Ready for Books

He smelled vaguely of cigars and alcohol.

He was there. Impossibly close. She was certain. A breath grazing her jaw. A muscled chest. The scent of leather and crisp cotton.

He nudged her playfully with his arm, forcing her to notice how solid it was and sending a waft of his attractive spicy cologne up her left nostril.

He's close. Too close. He smells of pine and rain and sweat and, Plagues, I need to distract myself.

He smelled like mint and men's body wash.

His scent invaded the space, and she sucked in a breath of mint and something wintry, like the smell of a fresh layer of snow on salty cliffs.

He smells...infuriatingly good. Like sandalwood and spice and man.

The moment I'm close enough, his cologne hits me—a warm, woodsy scent, like a forest after rain.

It smelled heavenly. Masculine. Fresh, earthy moss and damp cedar. Old, tanned leather with a peppery musk. It smelled like my beloved forest. It smelled like home.

He stalked a little closer and the clean, enticing scent of him reached me, like cypress trees in the rain.

The fresh, expensive scent of him overpowered the staler odors of the carriage.

He pulls me against his chest and I can smell the leather of his vest, the aftershave he always douses himself in, and the smell that just is Dean Lawler.

I hated smoking, but weirdly, the smell of nicotine mixed with the scent of him which was almost cedarwood-like with an undernote of vanilla, made me breathe him in.

I'm practically swimming in the huge sweatshirt, but I don't care, because it feels like a warm hug as it envelopes me with his residual body heat and the smell of cedar and soap.

He smelled like fabric softener, the citrus fruit he'd put in my bedroom, and something deep and mysterious I had no name for.

It's a pity that I smell foul to Moreland, because his blood is nice. Engulfing. Healthy and earthy and a bit rough.