Scent Of A Woman Quotes

“A heavy smell of sour wine, candles and overripe fruit hung in the air. And something else, that bought to mind a mixture of the scents of lilac and gooseberries.”
― Andrzej Sapkowski, The Last Wish

“What else do you assess during these test drives?" He felt electricity, every nerve in his body firing at once, this attraction raw and unexpected. "Tires?"
As one, they slowed a few feet before the sidewalk, stopping in the shadows as if neither of them wanted to step into the glare of the lights.
She turned to face him, her gaze dipping to his shoes. "They do seem to be in good working order."
"Suspension?" He took a step closer and heard her breath catch in her throat.
"A little bit stiff." She licked her lips. "I think we're in for a rough ride."
"Acceleration?" Jay shoved the warning voice out of his head and cupped her jaw, brushing his thumb over her soft cheek. Her gaze grew heavy and she sighed. Or was it a whimper? He could barely hear over the rush of blood through his ears.
"A little too fast," she whispered, leaning in. She pressed one palm against his chest, and in that moment he knew she wanted him, too. "Maybe I should test the handling."
Dropping his head, he brushed soft kisses along her jaw, feathering a path to the bow of her mouth as he slid one hand under her soft hair to cup her nape. He felt like he'd just trapped a butterfly. If he didn't hold on tight, she might fly away. "Or the navigation."
She moaned, the soft sound making him tense inside. His free hand slid over her curves to her hip and she ground up against him, a deliciously painful pressure on his already-hard shaft.
"Navigation it is." He breathed in the scent of her. Wildflowers. A thunderstorm. The rolling sea.”
― Sara Desai, The Singles Table

“She wore a summer dress and it smelled of Hawaii- of the ocean, sun, teriburgers and plumeria. I squeezed her dress in my hand, wanting to be back there.”
― Alex Brunkhorst, The Gilded Life of Matilda Duplaine

“His attention was riveted by the shapely figure in front of him, the intricately pinned-up swirls of her hair, the voice dressed in silk and pearls. How good she smelled, like the kind of expensive soap that came wrapped in fancy paper. Keir and everyone he knew used common yellow rosin soap for everything: floors, dishes, hands, and body. But there was no sharpness to this scent. With every movement, hints of perfume seemed to rise from the rustling of her skirts and sleeves, as if she were a flower bouquet being gently shaken.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Disguise

“She strained as he began to kiss along the side of her neck. Her skin was hot from exertion, a little salty, and her scent was divinely arousing: horses, fresh winter air, roses.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“Looking across the square at the chocolaterie, its bright window, the boxes of pink and red and orange geraniums at the balconies and at either side of the door, I feel the insidious creeping of doubt in my mind, and my mouth fills at the memory of its perfume, like cream and marshmallow and burnt sugar and the heady mingling of cognac and fresh-ground cocoa beans. It is the scent of a woman's hair, just where the nape of joins the skull's tender hollow, the scent of ripe apricots in the sun, of warm brioche and cinnamon rolls, lemon tea and lily of the valley.”
― Joanne Harris, Chocolat

“In less than an hour, Sophia had efficiently arranged and copied the notes in a neat hand that would delight the printer to no end. She was so quiet and economical in her movements that Ross would have forgotten she was there, except that her scent filtered through the air. It was a tantalizing distraction that he could not dismiss. Breathing deeply, he tried to identify the fragrance. He detected tea and vanilla, blended with the elixir of warm female skin. Stealing glances at her delicate profile, he was fascinated by the way the light moved over her hair. She had small ears, a sharply defined chin, a soft snippet of a nose, and eyelashes that cast spiky shadows on her cheeks.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Lady Sophia's Lover

“The muffin halves popped up from the toaster on the counter behind him, and she stood up to get them, the scent of her mixing with the hot yeasty smell of the muffins, and the buttery, peppery smell of the eggs, and the fat, spicy smell of the sausage, and Shane lost track of where he was in conversation.”
― Jennifer Crusie, Agnes and the Hitman

