“Goddamn.” Owen made sure his gun was loaded properly, hardly daring to tear his eyes from her for the split second it cost him. “Well, he did well with your aim, that’s for sure.”
For a moment, Genny found herself somewhat taken aback. Had Captain Ryce been serious when he’d professed that she might be able to outshoot the Lieutenant? She knew she was good for someone outside the ranks…but to be up against a SEAL? “Thanks.” She managed, glancing down at the weapon in his hands. “Aren’t you going to-?”
“Yeah.” The lieutenant thumbed off the safety before turning to take aim at the target in a smooth motion. He fired ten shoots, one after the other, each passing within millimeters of each other on the target before him – dead center. When he turned back to her, biceps flexing as he lowered his gun, she took a deep, shuddering breath. What, for her, took an hour of prep and mental leavening this man could do in mere seconds.
But she couldn’t let him know just how much his prowess aroused her. That would be suicide. Instead, she merely smiled as he placed the gun on the table between them, searching for more rounds. She had to remind herself that, unlike her, Owen’s bullets had hit actual targets. That he was accurate because his life depended on it. “I can see now why you’re such a commended marksman.”
At the compliment, Owen merely shrugged, his fingers drumming across the tabletop in an undeniably nervous gesture. “Shooting’s the easiest part about being in the armed forces, really.” His eyes darkened as he continued. “It’s what comes after that’s hard.”
It was the closest he’d ever come to admitting that what he’d done in Fallujah pained him – and in Genevieve’s book, it was a step forward. She’d be careful not to press him. This was technically only their second session, and she wouldn’t have forgotten so quickly how badly Owen responded to being pressured to talk about his emotions.
“Another round?” She inquired cheerfully.
The man cast her a devastating smirk before nodding. “Why not?” He seemed not to notice how everyone who passed him stared at him, awed, as if he was some avenging God. From what she’d read about him Genny was well aware of his reputation, but he himself was totally oblivious to what they thought. He was too busy pretending to be through with the life that had defined him.
“So, did your father teach you how to shoot?” The doctor voiced the question as she reloaded her weapon, ever aware of the lieutenant’s dark, hungry gaze upon her. She expected him to withdraw – to raise his defenses…pretty much anything other than what he did, which was to chuckle softly.
Genevieve’s head jerked up in surprise as she stared at him.
The man was smiling.
The gesture lit his normally stern face, transforming an already attractive man into something that should rightfully be gracing the pages of GQ magazine. For a moment, she just stared, trying to will her libido back into hiding.
“My father was of the opinion that I should never hold a gun. He was a hunter. Respected nature, respected the weapon…thought I would never be ready for it.” Owen slipped bullets into the chamber of his gun effortlessly. “I was a bit of a…problem child.”
She couldn’t possibly imagine. Genny hid her wry smile as she watched several soldiers change the target in their lane. They took in the shots the lieutenant had fired with awe even as they hung up a fresh cardboard cutout. She was surprised that Owen seemed in such a talkative mood. There’d been a large part of her that had feared he’d never want to open up to her – that she’d have to add herself to the long list of psychiatrists he’d rejected. Now, however, she would have to make sure that never happened. “Is that why you joined the Navy? To work out some of those problems?”
Owen snorted, extracting a bottle of water from one of the pockets in his pants to take a long, lingering swig. “That was the idea. Dad thought I was a lost cause…that I couldn’t be disciplined. Mom gave up on me long before that – but she walked out as soon as she could.” He wiped his upper lip, his expression pensive. “The Navy changed…everything for me. Hardened me…woke me to issues I hadn’t even known existed.” He glanced over at Genny, who was watching him with bated breath, and his lips curved slightly upward. “Your turn, Doc.”
The young woman had nearly forgotten entirely that they were supposed to be shooting. With a low sound of surprise, she turned to see the new target, her cheeks flushing. Quickly, she gathered her wits, lining herself up to take her shots.
And so went the rest of their “appointment”. If Genny had intended for the atmosphere to be less intimidating for Owen, she’d certainly gotten her wish. While the man wasn’t exactly forthright, he didn’t seem to mind telling her about how he had ended up as a SEAL. About the background that had created a troubled teenager who had longed for stability. As they carefully worked with their weapons, Owen revealed to her that his mother had abandoned their family before his fifth birthday – running off with another man as soon as her child could stand on his own two feet.
He’d been raised by his father – a stern, rule-abiding man who loved his hunting and ran his household rigidly. There was little in the way of physical affection, though the man had never neglected to tell Owen that he was fond of his only son. Owen, of course, had rebelled under the rules imposed on him and become reckless. In trouble with the police, in and out of schools – the Navy had been the turning point.
When he’d realized that the armed forces had been able to provide him with a family and a purpose, he’d immediately seen that he’d never properly challenged himself. Signing up for the SEALs had been a test of his own strength – one he’d never intended to pass.
But instead, he’d excelled – proving to himself, his father, and his absent mother that he wasn’t as lost a cause as they might like to believe.
