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“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