Title: One Last
Hold
Author: Angela Smith
Genre: Romantic
Suspense
He has a shaded past…
Wesley Webb is at the pinnacle of his auto racing career when his
main rival is murdered hours after their confrontation. That, along with
evidence found at the scene, shades him as prime suspect. Now he’s under
intense press scrutiny, particularly from Caitlyn Daniels, an ex-girlfriend who
knows all about his secret past.
And she’s the one woman who
could expose him…
Caitlyn
thought to never see Wesley again. Now, his life could be in her hands. Ten
years ago, a tragedy tore apart everything she held dear, including their
relationship. When she’s assigned to do an exclusive story with the reluctant
race car driver she once loved, she believes this could be her purging. But
chemistry tears apart her resolve to stay strong. Can they work out their
differences and fall in love again, or will tragedy keep them apart?
Author Bio
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During her senior year in high school,
Angela Smith was dubbed most likely to write a novel, and that has been my
dream ever since her mother read 'Brer Rabbit' to her and her sister so often
that they were able to recite it before being able to read. Before venturing
into writing, she fell into the perfect job in criminal justice and later
became a certified paralegal. When not caring for her small farm or spending
time with her husband of two decades, she loves to craft, read, go off-roading,
and dream of all the places she’ll visit one day.
Links
Website: http://www.loveisamystery.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/angelaswriter
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/asmithauthor
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Angela-Smith/e/B00DYBSIMY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
Book Excerpts
Wesley Webb turned his wheel to face
the front straight, beginning the last lap of the race.
“You’re looking good,” his spotter,
Derrick, affirmed through earplugs that had long-since burned a hole in his
head. “Don’t push it. You need a good finish.”
Derrick knew him well enough to know
he’d punish himself on the last lap and take chances he shouldn’t take. But a
good finish wasn’t what it was about for him. It was about winning, and heading
into turn two, Wesley was confident the win was his.
“Watch Armstrong to your left.”
Wesley’s palms sweat as he gripped the
wheel. He imagined his car racing through the finish line—first. A few more
seconds and that would become reality. His heart pounded and every beat seemed
to pull Chad Armstrong closer. He held his breath, his pulse thrummed low as
his mind reeled with all the consequences of all possible moves. He quickly
exhaled, every exertion an effort to slow his rival’s advance.
“Focus, focus,” Wesley said as he let
out a breath and took another one in, this time through his nose. Every nerve
ending tingled in adrenaline and anticipation.
He was so ready to get out of this
cage.
He bit his lip, concentrating in order
to out maneuver Chad’s tricks as Chad nudged him closer to the wall. This game
was getting old.
“You’re almost there,” Derrick cued.
“Watch the wall.”
“Stay with me,” Wesley said to his
car, to his spotter, to God, and to whoever the hell else wanted to listen.
He only needed to maintain the lead a
few more seconds.
Derrick’s warning shrill was too late. Chad
clipped the left quarter, spinning Wesley’s car out of control. He frantically
tried to steer out of the skid. For a moment, control was within reach, until
the tire’s sidewalls dug into the soft earth of the infield.
The car flipped.
Over and over.
He skidded to a stop upside down and
watched Chad cross the finish line. Something he wouldn’t have a chance to do
tonight.
“You okay?” That damned voice in his
earplugs again, reminding him people were freaking out because he hadn’t come
out of the car.
“Yeah.” No. Fury was a molten hole in
his gut, eating its way into his throat.
He crawled out of the cage and pitched
his helmet and earplugs to the ground. Firefighters rushed to douse the blaze,
and troops surrounded him to assist him and his car out of the infield.
Fisting his gloved hands, he pushed
through the men and focused on his main goal: get past that finish line.
Even
though he’d be footing it tonight.
Adam, his crew chief, advanced on him.
“Do you need an ambulance?”
"No.” He didn’t need an
ambulance, he didn’t need sympathy, and he damn sure didn’t need anyone trying
to comfort him with words.
Right now, vengeance was his only
fuel.
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