As he spoke, Genny both listened and watched the man. The careful, precise way he handled his weapon and the tension in his body. He respected guns just as much as his father, if not more. And though he’d attested to her that he was through with the SEALs, it was more than evident in the way that he carried himself that what he was wasn’t a title. It was in his blood.
But something prevented him from claiming it – from admitting what he was and would always be.
She just had to discover what that something was.
At the end of a two hour shooting session, they were informed that they would have to give up their lane to some infantry soldiers. Despite the fact that she was hot and sweaty, her head pounding from the effort of concentrating on increasingly further targets, Genny was sorry to see their time come to an end.
Though Owen still hadn’t begun to speak of what it was that haunted him during his waking hours, he had spoken to her about his past – and that was no small thing. One would almost think he’d started to trust her.
“So, Owen…” She relinquished her weapon to a pair of soldiers, removing her gloves to rub at her sore palms. “I’d like to talk about our next appointment, if that’s alright with you.” The lieutenant handed his gun over with a nod to the same two soldiers who had taken Genny’s before fixing her with an inscrutable look.
“If it’s all the same to you, doc, I’d rather not.”
Genevieve’s eyes widened.
He had to be joking. She thought they’d been doing well. She’d gone through all of her appointments the last week on edge because she hadn’t known whether this tactic would work. Apparently, what she considered a success was not the same in Owen’s eyes. “You won’t come to another appointment?” She kept her tone tactfully neutral.
“I don’t do well with appointments.” He replied succinctly, his hands sliding into his pockets as he looked down at her from his great height.
Genny frowned. “You were fine with this one.”
“This wasn’t an appointment.” Owen rebutted lowly. “This was a conversation. No office, no white couch, no doctor and no patient. Just you, and me.” Genny repressed a shudder at his low, almost intimate tone. They had been far
from alone for the entire session – but he had a point. It had felt less like an appointment than any interaction she’d had with patients before. “If you can promise me that all of our appointments will be like this, then I’ll consider the next one.”
Genevieve stared at the man in shock. She’d been hoping that this appointment would be a stepping stone that would eventually place them back in the office – perhaps a bigger one, but an office nonetheless. She didn’t have the authority to take patients from the facility more than once or twice a month.
Which meant that she couldn’t promise Owen what he wanted. She took a deep breath, meeting his piercing green eyes.
“Owen, I-”
“Can you, or can’t you tell me that we won’t be going back to the hospital?”
Goddamn it. The man was an infuriating, stubborn force of nature – and it was her job not to let him know it. Genevieve exhaled slowly in an attempt to keep her temper in check. “No, Owen. I can’t.”
It was the honest truth. She never lied to her patients.
Owen sighed, shaking his head as his expression darkened. “I suppose we find ourselves at an impasse then.” That was putting it lightly, to say the least. If the man didn’t agree to their next session, he would be the first patient she had ever lost. “Unless…” Genevieve’s spirit lifted as he continued, his gaze thoughtful. “Unless there’s some way for us to meet outside the office to talk…person to person. Somewhere titles and expectations won’t get in the way.”
The young woman arched a brow at this suggestion. No matter where they went, she was going to put his treatment above all else. Despite the man’s debonair attitude and careless tone, he wasn’t going to make her forget why they’d met in the first place.
He needed her help. “What did you have in mind?”
Her statement prompted another bonafide Owen grin that made her weak at the knees, despite her wariness. “Have dinner with me.”
For a moment, Genevieve was too shocked to respond. Was he asking her out? After they’d agreed that the attraction between them was unhealthy and would only hinder his treatment? If he thought that she was going to date him, they were back to square one.
Even if she wanted nothing more than for the man to take her home with him, strip her out of her sweat-stained clothing and ravage her to within an inch of her life, it was the last desire she should give into. She had to consider her job and her patients – including him. “Owen, I can’t.” Her voice was firm when she finally spoke, betraying none of the uncertainty she felt. “For all the reasons that existed during our first session. Reasons you can’t have forgotten.”
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” The tall man was quick to remind her, his mouth turning down into his signature scowl. “You’re my shrink and I’m your patient. Got that loud and clear, Doc.” His hands pressed against the table between them as he leaned over it until their faces were inches apart. His scent enveloped her – sweat, spice, and pure masculinity, sending heat spiraling down to pool between her legs. “I just hope you haven’t forgotten my aversion to doctors and anything associated with them. I’m not keen on the idea of anyone poking around my head, and I never will be. But, I’ll tell you one thing.” His eyes performed a quick scan of her from head to foot, and the heat the young woman read there made her lightheaded. “I might be willing to talk to a gorgeous woman on a dinner date. Where nothing’s expected of me, or her…and we’re just two people.”
So, in other words, he was giving her an ultimatum.
Either she went out with him, or he stopped coming to their sessions.
It was a dirty trick – one she would have thought beneath him. Especially after the way he’d stormed out of their last appointment. But one look at the determined glint in the man’s eyes was enough to let her know that he’d made his decision.
