Happy
Wednesday! It’s time for another Book Hooks blog hop. My snippet
today comes from my historical romance novella Challenge to
Him. Hope you enjoy it! After you’re done, do use the links
below to visit some of the other authors sharing their work today!
Blurb
All
the wealth in the world can’t buy willing surrender.
Andrew
MacIntyre, heir to a vast empire of railroads, mines and mills, is
the second or third richest man in America, and by far the most
eligible bachelor among the society folk summering in Newport, Rhode
Island. His mother has filled their opulent mansion with marriageable
daughters of bankers and industrialists, but Andrew knows none of
these callow young women can satisfy his perverse sexual needs. No
respectable girl 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.
Independent,
progressive and well-educated, labour activist Olivia Alcott has
dedicated herself to improving the lot of the workers who toil in the
factories that have made Andrew and his class so wealthy. The strike
she organises 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—an
intuitive recognition of complementary fantasies. Andrew offers
Olivia a bargain—better working conditions for the mill staff, in
return for a weekend of her unquestioning obedience. Olivia will help
him deflect the attentions of the potential mates assembled by his
mother, as well as providing more intimate services. Given Olivia’s
origins, a more enduring relationship appears impossible—but Andrew
is not the sort to give up something he wants.
The
Hook
“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 recognised lust when she saw it.
He
towered over her by at least a head. Though his body was hidden by
his loose touring coat, his decisive, economical movements suggested
he was lean and athletic. For a moment he hesitated, staring at her
proffered hand. When he finally accepted it, his firm grip confirmed
her impression of strength. His palm felt warm and dry against hers.
She suddenly wished that she were not so sticky and disheveled. When
he released her, a momentary lightness swept through her, as though
she might float away.
“And
can I assume that you are the instigator and cause of this illegal
strike, Miss Alcott?” He seemed flustered, less confident than she
would have expected. Her spirits rose.
“Instigator?
Perhaps. But not the cause.”
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