“It wasn't the creak of the door or the soft tread of slippers on carpet, or even the sliver of light that told him he wasn't alone. It was her scent---wildflowers and cinnamon and a soft summer breeze.”
― Sara Desai, The Singles Table

“Rolling a crick out of my neck, I got into the truck. And was hit by her scent. Five seconds in the damn vehicle, and the entire thing was imbued with the fragrance of her, rich and sweet, poached pears in crème anglaise. No, do not think of pastry cream. Or licking it.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“Physically, Manya was both appealing and aristocratic in her bearing. It wasn't her copious white hair that attracted men, her flawless white skin, her billowing breasts, but the innate womanliness that emanated from her. Even when she wore her cooking clothes- a mammoth Hoover apron that she slipped on over her head and tied around a baggy dress or her cardigan sweater, a dull brown thing appropriate for shopping- she exuded a sympathetic femininity.
Many didn't give much thought to her appearance. More often than not she washed her face and body with the brown kosher soap that contained no fat from forbidden animals, and wrapped her hair in a haphazard bun held together with several large imitation-turquoise hairpins. Her cooking shoes were splattered with chicken and goose fat, bits and oddments of duck, salmon roe, even calves' brains. Because she had been raised on the Black Sea, she loved caviar, so every now and then a glistening bead would fall upon her well-fed shoes. The smell of food on her body made her no less alluring.”
― Eleanor Widmer, Up from Orchard Street

“Rothbury inhaled the familiar lemon-tinged air wafting before him. He remained silent, ignoring the zing of awareness thrumming through him, and listened for the sound of footfalls instead.
Whoever had entered the room, it was definitely a young woman. He'd bet one of his prized Arabians on it, but it wasn't Cordelia. She smelled perpetually of pungent roses, which he had been partial to in the beginning of their short love affair, but which now merely reminded him that the woman connected to it was just as clingy and thorny as the flower itself.
But this scent- he inhaled deeply as it now surrounded him- inspired contentment, which was a miracle in itself, considering all he wanted to do presently was break free, find Lady Gilton, and throttle her elegant neck.
"Who's there?" Rothbury demanded, his tone firm but quiet. He pulled at the twisted silk binds holding his wrists together behind him, noting they were finally starting to tear. "Come now," he said in a tone he used on skittish horses. "Tell me who's there.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“She catches me off guard when she throws her arms around my neck and hugs me. I groan softly when I register the smell of her skin. Liz had been a big believer in pheromones and though her scent hadn't done much for me, I have a feeling she wasn't all that drawn to mine either. I don't know if I buy into that kind of thing, but whatever the cause, catching a whiff of Annika has always had a strong effect on me. I can't explain what she smells like because it's indescribable. On the rare occasion when she wasn't spending the night in my bed at my college department, I would switch pillows and lay my head on hers. The odd thing is that Annika couldn't stand perfume and only used unscented soap, so whatever I detected had to be coming straight from inside her.
This obviously isn't our first date, and following some sort of protocol seems arbitrary and juvenile. I mean, we've seen each other naked. I know the sounds she makes when she's turned on. There aren't many places on her body that my fingers and mouth haven't explained.
I hug her back and though it's hard to let her go at the end, I do.”
― Tracey Garvis Graves, The Girl He Used to Know

“We tangoed every night, while I was blinded by the scent of you, I’m Frankie Slade, shoot my head, you held me back.”
― Soroosh Shahrivar, Letter 19

“It was hard to keep scowling when he saw how pretty she was in a bright blue dress with white frills trimming the bodice and sleeves. And the way she smiled... he could literally feel the warmth of it, as if he were stepping from a shadow into sunlight. As she came to the bedside, her light fragrance brushed over his senses as softly as a veil made of tiny flower petals. Her skin looked so smooth, with a bit of a gleam, like textureless gauze. He wondered if it was like that all over, and felt an unruly stirring in his groin.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Disguise

