Saving the Seal: A BWWM Navy Seal Interracial Romance (3 page)

Exhaling hotly, Owen tightened his grip on the steering wheel, staring through the front windshield of his car at the large, brown brick building that was Riperton Veteran Memorial Hospital. He’d been assured that the facility was one of the best in the country at dealing with Vets and their re-acclimation into society once their tours were over, and Sean, his commanding officer, had made him promise that he would make it to the appointment he’d made for him.

The appointment that had been a year in the making.

With every fiber of his being, Owen wanted to turn his car around and go home to his dog and a cold beer. But he knew that if he did, his nightmares would never stop. He’d continue to wake up every other night, unable to move – to do anything but stare at the ceilings as his demons consumed him. He was the only man he knew who slept with a thirty caliber pistol under his pillow, waiting for an attack that would never come.

While his peers were busy with wives, kids and barbecues, he was trying to work up the will to get out of the house and go about his day. The only thing that was concrete for Owen was his strong sense of duty - the knowledge that what he had done had been done in the name of his country, so any loss sustained had to be worth something.

Even if that loss weighed on his chest so heavily that sometimes it felt as if he could hardly breathe.

Scowling, he opened the driver’s side door, sliding from the car before slamming it behind him with enough force to rock the entire vehicle. When one was six seven, and two hundred seventy pounds of solid muscles, it was easy to break things. He’d found that out the hard way – the last time he’d slammed a door in frustration, he’d been showered with broken glass…which, of course, had meant another visit to the doctor.

Even as he strode towards the entryway of the psychiatric department, he tried to give himself an excuse to back out. How on earth was this supposed to help him? Lying on a couch to divulge all of his woes to a complete stranger? Was he supposed to accept their judgement as final? What if they told him he was a lunatic – crazy beyond any and all hope of repair?

Well, then at least he’d know that there was no escape. That he was fucked for life, and would have to deal with his problems himself for as long as he could endure.

Owen paused just feet away from the door, frowning deeply despite the brilliant blue sky and greenery around him. This was his last chance to walk away – like he had from so many appointments before this one. He could turn around, go home, and bury his sorrow in the traditional way – with booze and football.

This time was no different than any time before. Except…Owen thought that if he walked away today, he might not have the courage to come back again. He’d tried so many times to swallow his fear and derision – to believe that things could get better…but he’d never followed through.

Sean would be pissed at him if he messed this up; and Sean was one of the only people alive who could beat him to within an inch of his life.

Groaning low in his throat, Owen yanked the door open, striding into the office as he tried to keep a low profile. At his height, it was difficult, and several people stared as he hunkered down in his leather jacket, shuffling over to reception. When the young girl there turned to see him, she craned her neck upwards until her gaze met his and immediately flushed darkly.

“Hi.” The word left her breathlessly and Owen repressed his second groan of the afternoon. The tiny, skinny little blonde couldn’t be a day over eighteen, which made her decidedly young to be pursuing him.

“Hi.” His low baritone thrummed through the room, drawing several more people’s attention. “I’m here to see Dr. Thomas.”

“Mmhm.” The blonde stared up at him, starry eyed, for a moment more before she caught herself. Her blush only darkened as she looked hurriedly down into her appointment book. “Oh! Dr. Thomas. Right. Name?”

“Sinclair.”

She thumbed through several cards before chancing another glance at him. “Did you have an appointment?”

Owen’s eyes darted to the clock. “Yeah. One o’clock.” The minute hand on the device was approaching the twenty minute mark. “I’m a little late.”

“Aright, well, have a seat ….
Lieutenant
Sinclair. She’ll call you back in a moment.” The blonde placed emphasis on the title, even though it made him wince. The last time someone had depended on that title…the last time someone had looked to him for leadership - he had failed them.

In his mind, he hardly deserved to be called
Lieutenant
anymore.

It took about five minutes of sitting in the waiting room before Owen began to grow distinctly uncomfortable. He was surrounded by people that seemed to have no problem being here – absolutely no issue with getting their head picked through by an absolute stranger. There was an older man dressed in fatigues with a variety of medals pinned to his lapels – and missing a leg. The empty section of his pants was pinned shut, and he lounged on a plum colored sofa reading an issue of Wired, his expression utterly serene. Two women dressed in civilian garb chatted softly over the head of a child that couldn’t be more than two. The coloring book she held had less crayon in it than her dress, and when one of her crayons dropped to the floor, a woman picked it up to return to her carelessly.

There were a few others, all of whom seemed perfectly at ease. The utter calm that pervaded the room made him uneasy. It was hard for him to be still these days. He felt more comfortable with something in his hands, or outdoors in his fenced backyard throwing a ball with Eddie.

It was unfortunate that he usually busied his hands taking guns apart and putting them back together – methodically – over and over. That was hardly appropriate behavior for a doctor’s office. So, now, he merely drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair he sat in, trying to psyche himself into a state of calm.

“Lieutenant Owen Sinclair?”

A low, concise female voice drew his attention to a door beyond the reception desk. When his gaze fell on the woman standing there, Owen’s heart stuttered in his chest and his mouth dried.

That
was his shrink?

It was her eyes that first caught his attention – large and almond-shaped, the honey hued orbs caught him and pulled him in, twisting his gut in raw, searing desire. Her pert, small nose was situated atop a mouth that could put Angelina’s to shame –full and painted deep red to contrast against her dark, toffee-hued skin. As Owen’s eyes roamed the ample curves that filled out the modest black sheath she wore, he imagined how her skin would look pressed flush against his – darkness and light woven together as he clutched her to him, plunging deep inside to wring his name from her lips on a scream that would shake the rafters of his bedroom ceiling…God. What would it feel like to slide his hands through her rampant, springy dark curls? Would they be as soft as the ones between her legs? If he lowered his head to hers in a kiss, fitted his long form against hers and took what he wanted, would she come easily? Or would she writhe and arch against him, all wildfire and want?

