Maybe the man owns a dog himself and Bumpus smelled the scent on him.
The place smelled like a mossy garden.
He smelled of sweat and blood.
His breath smelled of liquor.
"Did you have kin from here?" she asked as she unlocked the building and guided us into a large office that smelled of cigars and dust.
The night air smelled of honeysuckle and pulsed with the sound of crickets.
Her skin smelled of their lovemaking, her hair and the sheets of him.
It smelled of earth and sunshine.
The aroma of cologne surrounded him and his breath smelled like he had recently brushed his teeth.
The car had been shut up long enough that it smelled of old upholstery.
It was something she had smelled at the University ... but when and where?
As she picked up one of his shirts, she smelled the same odor she had smelled last night.
It was still warm and smelled of wood smoke.
She smelled of her own musk, strands of hair escaping her braid to tickle his face.
The condo smelled of breakfast, and he looked around, satisfied to find it clean again.
He smelled of ocean water and blood.
The warm farmhouse smelled of gun oil and breakfast.
The conference hall was dimly lit, and he immediately smelled the blood of a recent kill.
At once, he felt the brush of her soft curls against the underside of his chin and smelled her amber-vanilla.
The room smelled familiar, and he realized he'd chosen her room.
The car still smelled of blood, and her thoughts went to Jule again as she exited the car.
He smelled of fresh blood.
Yully awoke in a cozy bedroom that smelled of lavender.
He smelled of soap, and his hair was wet.
It looked like a war zone and smelled like a cesspool.
He smelled like a heady mix of male musk and something so faint and sweet, it made her want to press her face to the skin of his chest for a better smell.
This was what she smelled, what she ached to taste.
She smelled something faint, familiar.
They smelled too good to eat just one.
She tasted slightly sweet, the heat of her mouth contrasting with the chill of her skin, and smelled of lake water.
She didn't remember his passion, the way he tasted and smelled and felt, or the movement of his muscles beneath taut, smooth skin.
His skin smelled of her, and he breathed it in, loving her scent.
He smelled of cologne and something she always defined as masculinity.
He couldn't have been too close or the horses would have smelled him.
His body smelled of sweat and liquor.
His hand was dirty and he smelled – body odor and liquor.
Inside, the house smelled of fresh paint and it looked completely different.
Her skin was soft there, and she smelled of vanilla.
Rhyn was right about the demons; Gabe smelled demon blood and saw the gashes across Logan's throat.
She touched, smelled and tasted everything she could, determined to remember every pleasurable part of every day she had left.
Her time was too short to turn away a tall, dark, handsome, intriguing, dangerous stranger she met on the beach in the moonlight who smelled good.
He smelled like dark chocolate, spices and man, a combination that ensnared her senses and made her want to taste him.
The satiny sheets of the bed smelled of the woman he'd made love to for hours last night.
It smelled of chicken and rice and something sweet.
While she heard nothing, she smelled coffee.
It looked suspiciously like the warehouse district near the Annapolis port, and she smelled the sea on the air.
The office was small but clean and smelled of fried food.
Rhyn felt suddenly jealous, wishing he could taste what smelled so wonderful.
She carried the mug with her down the street to a store that smelled like an attic.
As he crossed the dam Prince Andrew smelled the ooze and freshness of the pond.
She gathered it in a hug and smelled deeply of it.
The odor she had smelled earlier hung in the air.
She heard the blaring trance music before she opened the car door and smelled the unmistakable scent of marijuana mixed with incense and body odor.
The floor smelled of mold.
The air of the dark bedroom smelled of sex and blood.
It smelled sweet and spicy, a scent that always reminded him of pecan pie.
The hallway smelled medicinal and clean, like the antiseptic-laced air of a hospital mixed with pine cleaner.
The cell block fell silent, and he sensed the others also smelled the human blood.
Her blood smelled sweet, and the oddly charged aura around her made his brow furrow.
She smelled her own blood.
Scarcely had Pierre laid his head on the pillow before he felt himself falling asleep, but suddenly, almost with the distinctness of reality, he heard the boom, boom, boom of firing, the thud of projectiles, groans and cries, and smelled blood and powder, and a feeling of horror and dread of death seized him.
When he did so and heard the subdued moaning with which Karataev generally lay down at the halting places, and when he smelled the odor emanating from him which was now stronger than before, Pierre moved farther away and did not think about him.
His plump white neck stood out sharply above the black collar of his uniform, and he smelled of Eau de Cologne.