“And then she was hugging him, and his arms were around her, and she smelled of wildflowers and sunshine, and she was soft against his chest, but he hoped she would stop jumping because "highly aroused" wasn't a good look for him in a public place.
His lips found hers and he kissed her softly and thoroughly. When she trembled in his arms, returning his kiss with passion and abandon, a rush of something sweet and innocent flooded his senses. He'd kissed dozens of women and none had ever affected him this way. None had never tasted of sunshine. None had made him question what was real.”
― Sara Desai, The Dating Plan

“Then Emma appears at my side, work shirt unbuttoned, a baby-blue tank top underneath. She smells like lavender and lemongrass, like a morning spent in bed, drifting off into pleasant dreams.”
― Adi Alsaid, North of Happy

“He was behaving like an imbecile and a knave, yet he pressed his advantage. Employing only his greater size, by bending near and hovering, he worked her into the corner. A passer-by wouldn't have noted untoward conduct, but they were so confined that she couldn't flee. As it was, her hand instinctively rose, an ineffectual barrier, and she situated it in the middle of his chest where his pulse reverberated under her palm.
"Do you mind?" she queried.
A special musk wafted about her. If he'd been blindfolded and locked in a room with a hundred women, he could have picked her out by her distinct fragrance. The heady aroma called to his basest instincts, attracting and tempting him to experience her extraordinary charms.
"Not a bit."
"Oh, you are insufferable!" But she was laughing, her voice low and seductive and urging him on.
In the past, he'd never spent time with females of her station, because he hadn't the patience to weather their prattling, but oddly, he found Lady Sarah to be outrageously sexy and absorbing, and he hung on every word that popped out of her desirable mouth.”
― Cheryl Holt, Total Surrender

“Although the scent of her body wash lingered, fruity and floral. He breathed it in. Nice.
He grinned then and imagined her standing before him now, naked, her skin damp with dewy droplets. Temptation sinned with the flick of his tongue along her moist neck and the tip of her nipple. Foreplay came in toweling a woman dry. Gently patting down soft breasts, a rub over her belly, and a deep slide between her legs. Arousal teased him unmercifully. He sucked air. His sex thickened. Throbbed. An intractable ache.”
― Kate Angell, The Café Between Pumpkin and Pie

“He was twice her weight in muscle and doubly strong. They still fit as if made for each other.
She hugged him close. He buried his face in her hair. Her neck. Breathed in her scent. Aroused woman and feminine musk.
They moved together.
Uninhibited and indulgent.
Power and pleasure.
He thrust, and she throbbed.
She arched against him.
He strained against her.
A sensation hit him that he hadn't expected.
A sense of oneness settled in his soul.
His rhythmic pace coaxed her, drove her higher.
They climbed fast and were suddenly there.
They came undone.
Both stiffening.
Both shattering.
Both boneless. Mindless. Replete.”
― Kate Angell, The Café Between Pumpkin and Pie

“Still, her scent was light and sweet with something underneath that was undeniably unfamiliar, and yet I couldn't place it. She smelled like vanilla shampoo and sandalwood incense now that the rum was out of her system.”
― Sabrina Blackburry, Dirty Lying Dragons

“Whoa, Tornado. Where’s the fire?”
She should’ve said, “In the stove,” just to be annoying. But that would only be half-true. Because the fire was right here, between them. In the air, popping like static. In his eyes, gone dark and intense.
Her breath caught when she realized he was still holding her arms. “I was gonna shower. You’re all fresh, and I probably smell like trail dirt and river water.”
“You smell amazing.” He spoke low, and she gave in to desire, her body arching toward him. “Like always.” Finn’s hands fisted in the hem of her hoodie, and he tugged her closer, bringing their hips together. She gasped. “Like a garden after a thunderstorm.”
― Chandra Blumberg, Stirring Up Love

“The lass was sleeping and the realization made him smile. He liked that she trusted him so much. He also liked the way she cuddled into him as she did. He liked the heat of her body against his own too. And he liked her smell. Every time her hair whipped into his face, he got a whiff of wildflowers and spring rain. It made him want to duck his head and inhale her scent more fully, and when she sighed and shifted against him again, Conall did.
He lowered his head until his nose brushed against her hair, inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as her aroma overwhelmed him, sweet and fresh despite the hours of travel. He wanted to run his hands through her glorious hair and bury his face in the soft tresses while continually inhaling.”
― Lynsay Sands, Highland Wolf