And if she left him alone, it meant giving up any chance he might have at rehabilitation – because she was scared. So what if he asked her to dinner? It didn’t have to mean anything. She wasn’t obligated to tumble into the man’s bed. If he wanted to speak to her in a restaurant versus an office, what did it matter?
As long as they made progress.
And she didn’t give into the man’s obviously very numerous wiles. “So…let me get this straight: I go out to dinner with you, you keep coming to sessions?”
He shrugged. “If you want me to come into your office once a week for small talk, I’ll make that exchange; but you know where I stand on emotional…divulging.” He made a face. “I’m not going to be your next charity case, Genevieve.”
The young woman swallowed the urge to bristle at the language. Helping people wasn’t about charity and it wasn’t about recognition. It was about getting them to discover what they needed. It was emphatically clear that Owen was far from that point.
Which meant that she would have to take him there – so long as she could keep her hands off him. “Fine.”
Owen’s expression was priceless. His eyes widened and his brows shot upward. “Fine?”
“Yes. Fine. I’ll go to dinner with you.” She stepped around the table to the lieutenant’s side, her own gaze burning with a fierce resolve. If he wanted to proclaim his intentions, two could play at that game. “But let me tell you something, Mister Sinclair: If you’re not my charity, I’m not your conquest.”
With that, she turned on her heel, leaving him behind as she made her way back towards the range’s exit. Genevieve had risen to every challenge ever posed to her, and this one would be no different. She would do what she had to do to make Owen see what he needed – and if that meant dressing up to have a meal with him, so be it.
Chapter Five: Backfire
He couldn’t understand it.
As he worked to lift the two hundred pound barbell over his head, Owen’s thoughts lingered on the woman who remained a complete and total enigma to him. Sweat dripped down the side of his face, and he blinked the sting from his eyes as he tried to piece together the events of the past two weeks.
In an attempt to sever himself from his so-called psychiatrist, he’d put to her an offer she had to refuse. It was clear after an afternoon spent shooting with her that he was going to exhaust himself trying to keep his raging libido at bay He didn’t want to risk the humility of falling victim to desires he’d worked so hard to repress. He’d been sure that when he issued the ultimatum of a date, Genevieve would have to deny him and that would be the end of that.
She’d certainly surprised him.
Not only had she agreed to the date, but she’d shown up with bells on. The form-fitting, green dress she’d worn to meet him for dinner at his favorite steakhouse had him salivating when she wasn’t looking. She’d been an absolute vision – and completely and totally obstinate in the face of all his advances.
Owen had to admit that, at first, he hadn’t been quite sure how to address the situation. He hadn’t expected Genevieve to accept his invitation, and so, of course, he’d been at a complete loss for what to do when they’d gone out together. It had been a long while since he’d taken a woman on an actual date instead of just sleeping with her – probably before his SEAL days.
He could tell that she was upset. She felt pigeon-holed into the situation, and for that, he couldn’t blame her. He had posed the question to her specifically because he’d never thought she’d agree to his conditions.
And so, in the face of insurmountable odds, he’d done what came naturally to him. He’d hit on her – quite ferociously, and at length. It was either that, or resort to actually talking about the nightmares that kept him up at night – and he couldn’t quite commit to that. Genevieve had been completely and totally unfazed. Every time he suggested drinks after dinner, she’d politely steered the conversation back in the direction of his emotional state as he’d tried not to be enraptured by her full mouth and entrancing almond eyes.
In all honestly, he couldn’t remember whether or not he’d let anything slip. He’d been a little too busy trying
to accept that he had this decadent psychiatrist to himself to really keep track of what babble spewed from his mouth. Owen had been so caught up, in fact, that when he’d left the dinner without her at his side, he’d felt oddly bereft. He half-remembered agreeing to another session in her office while they’d been eating their filet mignon, but that hadn’t gone terribly well either.
He simply couldn’t make himself talk.
The more Owen saw Genevieve, he realized that the reason he didn’t speak to her stemmed less and less from his mistrust of doctors. After the little shooting session where he’d learned her heritage – where she showed him she could shoot better than most soldiers and he’d spoken to her about his troubled family life, he’d begun to see that she wasn’t going to treat him like an object – like something broken that needed fixing.
She didn’t depersonalize their meetings – like so many other doctors did. In reality, he should have no problem opening up to her. Despite everything he told himself, he liked her. In a professional sense, that was. When it came to other arenas, using the word ‘like’ to refer to how he felt about Genevieve Thomas was a bit weak. Sean was constantly in his ear after every session, demanding that he push himself. That he’d stared armies of insurgents in the face and jumped out of planes into warzones, so why couldn’t he talk to his psychiatrist?
The simple fact of the matter was that Owen was locked up. He’d spent such a long time bundling his issues inside that to expose them wasn’t going to come without quite a bit of effort. As he’d stared at Genevieve in another office – this one slightly larger than the last – she’d never gotten angry with him, never walked out. She was patient and calm, despite his every effort to derail the subjects she asked him about.
Saving the Seal: A BWWM Navy Seal Interracial Romance Page 6