Runner Nostrils Quotes

The simple action of pulling her body against his was strangely satisfying, like a puzzle piece snapping neatly into place. She gave a low cry, automatically clutching at his arm. The loose lock of fine blond hair blew across Nick's face, and the fresh, faintly salty fragrance of female skin rose to his nostrils. The scent made his mouth water. Nick was startled by his instant reaction to her- he had never experienced such a visceral response to a woman. He wanted to leap from the wall and carry her off like one of the wolves that had once roamed the medieval forests, and find some place to devour his prey in private.

With each deep inhalation, he was aware of a sweet, pure fragrance that entered his nostrils and spread through his brain like a drug. "What is that smell?" he muttered. Vivian answered in a hushed voice. "Mrs. Buttons distilled some vanilla water for me. Do you like it?" "We brought your perfume from the town house. Why didn't you use that?" Her gaze flickered to his mouth and back to his eyes. "It didn't suit me," she whispered. "Too heady." Grant drew in another lungful of delicate vanilla-scented air. "You smell like a sugar biscuit," he answered gruffly. One he badly wanted to bite into. Her scent was innocent and homey and appetizing, making his blood surge and his muscles harden in acute yearning.

She fell asleep rapidly, swimming through a haze of pleasant images... walking through the forest in Hampshire... dangling her feet in a cool pond on a hot day... pausing in the kissing gate, while the smell of sun-warmed meadowsweet rose thickly to her nostrils. She closed her eyes and tilted her chin upward, relishing the sultry rays, while a butterfly's wings brushed lightly against her cheek. Entranced by the delicate tickle, she held very still. The silken strokes moved over the tip of her nose, the sensitive periphery of her upper lip, the tender corners of her mouth. Searching blindly, she lifted her face to the brushes of warmth and was rewarded by a gentle pressure that opened her lips and drew a moan from the upper part of her lungs. Lord Sydney was standing with her in the kissing gate, his arms trapping her against the painted ribs of latticework. His mouth searched hers so gently, his body firm against hers, and she writhed in a mute plea for him to hold her more tightly. Seeming to know exactly what she wanted, he pushed his knee into her skirts, right against the place that felt swollen and yearning. Gasping, she curled her fingers in his glossy hair, and he whispered for her to relax, that he would take care of her, satisfy her- "Oh." Blinking hard, she stirred from the sensuous dream as she realized that she was not alone. The bed curtains had been drawn aside, and Nick Gentry's long body was entangled with hers. One large hand was cupped beneath her hips, while his leg wedged more intimately between hers. His breath surged against her ear, filling the shell with moist heat, and then his lips wandered back to hers in a searing path. He absorbed her protest as he kissed her, his tongue searching her mouth, his body levering over hers.

Riley wasn’t a gambler—nor was he particularly fond of the seedy scene at the track—but he had an Irishman’s passion for beautiful horses. He loved watching them run, their muscles rippling under their shiny coats, the flare of their nostrils as they reached top speed. To Riley, horses were the purest runners on earth, unburdened by human flaws such as vanity and egotism. He hated runners who showed up their opponents with their body language and facial expressions. He hated showmanship. Riley walked Jesse straight up to the rail, where together they spent the entire afternoon just watching the thoroughbreds run race after race. “Don’t talk, Jesse,” he said. “Watch.” And Jesse watched. He watched the horses as they galloped effortlessly down the stretch. He too couldn’t help but admire their form, the way it seemed that all their energy was expended but none wasted. Finally, after the tenth and final race, Riley turned to the boy and asked, “Well, what did you learn today?” “Well,” Jesse said, his hand still clasping the rail, “the way they move—the legs and the whole bodies of the horses that can get the lead and keep it—is like they’re not trying. Like it’s easy. But you know they are trying.” “And what about their faces?” Riley asked, getting to his primary point. “I didn’t see anything on their faces.” “That’s right, Jesse,” Riley said, lifting his bony finger to Jesse’s chest. It was an accusation. “Horses are honest. No animal has ever told a lie. No horse has ever tried to stare another one down. That’s for actors. And that’s what you were doing the other day. Acting. Trying to stare down the other runners. Putting your energy into a determined look on your face instead of putting it into your running.