The Holiday Triplets by Jacqueline Diamond Page A

normally made a point of not fantasizing about anyone he worked with.
    She winced. “No, I didn’t mean for my hair. I need to cut off the elastic.”
    In his pocket, Mark’s hand closed around his multi-function pocketknife. Not only could he snip the elastic, he could uncork a wine bottle, file his nails and probably shoe a horse if he really had to. But he’d much rather spend time talking to Sam than leafing through medical journals, so…
    He slipped an empty hand out of his pocket. “I have several pairs of surgical scissors at my house. I suspect that’s pretty much en route to yours. And I happen to stock excellent coffee.”
    Sam regarded him speculatively. “Any chocolates?I passed up having a muffin with my friends. Now I’m feeling deprived.”
    â€œI have a box in the freezer. Several, in fact.” Patients went overboard at holidays with gifts of candy, which he saved for special occasions. “I’d like to use them up before the next round of gift-giving.”
    â€œDark chocolate with nuts?” she queried.
    â€œPlenty. Just don’t mess with my caramel centers.”
    â€œI wouldn’t dream of messing with your caramel centers.” She gave her hair one last tweak. “I can’t fix this myself, so you’re on, Doc.”
    Taking this desirable woman home with him might not be the wisest move he’d ever made, Mark reflected as they set out again. But for some reason, he felt reckless enough to find out what might happen when he did.

Chapter Five
    Samantha had no idea where this other woman had come from. Not the one Mark might be bringing to the Christmas party—she refused to yield to the jealousy-tinged curiosity nipping at her about that individual—but the one she herself had become. She’d walked into Mark’s large cul-de-sac home, surveyed the spare, clean lines of his living room and immediately pictured it stuffed with her flowery sofa and chairs, along with her collection of colored glassware.
    â€œThat’s the real problem,” she said aloud.
    Beside her, Mark pulled off his tie and tossed it over the back of a modern chair so low it nearly didn’t have a back. He ignored the way the tie slipped onto the seat. “What, exactly?”
    â€œI’m not sure who I am anymore.” There, she’d put into words the issue that had been driving her crazy.
    â€œWell, that’s a relief.” He tossed his jacket after the tie.
    As it slid down, too, a trace of his ubermasculine pheromones wafted toward her. Sam could have sworn her brain was floating a few inches above its usual position. “Why?” she managed to ask.
    He sent her a lazy grin. “I thought you were about to comment that I decorate like a guy who ran through Ikeathrowing items into a shopping cart. Which is basically what happened.”
    â€œIt’s nothing a froufrou addict like me couldn’t fix,” she said, distracted by the possibility that he might actually enjoy having some of her stuff…no, wait. Back to reality.
    â€œSo what’s this about not being sure who you are?” He swung a leg over the arm of the couch and sat there, invitingly rumpled.
    â€œI felt impatient with Candy, who’s just a kid, after all. I keep thinking about the children I should have had, instead of about the counseling clinic. It’s like I’ve turned into a…what are these for?” She stopped pacing to study the sleek, ash-colored cabinets built against one wall. Why had Mark outfitted his living room as if it were a storage facility?
    Unable to resist, she opened one. Empty.
    Sam couldn’t imagine owning cabinets like these and not filling them up. The world was full of so many pretty things.
    â€œThey came with the house,” he told her. “I only bought it a couple of years ago. Haven’t had a chance to put my stamp on the place yet.”
    â€œIt has your stamp