Owen blinked, swallowing thickly as he forced himself back to reality.

Hell.

It had been an eternity since he’d had such an instantaneous, visceral reaction to a woman. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been laid recently. Now that he had hours of free time filling his schedule, it was nothing to head to the nearest bar and find a willing woman.

But none of them had sparked his interest as much as this one did.

Owen had always had an appreciation for women of color. He loved the rich hue of their skin, the soft texture of their hair, their full lips and their limitless curves. For some reason, he’d always been more drawn to them than he had the blondes and the brunettes. Mind you, he hadn’t encountered very many black women willing to give him the time of day, but he’d certainly tried. Before he’d left the navy, every session of leave he’d gotten had been spent fawning over some new chocolate beauty that was driving him wild.

This woman wasn’t chocolate, per say. A bit lighter, with more unique coloring, but she was more than enough to make him hard as nails instantaneously. It was the strangest sensation he’d ever encountered, trying to wrap his head around the idea that she was going to be in his head as he tried to calm his enthusiastic nether regions.

He didn’t know if he’d be able to concentrate on what she wanted to know for long enough for her to be able to help him. As it was, all he could do was stare at her, trying to unscramble the mess of his mind.

“Lieutenant Owen Sinclair?” She repeated his name, in that same low, crisp tone, and he snapped free, adjusting himself discreetly as he stood.

“That’s me.”

The woman’s eyes travelled up his form until they finally locked with his, and her lips curved into a slow, friendly smile. “Hello Lieutenant. I’m Doctor Genevieve Thomas. If you’ll please step this way?” She gestured to the open door behind her while Owen struggled not to slobber all over himself.

Christ, you’d think at his age he’d be used to dealing with women he was attracted to. Doctor Genevieve Thomas, however, had caught him completely off guard. He hasn’t been expecting his doctor to be a woman and he certainly hadn’t expected her to look like something the devil sent to tempt him out of his mind.

He strode towards her- perhaps a little too fast - passing through the door and out of reception into the narrow hallway beyond. All at once, his body was inches from hers, and the soft, floral scent of her assaulted his senses. Owen bit back a groan, promising himself to be civil. This wasn’t a watering hole after a mission, and it wasn’t a bar. If he hit on his shrink, he was very certain that Sean would hand his ass to him the next time they met.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lieutenant.” She extended her hand for him to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

When he took her fingers in his, heat jolted through him and he let go as quickly as was polite, resisting the urge to yank her into his arms and see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled. He forced himself to remember that, very shortly, this woman would be rummaging around his brain; and before he’d caught sight of his psychiatrist, the last thing in the world he’d wanted was to let a stranger – a
doctor
- do anything to him. He could think of no decent reply to her greeting that didn’t involve tearing her clothes off, and so he remained silent, merely following her down the a hall that seemed never-ending.

When he managed to tear his eyes from the delectable line of her beyond, he noticed that there were power plugs outside each and every room, their cords disappearing under the doors. From within, he could hear a low, steady hum that was almost like the sound of an AC.

“What are those?”

At his question, Dr. Thomas looked over his shoulder to look at the cords he’d indicated gruffly. “Oh.” She shot that brilliant smile at him again, making his hardness pulse in his jeans. “Those are noise cancellers. They ensure the utmost confidentiality during appointments. Nothing you say here, or anything you might like to discuss will ever leave the premises.”

Well, that he knew. Sean had told him that even though he was venturing outside the network to find an appropriate shrink for his friend, his doctor would still have to adhere to the rules that Special Forces personnel had to follow when they spoke to debriefed SEALs. The fact that other people received the same courtesy comforted him somewhat, though it was nowhere near the impetus that he needed to spill his guts.

They turned into the last room on the right, a small space with a window that looked out onto the hospital gardens. There was a small white sofa, a black armchair, and a desk with an open laptop on it. Behind the desk was a bookshelf stacked with innumerable books with titles he didn’t understand:
PTSD and You: Understanding and Recognizing the Symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Chemical-Neural Interactions, Depression and Anxiety Workbook, Obsessive Compulsive Order: A Short Overview…
He knew what the disorders were, but seeing so much information on them in one place didn’t help his skittishness.

When the doctor closed the door behind him, she might as well have been sounding his death knell. Even as she sank into the chair adjacent to the desk, he remained standing, staring down at her from his lofty height.

If he’d hoped to intimidate her with the intensity of his stare, it didn’t work. She merely smiled sweetly at him, gesturing to the couch. “Wouldn’t you rather sit?”

Owen shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning back against the wall behind him. He liked to think he could walk out whenever he wanted. “I’m fine standing.”

Her impassive eyes met his as she arched a brow, picking up a clipboard from the desk. “You’re nervous?”

He tried not to watch her dress rise to hug her thighs as she crossed her legs, exposing a swathe of decadent skin that hadn’t been visible to him before. “Do people who usually come in here just spill everything to you straight away, Doctor?”

His tone came out harsher than he’d intended, but when Owen was uncomfortable, no one around him had any trouble discovering it. Since he’d left the SEALs he’d turned into a growing, grumpy force of nature that Sean liked to say could sour milk. However, the doctor didn’t seem cowed by his brusqueness. She merely leaned back in her chair so she didn’t have to crane her neck to look up at him. “Not usually. It takes a while before people want to talk about themselves.”