The Holiday Triplets by Jacqueline Diamond Page B

on it,” she shot back. “A stamp that reads, Nobody’s Home.”
    His expression turned mischievous. “Is that any way to talk to the man who’s going to be holding a pair of scissors close to your hair?”
    â€œI should call Kate.”
    â€œTony’s fiancée?”
    â€œShe’s also my hairdresser, or used to be.”
    â€œYou don’t need a hairdresser—you need a shrink,” he observed with a twinkle in his eye.
    â€œBecause I’m having a crisis?” She hated feelingdisheveled and out of sorts while Mark remained maddeningly cool. “Which you helped cause.”
    He raised his hands in protest. “You’re not the only person with goals and dreams around here, Sam. Besides, you’ve always known that the fertility center was the hospital’s priority. Your project was a mere afterthought.”
    He had a point, one she didn’t feel up to debating, not in her light-headed condition. “You promised to feed me.”
    â€œAre you certain you want to risk eating here? Remember Greek mythology. If you eat or drink anything in Hades, you may be stuck there forever.”
    â€œYou’re crazy.”
    â€œBut fun to be around.”
    Someone had to wipe the amusement off his face, so Sam did the only thing she could think of. She walked over and kissed him.
    He caught her arms and anchored her there. What started as a gentle exploration deepened, his tongue catching the edge of her teeth, her hands sliding across his shirt and feeling the rise and fall of his chest.
    He did some exploring of his own, thumbs tracing the edge of her breasts and smoothing across the swell to reach the hard nubs. When she arched instinctively, he tasted the pulse of her throat, and her blood turned to steaming lava.
    Speaking of a hot Christmas, this was quite a preview…or was she having a hot flash? That unpleasant prospect thumped Sam out of her trance. Come to think of it, all of her symptoms might be due to menopause. Wooziness, loss of concentration, cravings…
    She retreated beyond the reach of his arms. “Well, that cleared my head.”
    He studied her questioningly. “My head doesn’t feel clear at all.”
    Her breasts ached for more of his touch, and her lips tingled. “I think we went way off track there.”
    â€œMaybe we should try it again and see if it helps us find the right path.”
    She closed her eyes and registered the sensations rampaging through her nervous system. “I’m tempted, yes,” she decided. “Insane, no.”
    â€œSamantha, did you have anything to drink this morning?” His joking manner shaded into wariness.
    â€œNothing stronger than coffee,” she said.
    â€œAre you taking medication?”
    â€œI’m not high.” She bristled. “Why would you even think that?”
    Mark uncoiled from the sofa. “I apologize. The person I mentioned who might accompany me to the Christmas party is my sister, who’s a recovering alcoholic. And frankly, I don’t trust her claim about being sober. Guess I was projecting.”
    In fairness, he’d had good reason to ask. “I have been acting ditzy,” Sam admitted. “And I’m sorry to hear about your sister. I had no idea.”
    â€œLots of people have skeletons in the closet.” He led the way to the kitchen. “My closet happens to be a veritable boneyard.”
    â€œYour closets were empty.”
    â€œMy metaphorical closets are stuffed to the gills.”
    He’d always struck her as the soul of stability. “I thought your father was a doctor, like my folks. I pictured you growing up normal.”
    â€œAnd you consider physicians’ children normal?” Although he’d turned away to measure coffee, the tilt of his head indicated he awaited her return volley.
    â€œWe may be a bit high-handed.” She took a seat at the table. “Also impatient when