Long dark lashes and black curly hair - he had it all.
She felt the hair rising on the back of her neck.
He pushed the hair from her neck and his lips sizzled a hot trail in its wake.
He has big brown eyes and long golden hair and pretty round cheeks.
She lifted the hair off her neck and sighed as she paused in the shade of a huge oak tree.
As the Princess held the white piglet in her arms and stroked its soft hair she said: Let Eureka out of the cage, for she is no longer a prisoner, but our good friend.
A lock of mousy blonde hair covered her left eye.
Walking so fast that it created a breeze that caught the loose hair hanging down her back, she turned her ankle slipping off her sandals.
His face was clean shaven, but his dark curly hair was thick and unruly.
Instead of braids, she brushed her hair into a ponytail.
Matthew had thick black hair, but Natalie's was blonde.
Don't forget the mess of red hair and freckles.
I told her that her hair was brown, and she asked, "Is brown very pretty?"
The hair on her head was thick.
"Well now, isn't she a fool!" shouted the prince, pushing the book aside and turning sharply away; but rising immediately, he paced up and down, lightly touched his daughter's hair and sat down again.
Her dark hair was pulled back severely from a narrow face.
Her eyes are very big and blue, and her cheeks are soft and round and rosy and her hair is very bright and golden.
Signs were hung out on all sides to allure him; some to catch him by the appetite, as the tavern and victualling cellar; some by the fancy, as the dry goods store and the jeweller's; and others by the hair or the feet or the skirts, as the barber, the shoemaker, or the tailor.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face and stroked her cheek.
This morning I took a bath, and when teacher came upstairs to comb my hair she told me some very sad news which made me unhappy all day.
He was dressed plainly, and, with his reddish-brown hair and mud-bespattered face, looked like a hard- working countryman just in from the backwoods.
"Demosthenes, I know thee by the pebble thou secretest in thy golden mouth!" said Bilibin, and the mop of hair on his head moved with satisfaction.
Did he have reddish-brown hair, and did he ride a gray horse?
Auburn hair - and you barely have enough freckles for anyone to notice.
He stood and whistled softly, his gaze taking in her dress and hair appreciatively.
She combed Destiny's hair into pig tails, and then on impulse, did the same with hers.
Then he took off his nightcap, combed his hair over his temples, and donned his cap.
Her jet black hair was swept up gracefully into a plaited crown.
With consummate skill he has set his trap with a hair spring to catch comfort and independence, and then, as he turned away, got his own leg into it.
The old prince always dressed in old-fashioned style, wearing an antique coat and powdered hair; and when Prince Andrew entered his father's dressing room (not with the contemptuous look and manner he wore in drawing rooms, but with the animated face with which he talked to Pierre), the old man was sitting on a large leather-covered chair, wrapped in a powdering mantle, entrusting his head to Tikhon.
He looked to be about her age and his blond hair was neatly combed into a fashionable style.
Instinctively her fingers affirmed her hair was in order for the mug shot.
The angry eldest princess, with the long waist and hair plastered down like a doll's, had come into Pierre's room after the funeral.
The beautiful creature passed her hands over her eyes an instant, tucked in a stray lock of hair that had become disarranged, and after a look around the garden made those present a gracious bow and said, in a sweet but even toned voice:
Felipa pulled the hair up and used combs with amethyst jewels on them, giving the impression of long hair.
The handsome boy adjutant with the long hair sighed deeply without removing his hand from his hat and galloped back to where men were being slaughtered.
Tucking a wayward strand of curly brown hair back into her bun, she replaced her hat and wrapped the lead lines around the wagon break.
To get her to do the simplest thing, such as combing her hair or washing her hands or buttoning her boots, it was necessary to use force, and, of course, a distressing scene followed.
"Ah, madam, it is a great sacrament," replied the priest, passing his hand over the thin grizzled strands of hair combed back across his bald head.
He ducked under the water and came up, wiping the water from his eyes and pushing his hair back.
She ripped the flower from her hair and slung it in the dust.
The golden brown skin and black hair reminded her of the conversation at Thanksgiving.
Giddon eyed her long hair thoughtfully, but said nothing.
He stroked her hair and then patted her awkwardly on the back of her neck.
