’t have those options. For them, this was a matter of survival.
“Mademoiselle Olivia!” A skinny girl raced up the street that led to the riverside mill, stirring clouds of dust. “Il vient! He is coming!”
The sputtering racket of an internal combustion engine drowned out the girl’s excited voice. The crowd parted like the Red Sea for a boxy vehicle of shiny black, with silvery headlamps like extruded eyes. The noisy Studebaker rolled to a stop in front of the strikers, who stopped in their tracks like everyone else to stare at it.
The door creaked open. A tall man unfolded himself from the somewhat cramped interior, snatched off his hat and goggles and tossed them into the vehicle. He strode towards the massed strikers, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Where is she? Where’s your damned leader?”
The newspapers generally described Andrew MacIntyre as handsome. The epithet did not do him justice. As he stormed towards her, Olivia was struck with a sense of physical power and keen intelligence. He had wavy red-gold hair, a high forehead, a square chin, a determined mouth. His eyes were hazel, deep set under brows darker than his hair. Those eyes drilled into her, fierce and compelling. The women around her shrank backwards in alarm. Olivia steeled herself, holding her ground and fighting the urge to grovel at his feet. Instead of retreating, she took a step forward, holding out her hand.
“Mr. Andrew MacIntyre, I presume?” She marveled at the steadiness of her voice, the cool neutral tone.
“Damned right. And you are…?”
“Olivia Alcott.” She pulled herself up to her full height and forced herself to meet his gaze. She saw anger simmering there, but behind his irritation there was something else, something that intrigued and thrilled her. Something that she might be able to use to further her goals.
Olivia Alcott recognized lust when she saw it.
Buy Links
Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1488-power-and-persuasion/
Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09HSS7C6T
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09HSS7C6T
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1108116
Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/power-and-persuasion-lisabet-sarai/1140290642?ean=2940165040306
Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/power-and-persuasion-a-gilded-age-bdsm-romance
Apple Books - https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1588921937
Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59240690-power-and-persuasion
Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks blog hop!
3 comments:
Sounds like they were meant for each other
Whoa, love it. What a battle of wills this one will be. I love their first meeting. Lust and hate LOL. And as always your descriptions are brilliant. There are many lines that I enjoyed, and here is one of them: Itchy sweat gathered under her arms and at the base of her neck, where random strands of her hair had come loose from the pins that secured it.
"Olivia Alcott recognized lust when she saw it." LOVE that last line! Powerful scene.
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