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He studied the ink closely, pleased with the result. “Thanks, Roberta. It looks great.”
Swinging his legs over the bench, he faced Penta.
Jamie turned off the other machine and the room fell silent. Helen popped her head in. “All done? How did it go?”
Penta moved her arm gingerly off the rest and studied it. “I love it,” she said softly.
Near her inner wrist was a pentagram. Stretching toward her elbow was the word “unleashed.” With a dollar sign instead of an S.
Cash had the ridiculous impulse to beat his chest like a caveman. Penta had marked herself with his symbol, with the nickname he had given her. It was her way of showing how committed she was to him. To them.
He cupped her chin in his hand and drew her gaze away from the design. “You’re mine. Now and forever.” Ignoring the very interested audience, he kissed her long and deep. When he pulled back, she was delightfully dazed, her lips swollen and pink.
“And you’re mine.” She urged him to twist so she could see his back. Her lips brushed his red and sensitive flesh. “Today and always.”
THANKS FOR READING Too Good for Words. I appreciate it!
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HAVE YOU READ ALL THE books in the Silverberry Seduction Seasoned Romance Series? Each story can be read as a standalone, with no cliffhangers, and are available in paperback and ebook. Here are the links:
Secrets Under the Covers (Book One) – read now
Loving Between the Lines (Book Two) – read now
Turn the Next Page (Book Three) – read now
Strictly by the Book (Book Four) – read now
Too Good for Words (Book Five) – read now
READ ON FOR AN EXCERPT from Secrets Under the Covers. Two long-time friends...one impulsive seduction...zero percent chance their lives will ever be the same again. (55-year-old widow and widower, friends-to-lovers, she seduces him, steamy open-door sex)
YOU’VE BEEN HERE BEFORE. There’s nothing to worry about.
Helen Mansfield shifted restlessly, the paper sheet on the examination table rustling under her. Maybe she should have sat on the chair in the corner. This was a routine meeting to discuss the results—the sure-to-be absolutely, totally normal, nothing to worry about results—of the ultrasound she’d had done as a follow up to her annual mammogram.
To distract herself, she tried to count the number of cotton balls in the glass jar with the tin lid on the counter in front of her. It sat next to a similar jar of wooden tongue depressors. Both seemed oddly out of place next to the sleek, black flat-screen monitor attached to the wall by a swinging arm. Did doctors still use wooden tongue depressors? Wasn’t there something a little more...sophisticated by now?
The door opened without warning, and Dr. Shelagh Chesley strode in. She’d been Helen’s family doctor for more than three decades, and while they didn’t socialize Helen considered her a friend, one who had been with her through the birth of her daughter, years of sore throats and upset stomachs, a bout with pneumonia, the onset of menopause.
And the death of Helen’s husband from pancreatic cancer three years ago.
“Hello, Shelagh.” She licked her lips, mouth dry with nerves, despite her internal pep talk.
“Helen.” Dr. Chesley leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, her navy-blue blazer tightening across her shoulders. Her hair was unapologetically steel grey, cut in a short bob, and her makeup understated. “I’m going to come right out and say it—the ultrasound confirmed a mass in your right breast. We need to biopsy so we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“Are you sure?” Helen winced. “Of course you’re sure. It’s just, I’ve had abnormal mammograms before. We’ve even gone as far as an ultrasound. There’s never been a need for a biopsy.”
“You know you have dense breast tissue. That often means additional scans to rule out areas of concern. And you’re right, we’ve never had to go further than an ultrasound. Until now. Given your family history, we can’t discount what we’re seeing this time.”
Helen’s mother had died from breast cancer at forty-three, when Helen was only twenty. Now fifty-five, she’d outlived her mother by a dozen years, but that turbulent time still had the power to make her stomach roil. After her mother’s younger sister had required a double mastectomy and passed away from the same disease a few years later, Helen had met with Shelagh to discuss preventative measures.
And here they were.
Helen couldn’t say the word, fearful of conjuring it into reality. But she needed to know. “What are your instincts telling you?”
Dr. Chesley pressed her lips together. “I won’t speculate, Helen. Given the characteristics of what we’ve seen in the mammogram and ultrasound, I want to do a surgical biopsy and remove the mass. I’ve arranged for you to go in a week from tomorrow. It’s an outpatient procedure done with local anesthetic and a mild sedative, so you’ll want someone to drive you home.”
