The back of her neck prickled. If she had to pick a description to pair that voice with, she’d say impatient. Or sexy. Two words you wouldn’t want associated with the army psychiatrist charged with your daughter’s care.
He’s probably fat and bald, Jessi.
Comforted by that thought, she pushed the lever down and opened the door.
He wasn’t fat. Or bald.
The man seated behind the military-issue desk had a full head of jet-black hair. Something about his profile tugged at her, just as his voice had.
“I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Her gaze landed on the nameplate on the doctor’s desk.
Jessi froze. Her gaze flicked back to the portion of his face she could see. Recognition roared to life and images of heated kisses in the grass beside the creek flashed through her head.
Clinton Marks. A ghost from her past…a rite of passage.
A moment in time.
And yet here he was, sitting across from her in living color.