Free One Last Hold by Angela Smith

cheat, probably even steal to get their story. They end up hurting people to get what they want and they just don’t care.”
    “We’re not all like that. I don’t mean to hurt people, but there are some stories out there people deserve to know about.”
    “Like mine, for instance.”
    “Your fans care about you. They want to know more about you.”
    Wesley didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. The intensity of his gaze made his opinions on the subject clear.
    Wesley closed the gap between them, leaned forward, and stopped just shy of her lips. His strong arms caged her in. Her back pressed against the bar. His breath, warm against her check, incited chills along her nape.
    “I’ve always wanted to write a book,” Caitlyn blabbed. At least if she was talking, she wasn’t focusing on him, on the now. “Something fantastic, something startling, something everyone just has to read.”
    “Yeah, like my biography,” he bit out.
    “Unfortunately,” she continued, trying to ignore the essence of him and the sucker-punch of his scrutiny. Her pulse tripped so hard, she was sure he would hear it. “I have to have a full time job to support myself. You know, a house, food, clothing?”
    “Well.” Wesley’s gaze dipped across her skin. “I don’t know about the clothing part.”
    Her body flamed hot. Neither of them moved. What was he trying to do anyway?
    She glanced down, but it didn’t help. Now his chest was in full view.
    “And I do enjoy my job as a journalist.” She pushed against him but he didn’t budge. The sensation of his skin, though covered in that minuscule white tee, burned her hand. She gulped, trying to lengthen her shallow breath, and wondered if he’d worn it on purpose.
    “There’s more you can do with your writing skills. Like write a book.”
    “You could give me that opportunity.”
    “No.” Wesley stepped away, taking her sanity with him. He rested his back against the fridge and propped one foot on the frame. Angry, jerky movements.
    “I love my job,” she admitted. “I’ve learned so many things, grown into so many things, and I’ve seen so many things, good and bad. Inspiring. I needed that more than you’ll understand.”
    “Why?”
    Caitlyn snatched her pen and clicked it closed, then used the tip to doodle circles in the condensation on the bar. She didn’t want to answer, didn’t want him to know, but she longed to talk and besides, how would she have her closure if she didn’t tell him everything?
    “There were a lot of things I needed to learn about life,” she murmured, remembering him as the friend she once had so she wouldn’t feel so uneasy. The friend she could tell anything to, the first person who knew when she started her period. The friend she felt comfortable with before sex and the friend she felt passionate about after sex. “I couldn’t deal with things for a while. I blamed myself for what happened because Samantha took her seatbelt off to comfort me. I thought I wasn’t good enough for you, I thought you blamed me, too.” Tears swam under her lids and her voice cracked, but she kept her head down.
    “I went to college,” she continued, “not only to get an education but also to be with people. Different people. I took self-defense lessons, to protect myself if need be, but also to learn how to focus my body and my mind away from my troubles. I took piano lessons until I realized I wasn’t any good. And I worked hard while going to school. I even saw a therapist.”
    He caught her chin in his hand and tilted her face to meet his. She hadn’t meant to tell him any of this, hadn’t meant to talk about the past at all. Her body grew heavy, fatigued, and she longed for him to wrap her in his arms. But that would never happen. In the end, he’d leave. Just like before.
    It’d hurt when he left. She was young, naïve, and so much in love she thought she’d die.
    His hand remained under her chin and she wanted to move her head so it cupped her