She took a deep breath and knew immediately it was a mistake. His scent—clean male sweat, sandalwood soap, leather and hay—filled her nostrils. But below it all was the smell of J. T., the one man who had the ability to set her on fire with barely a look or a touch.
His large hands grasped her shoulders and she tilted her head back to look at him. Pale blue eyes, like lasers, pierced her very soul. He looked as tortured as she felt. Tori shook her head, not understanding.
He took the slight movement of her head as another “no” and shook her slightly. “You’re not leaving.”