Her arms stole around his neck and she ran trembling fingers through the soft hair on the back of his head.
After the play Miss Sullivan took me to see him behind the scenes, and I felt of his curious garb and his flowing hair and beard.
I got up, washed my face and hands, combed my hair, picked three dew violets for Teacher and ate my breakfast.
She will insist on having her hair put in curl papers when she is so sleepy she can scarcely stand.
She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, while tears coursed down her cheeks as well.
She straightened her hair and collected her thoughts before opening the door.
"Who is that man?" asked Gautama, "and why is his face so pinched and his hair so white?
When I saw you standing there in the road, so beautiful, your hair flowing around you like morning mist, I couldn't let you walk away.
Dolokhov was of medium height, with curly hair and light-blue eyes.
Yeah, my nose is too big and my face is full of freckles, but my hair looks great.
Except for my hands and hair I was not badly burned.
Her hair was drawn back severely into a bun and she had black eyes that could render a lie detector machine obsolete.
Laughing softly at the matching shadows of her hair and skirt, she imagined it was a Christmas tree.
Under the hat, her hair was filthy and matted.
His red shock of hair stood up like a flame as he glared down at her.
"Did you what?" he asked, running fingers through his hair to straighten it.
Alex stroked her hair and spoke to her softly, encouraging her to close her eyes and relax.
Of course, Alex didn't have any gray hair yet, and his lips were fuller - more defined.
Refreshed from the inside out, she dressed and combed her hair with her fingers.
One of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily built young man with close-cropped hair, spectacles, the light-colored breeches fashionable at that time, a very high ruffle, and a brown dress coat.
She brushed the hair back over her shoulders.
The boys wore long hair and striped sweaters and yelled their college yell every other step they took, to the great satisfaction of the populace, which was glad to have this evidence that their lungs were in good condition.
It was not the dress, but the face and whole figure of Princess Mary that was not pretty, but neither Mademoiselle Bourienne nor the little princess felt this; they still thought that if a blue ribbon were placed in the hair, the hair combed up, and the blue scarf arranged lower on the best maroon dress, and so on, all would be well.
Some of this dust was kneaded by the feet and wheels, while the rest rose and hung like a cloud over the troops, settling in eyes, ears, hair, and nostrils, and worst of all in the lungs of the men and beasts as they moved along that road.
Nicholas was short with curly hair and an open expression.
Even the way she wore her hair, with those braids wrapped around the top of her head like a crown and the long shiny blond curls falling around her shoulders and down her back – she wasn't simply beautiful.
She ran a comb through her hair, deciding not to re-braid the top part.
Alex ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck.
A cool breeze lifted the damp hair at her temples and ruffled the hem of her full skirt.
Part of her hair was still damp due to the volume.
Unbraiding her hair she brushed it.
He ran a hand through his hair and clamped his hat on his head.
The tops of their heads had no hair, but were carved into a variety of fantastic shapes, some having a row of points or balls around the top, others designs resembling flowers or vegetables, and still others having squares that looked like waffles cut criss-cross on their heads.
One was black as ebony, with little bunches of fuzzy hair tied with shoestrings sticking out all over her head like corkscrews.
Ferapontov came out after her, but on seeing Alpatych adjusted his waistcoat, smoothed his hair, yawned, and followed Alpatych into the opposite room.
On seeing the soldiers he was about to shout at them, but suddenly stopped and, clutching at his hair, burst into sobs and laughter:
Her dark shining hair was pulled back loosely with bejeweled combs and hung in loose curls down her back.
Her hair sparkled in the sunlight against the dark tan of his hand.
When I left the room, she was sweating until even her hair was wet.
Suddenly she jumped up onto a tub to be higher than he, embraced him so that both her slender bare arms clasped him above his neck, and, tossing back her hair, kissed him full on the lips.
That evening, proud of Dolokhov's proposal, her refusal, and her explanation with Nicholas, Sonya twirled about before she left home so that the maid could hardly get her hair plaited, and she was transparently radiant with impulsive joy.
To that question, "What for?" a simple answer was now always ready in his soul: "Because there is a God, that God without whose will not one hair falls from a man's head."
His long fingers traced her jaw to the hair on the back of her neck.
His piercing gaze lifted to her face and the hair rose on the back of her neck.
A cold chill crept up her spine, raising the hair on the back of her neck.
He said nothing to her but looked at her forehead and hair, without looking at her eyes, with such contempt that the Frenchwoman blushed and went away without a word.
"Is he tall and with reddish hair?" asked the doctor.
Natasha, throwing a clean pocket handkerchief over her hair and holding an end of it in each hand, went out into the street.
A beard and mustache covered the lower part of his face, and a tangle of hair, infested with lice, curled round his head like a cap.
And smoothing his hair he began to pace the room.
At tea all sat in their accustomed places: Nicholas beside the stove at a small table where his tea was handed to him; Milka, the old gray borzoi bitch (daughter of the first Milka), with a quite gray face and large black eyes that seemed more prominent than ever, lay on the armchair beside him; Denisov, whose curly hair, mustache, and whiskers had turned half gray, sat beside countess Mary with his general's tunic unbuttoned; Pierre sat between his wife and the old countess.
Karay, his hair bristling, and probably bruised or wounded, climbed with difficulty out of the gully.
A cold wind tore at her hair as she stomped across the courtyard and out to the chicken coup.
She dressed hurriedly in the clothes Sarah had loaned her and ran fingers through her hair, wishing she had a comb.
She rose and smoothed her hair, which was as usual so extremely smooth that it seemed to be made of one piece with her head and covered with varnish.
Look at those big gray eyes and that beautiful red hair!
"I know," he said with a sigh, running fingers through his hair.
"Someone must have spiked my punch," he said, running a hand through his hair.
He ran a hand through his hair.
He pulled her close, stroking her hair.
She sighed and ran fingers through her tangled hair.
The braids had to be untangled in order to shampoo the mud from her hair.
Was he that anxious to get her out of his hair?
She felt an unwelcome rush of excitement and reached to push his hand from her hair.
He looked relieved and reached up, pulling a leaf from her hair.
She kneeled beside her, stroking the soft curly hair.
His face turned scarlet and he looked away, running a hand through his hair.
One thing she had plenty of was hair.
As they climbed out of the car, a screen door squealed on the front porch and a short stocky man emerged, running a hand through graying hair.
Nowadays they cart them off to some baby sitter they hardly know, just to get the kids out of their hair.
She had large brown eyes with thick black lashes and matching hair that was stacked becomingly on top of her head.
She wrinkled her nose at him as she brushed by and he tugged playfully at her hair.
She quirked a brow and made an exaggerated point of putting her hair back in order, tossing her head pertly and smiling up at him.
He reached out and brushed her hair away from her face.
You're even getting hair in your ears.
Lifting the hair off the back of her neck, he applied the cool towel.
He rubbed his forehead and ran his fingers though his hair until it stood on end.
And then cool hands were pulling her hair back and turning on the water.
He brushed the hair back from her face and stroked her cheek gently.
At her nod he stroked her hair.
He returned to the kitchen after a few minutes in dry clothes, his hair freshly combed.
His fingers caressed her palm warmly and then he brushed the hair away from her cheek.
He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
You want me to get out of your hair?
His hand stroked her hair.
Zach jerked suddenly, knocking his cap off and exposing a scalp full of red hair.
The left side of Howie's head was absent hair and a series of three dark scars were visible.
But please, ditch that awful hair piece.
Raw fingers plucked at his lengthening hair, his hair piece long since dumped.
"He'd just shave his mustache off, maybe dye his hair and lose weight," Betsy grumbled.
She was taller than Howie but rail thin and possessed an engaging smile, long blond hair and arresting blue eyes.
Maybe he's waiting to see if we buy her story or the tip that mentioned his facial hair.
Molly O'Malley was a pretty child, easily recognized as Julie's daughter with her long blond hair and beautiful eyes.
Next I was shown a photograph of a chubby cheeked man about forty, with short hair and a six o'clock shadow.
I could see my wife's nervousness; picking at her fingers, chewing her lip, twirling her hair.
The pretty young girl materialized, hair wet and smiling, dressed in a new bathrobe Betsy had purchased.
She twilled a lock of her hair, a sure sign of nervousness.
She tied her hair back and straightened the sweatshirt, somewhat relieved and disappointed it hadn't been Aaron at the door after all.
He ran his hands through his wet hair again.
She didn't see her brother's bleached hair and familiar face anywhere in the crowd.
She appeared as he remembered her the day of her murder: a ten-year-old with long blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and golden skin.
The man was in his prime with silver hair and dark eyes, a handsome face, and a body as muscular as Talon's.
Dusty relaxed and smoothed her hair back like he might a child's.
Her hair was damp at the roots but her long curls as bouncy and cheerful as she felt fatigued.
Her skin was caramel, her long brown hair falling in fat ringlets around her elfin features.
He wondered if Bianca's thick curls were as soft as Sofi or Jenn's hair.
The young man's face paled even more, until he was as white as his bleached hair.
He smoothed her hair from her face and rested his hand against the soft skin of her exposed thigh, admiring her body.
White hair, really big like Talon, these eyes that were darker than night, and when he talked, you could tell he didn't have a soul.
Her hair was free, the long, loose curls cascading down her shoulders and back.
She smelled of her own musk, strands of hair escaping her braid to tickle his face.
He froze on the bottom step, the hair at the back of his neck standing up.
A slight man with white hair, velvety green eyes, and a fatherly smile stood in the middle of the kitchen.
He looked at the slight Natural with dark hair and eyes who happened to have a doctorate in every type of science he could name.
His bleached hair was disheveled, his eyes squinting at the hall light.
An older, harmless-looking man with white hair and beautiful emerald eyes stood near the door, holding out a phone.
"You've turned into a man overnight," she said softly, ruffling his hair.
He stroked her hair.
The woman had Dusty's cold beauty, with feminine, chiseled features, long blonde hair and large blue eyes lined with silver.
He sat on the ottoman in front of her, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear.
She touched his face, then his hair, her cool power soothing him.
Her skin smelled of their lovemaking, her hair and the sheets of him.
At the husky female voice, Dusty turned to see Jenn fluff Jonny's hair as she passed.
Water, sand, and hair stung her vision and lungs.
He smoothed her hair from her face with a gloved hand.
"I owe you one for bringing me back from the dead," he whispered into her hair.
Damian's silver-white hair was braided down his back, his thick body causing him to sink two inches into the mud.
The hair on the back of his neck had been standing for the past mile he'd walked, only he wasn't entirely certain why.
Two men sat at the table, one with blond hair and the other like something out of a movie.
His hair was long and black, braided down his back.
Her hair was fiery red and curly, her frame tall and slender.
He'd nearly reached the end of the alley when the hair on the back of his neck rose like it did when a Watcher was present, only this was no Watcher.
The gangly youth before him had dyed his hair from platinum back to its natural color of black.
Whatever was in the house, it wasn't human, or the hair on the back of his neck wouldn't be standing on end.
Darian emerged from the kitchen, trailed by a small, shapely woman with dark, curly hair tied in a ponytail.
His long, sleek hair was tied in a tight braid, and despite the cold and wind he wore only a long-sleeved sweater that hugged the muscles of his arms and shoulders beneath a down vest.
The man looked like an ancient Greek prince with blond hair and chiseled features.
The unidentified male was seven feet tall, dark hair, with eyes that glowed like a vamp's.
The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he tensed, waiting for the creature to materialize.
She took it, his power moving through her and making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
It flipped her hair and swirled around her.
It kept her centered and prevented her from running for the hills tearing her hair out.
Her hair glowed as if it were on fire, and she floated, her slender form clad in simple leggings and a tunic.
Next to a small toiletry bag was a brush, hair clip, and scrunchie.
A shapely woman with curly dark brown hair leaned against the railing of a paddock between the house and a large outer building.
She rubbed its forehead and leaned forward to touch its neck, marveling at how soft its hair was.
Absorbed by the horse, she didn't feel the hair on the back of her neck rise.
Sofia sighed and raked a hand through her hair.
His frame was slight, his hair silvered, his smile fatherly.
Unlike the others dressed for a white tie event, he was dressed in leather pants with a tight black Pearl Jam T-shirt, his hair braided, a chain from his spiked belt to his wallet, and heavy black boots.
He was as large as the others, with olive skin, long white-blond hair, and golden eyes the unusual color of honey.
With her large, two-toned eyes, flawless skin, and long, straw-colored hair, she resembled a doll.
His hair was silver, his body broad-shouldered and muscular.
His visitor wore a T-shirt and had hair the color of last night's sunset.
Rainy, a brooding Guardian with striking green eyes and a shock of dark hair, was his youngest station chief at a youthful two thousand years old.
She wore jeans and a T-shirt, and her blonde hair fanned out over a pillow.
A sheen of sweat coated his body, and his white-blond hair was back in a braid.
His hair was silvered.
The second was closer to Han's age with midnight hair and eyes.
The man in the executioner's hood left while Jilian, the man with midnight hair and eyes, approached.
He sat beside her, stroking her hair with one hand.
He pressed her back against the couch, and she yielded, her hands touching his face, his soft hair, his neck.
Exactly. You'll be holding her hair for her in the bathroom several times a day.
Damian's hair was mussed, his arms crossed.
A short time later, she sagged against the toilet, ignoring Pierre as he tsked and held her hair.
He smelled of soap, and his hair was wet.
His hair was sandy blond, his skin golden.
She pulled her hair into a simple French twist, the kind she wore to work, and applied her make-up carefully.
She still wore the gown, though strands of hair blinded her and she knew her pillow would be filled with makeup.
She fixed her hair while sliding on her shoes.
The hair on her arms and neck stood up.
He touched her hair.
Pierre was beyond handsome with his brooding looks, wind-swept blond hair, black clothing, and trench coat.
"We should've seen this coming," he said, running his fingers through his hair.
His hair was brown rather than white-blond, his beautiful eyes deep set and large.
Snow covered his hair, and his skin was cold.
He knelt, ruffling the snow from Darian's hair.
She put her hair down to hide the mark, horrified by the idea of belonging to the devil.
Uncertain how to explain things, she turned and swept her pink-dyed hair from her back to show him the mating mark.
She hadn't thought to put her hair up; it blocked the name of her mate on her back.
He grinned at the attempt and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck.
Just under six feet tall, wide-shouldered and lean, Darkyn's youthful appearance was framed by short, dark hair.
Deidre whipped the door open, ignoring the sting of her wet hair against her shoulders.
Her pink hair was up in a bun that revealed the delicate cut of her elfin features.
He touched her hair and the sensitive skin around her neck.
Deidre felt Harmony's light touch as the death dealer brushed her hair aside.
He pushed her hair over one shoulder, and his hands dropped.
Deidre sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, pink hair falling down around her.
With his hair mussed and his youthful features, he didn't look like the devil she knew him to be.
She checked her hair twice to make sure no part of her marks were obscured.
Darkyn said Hell would do what she asked, so she willed her hair shorter and blonde.
The chilly ocean breeze made her dress move as if it was alive, and she swiped at the pink hair blinding her.
She willed her hair shorter and blonde once again, knowing he'd already read her mind and seen the reason why she changed her hair.
He was neither ancient nor ugly, with familiar dark eyes and hair and roughly hewn features.
Unlike Darkyn, whose hair was short, Zamon's long hair was captured in a braid.
He brushed a mop of stringy hair back from his face.
She possessed a head of coal black hair, tied in a single braid that extended below her waist, dark eyes, and a smile that lit up the room.
He was as skinny as a stick, in his early twenties, and his long blond hair hadn't seen scissors since he began his transcontinental trek.
She ran her fingers through her hair.
Shouldn't there be hair and—skin?
It means he combs his hair like he's still wearing his football helmet.
Jennifer Radisson, in spite of her height and eye catching blonde hair, was quickly lost in the happy crowd that clogged the sidewalks.
Cynthia was standing at her bureau for a last minute comb of her hair.
He'd seen him jogging the highway, his long hair, now covered by a helmet, spilling behind him.
Her eyes were red, her red hair wet and disheveled, and she wore a flannel bathrobe and was barefoot.
Roger was a tiny man, no taller than Cynthia, with snowy white hair and sparkling blue eyes.
The word usage examples above have been gathered from various sources to reflect current and historial usage. They do not represent the opinions of YourDictionary.com.