“He could feel the heat of her breath on his skin. Goose bumps prickled up his arms and neck. He was... inexplicably excited.
Even though Nina was arrogant and a know-it-all, that didn't stop the way his body responded to her. While--- logically--- he knew to keep as far away as possible, illogically, he was drawn to her. Despite her personality, she was still gorgeous--- all wavy dark hair and curves that made looking away difficult. Not to mention that sometimes when she got mad, he seemed to get... more turned on. So, yeah, he had some weird fetish for opinionated women, or something, and she happened to be exactly that. The fact that her hair always smelled like cinnamon, which made his treacherous, double-crossing impulses want to lean closer to catch a whiff, didn't help, either...”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“Who was the artist? The line of her body was slim and softly feminine in a way that spoke to every one of his senses. Her hair, a rich mahogany had smelled wonderful, though he'd be hard-pressed to describe just exactly what it smelled like... fresh, he would have said, Or clean. Or sweet. But none of those words really seemed to apply, precisely. How he loved discovering the unique smell of a woman... a good place to start discovering it, he knew, was the nape of the neck. But there were other delightful places, too.
He smiled, a wicked, private smile, which faded when he remembered he was not to be discovering the smells of females while he was in Barnstables.
You were bloody quiet, she'd said. As though he'd thwarted her.
He gave a bark of delighted laughter. It rather sounded like something he would have said.”
― Julie Anne Long, Beauty and the Spy

“Puddin' started barking from the back room; he must have smelled Ashanti in the house. Their moldy, dusty surroundings couldn't mask that slightly floral, slightly peachy scent that wreaked the most delicious havoc on Thad's senses.”
― Farrah Rochon, Pardon My Frenchie

“He was close to her now, close enough to smell her scent, which was like bluebells in the rain, and the aroma of a forest in spring, and the peppery sweetness of petrichor.”
― Joanne Harris, The Moonlight Market

“Her warm breath against my skin, tickling the little hairs at my nape, should not have excited me as much as it did. She kept close by me, smelling like lilacs and sunlight, and looking like a dream--- back when my dreams were still good. She was all buttoned-up and stern and accountanty, and Hades, I wanted to unbutton her, wanted to mess up that pristine desk of hers and lay her down on it, papers and books scattering to the floor.
Could she tell just by looking at me how badly I wanted to bury my face in her hair? To bury my teeth in her neck, too--- if she allowed it?
I could all but taste the way her blood would coat my tongue. Delicious, and so pure.
The truth was, I wanted to do a lot of things with Amelia that she hadn't signed up for when we started this arrangement, and had given no indication she wanted with me now.
It didn't matter that our kiss had felt like all the good things the centuries had taken from me. Companionship, and warmth. Closeness with another person. My role in her life was limited in duration and scope. And that was how it had to stay, unless and until she said otherwise.”
― Jenna Levine, My Vampire Plus-One

“Her hair was so silky, and up close I could see all the streaks of champagne and wheat and caramel that made it blond. It smelled like clean laundry and citrus. Not lemon, but something greener.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“I couldn't repress the sigh of relief at being back here. It was bright and tidy and smelled like oranges. Ellie stood at the sink wearing an old-fashioned sundress, navy blue with red roses, with a deep V that showed her upper back. Brown beauty spots dotted her creamy skin.
What would they taste like?
The grumpy voice I'd had in my head since Brian called lost the attitude and instead started to list reasons why kissing Ellie's neck would be amazing. The dip of her waist would be perfect to rest my hands in. She'd smell like Earl Grey and clean sheets, and taste like salt and citrus. She'd turn in my hold, rest her arms on my shoulders, and her soft blue eyes would flutter closed like they had when she'd tasted that blood orange at the farmers' market.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn