Hair Sentence Examples
Long dark lashes and black curly hair - he had it all.
The hair on her head was thick.
She felt the hair rising on the back of her neck.
He has big brown eyes and long golden hair and pretty round cheeks.
He pushed the hair from her neck and his lips sizzled a hot trail in its wake.
She lifted the hair off her neck and sighed as she paused in the shade of a huge oak tree.
Instead of braids, she brushed her hair into a ponytail.
Matthew had thick black hair, but Natalie's was blonde.
His face was clean shaven, but his dark curly hair was thick and unruly.
Don't forget the mess of red hair and freckles.
AdvertisementWalking so fast that it created a breeze that caught the loose hair hanging down her back, she turned her ankle slipping off her sandals.
A lock of mousy blonde hair covered her left eye.
He touched her hair.
She brushed the hair back over her shoulders.
He stood and whistled softly, his gaze taking in her dress and hair appreciatively.
AdvertisementHe brushed a strand of hair from her face and stroked her cheek.
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.
Her eyes are very big and blue, and her cheeks are soft and round and rosy and her hair is very bright and golden.
Her dark hair was pulled back severely from a narrow face.
Under the hat, her hair was filthy and matted.
AdvertisementAuburn hair - and you barely have enough freckles for anyone to notice.
He stroked Carmen's hair.
Dolokhov was of medium height, with curly hair and light-blue eyes.
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.
Then he took off his nightcap, combed his hair over his temples, and donned his cap.
AdvertisementHe looked to be about her age and his blond hair was neatly combed into a fashionable style.
She combed Destiny's hair into pig tails, and then on impulse, did the same with hers.
When I left the room, she was sweating until even her hair was wet.
Instinctively her fingers affirmed her hair was in order for the mug shot.
Her arms stole around his neck and she ran trembling fingers through the soft hair on the back of his head.
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.
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.
Two men sat at the table, one with blond hair and the other like something out of a movie.
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.
A sheen of sweat coated his body, and his white-blond hair was back in a braid.
Pierre was beyond handsome with his brooding looks, wind-swept blond hair, black clothing, and trench coat.
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.
She hadn't thought to put her hair up; it blocked the name of her mate on her back.
Just under six feet tall, wide-shouldered and lean, Darkyn's youthful appearance was framed by short, dark hair.
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.
Shouldn't there be hair and—skin?
It means he combs his hair like he's still wearing his football helmet.
Dean rubbed his fingers through his hair and looked at his wife.
She flipped a few strands of her blond hair back in place.
Dean combed his fingers through his hair.
Her fine hair tickled his chin.
Now I've got two brothers in my hair.
Deidre hadn't tried to dye her hair pink or hide the fact she was different.
In spite of her extra pounds and gray hair, it was hard to believe Mums was in her late 60's.
Death was almost seven feet tall, built more solid than a tree trunk with hair and eyes darker than a moonless night.
She turned and pulled her hair aside to show him the tattoo once again.
Wind whipped up the building and tossed her hair.
A stunning man with a large smile dressed in white stood a few feet away, his brown hair ruffled by the sea breeze.
He stood sleepy and frowning, dark hair tousled.
Most of his face was hidden behind the mask, but his silver-white hair was too familiar to be anyone else's.
She seems so taken with her, dressing like her and coloring her hair and all.
He thought briefly of his dream, but the hair color differed.
She ran a hand through her hair.
A gust of wind tore the hood from her head and snatched at her hair.
She swung around to see what had frightened the goat and the hair lifted on the back of her neck.
Will keep him out of our hair.
Lana looked from him to Major Brady, with his darker features and hair.
She wondered if her hair was as messy as she suspected.
Brady nudged strands of her hair away from her eyes and cupped her face with his other hand.
Brady smoothed the hair away from her face.
Did he have reddish-brown hair, and did he ride a gray horse?
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.
She will insist on having her hair put in curl papers when she is so sleepy she can scarcely stand.
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.
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.
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 stroked her hair and then patted her awkwardly 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.
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.
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.
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.
Next to a small toiletry bag was a brush, hair clip, and scrunchie.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
His hair was brown rather than white-blond, his beautiful eyes deep set and large.
Uncertain how to explain things, she turned and swept her pink-dyed hair from her back to show him the mating mark.
He grinned at the attempt and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck.
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.
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.
He had white hair.
Short, dark hair framed a face with plain features that showed the signs of a lifetime of battle.
Her skin was prickling the way it did when another deity used magic around her, the fair hair on her arms standing on end.
It was hard for him to remain detached around the beautiful woman with silver-white hair.
Her hands were rubbing her sweater absently, her silver-white hair long and loose, hanging almost to the small of her back.
It doesn't matter what color your hair is or what Darkyn did to you.
Tying her hair back, she pulled off her socks, took a deep breath and dove into the frigid lake.
His dark hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck.
Her fingers ran through his short hair.
He paused and brushed wet hair from her face with one hand, scouring her features.
Her hair was still pink and in a loose bun on the top of her head.
He was dressed as if he'd just come from some club, all in leather with his blond hair in a braid.
The ocean breeze made her dress move as if it was alive, and her pink hair swept across her features.
Her hair was mussed.
Still wearing the garb of Hell, Darkyn's mate was sporting fangs with her pink hair and a heavy sultriness that made Deidre look twice.
A teenage girl with a scarred face framed by short dark hair and tiny fangs marking her as a demoness trailed her.
Harmony was tall and willowy with red hair and green eyes.
Running a hand through his hair in a way that Carmen had grown to recognize as a nervous habit, he addressed Lori in a tone that was both stern and conversational.
Maybe it was the wild red hair.
The idea raised hair on the back of her neck.
She glanced at him and he looked away running a hand through his hair.
He had red hair.
A man was waiting for me at the old house - a man with red hair.
Carmen dreamed all night about being chased by a dog with red hair.
He had blue eyes like Katie, and light colored hair.
His mother had dark hair and eyes...
He is clean shaven and his hair is graying at the temples.
Brushing her hair until it shined, she put her clothes on over the new underwear and headed for the kitchen to start supper.
While he was in the bathroom she stripped down to the black underwear and gave her hair another brushing.
Then he ran both hands through his hair.
She caught her reflection in the mirror and admired her hair.
His brown hair was tousled from the ocean breeze, and he was dressed in jeans and a loose shirt fastened across the golden skin of his chest by one button.
Wind tossed her hair, and she tied it up in a bun.
Her face was stiff and blue while her hair was hot pink.
Your face may be blue and your hair pink, but I don't see you doing anything messy, like taking a shotgun to the head.
He found a strange woman with pink hair and a blue face, sprawled on the beach, staring at the sky with a childlike fascination.
A towel was wrapped around her and her pink hair clipped on top of her head.
Though her hair was pink, there was no mistaking the delicate facial features, porcelain skin and large eyes of the woman who tormented him his entire life then dumped the underworld on him.
Curly brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that was tight over her swollen belly.
I mean, the deity we knew would never dye her hair the color of a water sprite's.
His eyes were white then black then changed from every color in between, his brown hair of medium length and wavy, ruffled by the sea breeze.
Taking one arm gently, he turned her back to him and pushed her hair away to read the tattoo.
The hair on the back of her neck rose, and she glanced around.
One of the girls grabbed her hand to pull her to the blankets where they'd been sitting while another one tugged at a loose lock of her hair.
The kids seemed entranced by her pink hair.
He smoothed the hair from the side of her face.
Definitely some advice from someone who understood make-up better and a real hair stylist who could figure out how to un-pink hair.
She reached up to her head, surprised it wasn't bandaged and she still had all her hair.
The only difference was her hair and the eyes that turned from white to black to every color in between.
At close to seven feet with eyes and hair blacker than night and a permanent scowl, he was what most expected Death to look like.
The kid was adorable, with dark eyes and hair, sun-kissed skin, and a round face.
He looked like death with his dark hair and cold eyes, his panther-like physique, and gloved hands.
His white-silver hair was long and clasped at his neck, his bronzed face and forest- green eyes displaying no emotion.
There were dark circles beneath her light eyes, her hair was in a half-assed lumpy ponytail, and her face was so pale and drawn, she looked ill.
Andre was dressed in cashmere and wool, his hair kept short and neat, his loafers more expensive than Kris's conference room had cost to build.
He was built like Kris with dark hair.
Her dark, curly hair was matted with blood, her features pale.
The voice sounded like the sultry growl of a woman, but it had short hair and no breasts.
He smoothed out her hair and finally rested a feathery hand on her eyes, easing her into a restless sleep that didn't last long enough.
She braided her hair to keep the stiff sea breeze from tossing curls in her face and squinted upward again.
Sweating already from the effort, she braided her hair to keep it out of her face and then leaned her full weight on the rope.
She dropped the hair she'd been holding up and wrapped the towel around her tightly.
Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her hair in a half-assed braid.
Rhyn ignored his brother as the lean man paced and pulled at his hair in frustrated silence.
His hair was tied back, his jaw and chin scruffy from a couple days' growth of hair.
Kris's white hair, fair complexion, and amber eyes were at odds with Rhyn's darkness and glowing pewter gaze.
Both were outwardly calm, though tense enough that a hair landing on their arms would make them snap.
She shut off the shower and wrung out her hair, then wrapped herself in the thick towel.
She tossed her hair over one shoulder and walked to him, pushing him toward the door.
Left with her towel and her toiletries, she took her time applying the thick moisturizer and lotion over her entire body, then finished by combing through her hair.
Most wore trendy boots and coats, sat in designer jeans and sweaters worth a month of her salary, and wore make- up that coordinated perfectly with their expensive clothing and hair.
A touch of coldness made the hair on the back of her neck rise, and she sat up, fearful Kris or Sasha had come for her.
Rhyn emerged from the shadows near the window, dressed in black with his hair tied back.
He smoothed her hair and rested his chin on her head.
Her skin was scrubbed clean, her dark hair wet.
He pulled away from her and pushed her hair from her face.
Snow fell in lazy, fat flakes, sticking to his clothes and hair.
Her white hair and snowy skin glowed in the dim chamber.
His bright features turned pink beneath his wire-rimmed glasses and straw-colored hair.
Taken aback by his anger, she watched him run a hand through his hair in an unusual sign of agitation.
Dressed all in black with his dark eyes and hair, he looked like a living shadow in the snow-covered world.
The woman.s face was hidden behind a mass of blonde hair, but he recognized the hot pink fingernails instantly.
He took a step closer, his blond hair and green eyes highlighting a slender face.
Ully emerged from the castle, hair mussed and dressed as if for a run.
She brushed hair away from the child.s face.
Gabriel frowned and ran a hand through his hair.
Hannah peeked from the bathroom door, her normally neat hair mussed and her eyes red from crying.
His white hair was streaked red with blood, his roving gaze tired.
The woman.s hair was red with blood, and her face clammy, but she appeared to be alive.
He gave her one last, long look and pushed her hair from her face.
Another form knelt beside him, this one with blond hair.
Kiera took her usual chair, and Romas ruffled her hair as he passed her.
She pushed blonde hair from her face.
Romas's people were fair skinned with light hair in varying shades of blond and red.
They were a handsome couple, the elegant woman's hair so fine and blonde it resembled white silk.
The man beside her had dark blond hair, serious brown eyes in a chiseled face, and a form as fit as his son's.
Behind the tent and its low, shallow steps was a small group of blond warriors surrounding a fifth man with darker skin and hair.
Long, dark hair was held in place at the base of his neck by a thick band of rose gold.
To them, she was an exotic little doll with her huge, gem-hued eyes, black hair, and toned hour-glass shape.
She was delicate, with long hair as dark as the night sky and large eyes that turned from blue to green to grey.
He knelt and brushed his woman's hair from her face.
Their upper bodies were tanned from exposure to the sun, their dark hair and eyes pinned on her.
Dressed in dark clothes with dark hair and olive skin with a dark stare, he was both riveting and frightening.
She straightened her hair and took a deep breath.
Dark hair was tucked into a tight knot at the base of his neck.
Another was hunch-backed and dressed in heavy robes despite the heat of the day, and a third man barely taller than her had white irises and silvering hair.
The man A'Ran fought was more than a foot taller, with light skin and black hair resembling one of the observers.
The men around her broke away, the two with dark hair joining A'Ran's opponent while the alabaster giant joined Ne'Rin.
A'Ran's eyes didn't leave her as she tied her hair in a knot at the base of her neck.
He was much older with a full head of silver hair, a similar shade of dark eyes, and a lean build.
Kiera pulled her hair into a ponytail, the back of her neck already damp with sweat.
She pulled her hair back in a scrunchie at the base of her neck, growing nervous once again.
Her long blonde hair, unfastened now, cascaded about her shoulders.
She was not pretty, but it was obvious, even to Dean's untrained eye, that her attire, hair do, makeup and whole mien did not evolve from the poor side of the tracks.
Her long auburn hair, while looking like a magazine ad, was not enough to elevate her that step above ordinary.
The little girl, hair streaming, offered encouragement while skating backwards, one leg lifted high and beckoning unsuccessfully for Dean to follow.
Her brilliant hair topped a freckled face and mile-wide smile.
Smiling, she ran the comb through her long hair.
It still has some hair on it!
She had pulled her long auburn hair high on her head, making her appear taller and almost regal in spite of the simple lines of the garment, and the plainness of her features.
She had loosened her hair and her long tresses fell in a wave, over her shoulder and across her small breasts.
Her dress was a half a step above the rag she used to polish the furniture and her hair had longer roots than Elmer Fudd's garden.
She was easily recognizable, her dark hair streaming in the breeze of her partially open window.
Her hair was done in a pug, a style not seen by Dean since his childhood.
He finger-combed his hair.
She was now a blonde, with her hair pinned high to the top of her head.
Fred joined them from his room across the hall, a startled look on his face as he first noted the blonde hair.
Effie brushed back her hair and looked down at the pages.
Perhaps it was the blonde hair in the comb.
She reached up to unclasp her now-blonde hair, dropping it in a cascade about her shoulders.
We'll be out of your hair after the weekend.
The Annie of Dean's dreams had long blonde hair but kept her head turned from him as she wrote in her journal.
He woke with a start, to find Edith Shipton, with only her long blonde hair covering the body that was snuggling against him!
The headlights of a slow moving car washed her white body, shadowing the curve of her buttocks, the roundness of her shoulder, painting her golden hair in its light.
Her long blonde hair, unfastened, cascaded about her shoulders.
She had long blonde hair like spun silk, a perfectly proportioned figure and blue-green eyes that made you feel you were looking into the sea.
She had eyes the deepest blue-green of the Celtic Sea and flaxen hair, which although matted and unkempt, promised to shine sun-kissed when groomed.
While stroking her hair, he spoke softly, "My name is Jackson Parrish, and as God is my witness, I will do all in my power to correct this situation."
He opened it to confirm his presumption regarding Sarah's hair.
His black hair appeared darker, thicker and shone as if coated in oil.
Jackson's hair was still wet and slicked back.
He had taken a lock of her hair between his fingers and gently twirled it.
He brushed her hair behind her ear.
Sarah removed the towel from her hair and shook out her locks.
Even wet, her hair cascaded in a full mane that framed her face beautifully.
She wore a flowing, diaphanous gown and had long, wavy, bronze colored hair.
I bet you could use a hair of the dog.
It was bronze in the dream, not red, and Freckle's hair was Irish red.
She appeared to be in her early thirties, had chestnut brown hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders with thin streaks of what looked like fire running through it.
He had to resist the urge to bury his nose in her hair right then.
The hair on the back of his neck bristled and a shiver coursed down his spine.
Her eyes, her hair, those legs, the way she moved, her full, rich voice, but mostly that feeling when their eyes connected.
Both her scent and the fire running though her hair were unmistakable.
He ran both hands through his hair, exasperated.
A sheepish smile tugged at his lips as he raked his fingers through his hair.
He put a hand through his hair.
She set her mouth in a pout as Connor kissed her hair and led her out of the room.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, he murmured, "It's going to be a long week."
Burying his face in her hair, he inhaled deeply.
She made her way to him and put both hands in his hair.
Her hair fell softly around her face and she had an ethereal glow about her.
He brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck.
Jackson took a lock of her hair in his hand, carefully combing through all the colors for the bronze.
Has your hair ever been any other color?
Your hair is the most beautiful color I've ever seen.
Yes, I've never colored my hair.
He whispered into her hair, "It hurts me to leave you."
Jackson drew Elisabeth close, burying his nose in her hair.
Returning with the tray, he sat on the bed and brushed the hair off her forehead.
He put his arms around her, held her close and spoke into her hair.
He whispered into her hair, "I'm not sure I know how to live without you anymore."
After a prolonged pause, Jackson ran a hand through his hair and inhaled deeply.
She put one hand in his hair and combed her fingers through.
He pulled her close and spoke into her hair, You are denying me nothing.
Jackson ran his hand through her hair.
Samantha stood at 5'10 with caramel colored skin and curly jet-black hair that fell to the middle of her back.
Jackson ran his fingers through her hair, reflecting on the day and the new challenge they faced with her pack.
He brushed her hair back.
Jackson could only see her hair, shortening, then nearly disappearing.
The fur was the exact color of Elisabeth's hair in his dream.
Running a hand through her hair, he contemplated how to explain all that had happened.
He pulled her close, murmuring into her hair, "Just so you know, I plan to take those ankle socks off with my teeth later."
Elisabeth and Jackson hugged her from either side and Jackson stroked her hair.
So, you mean in a million years we'll have gray hair and wrinkles?
She raked both hands through his hair.
A rhinestone barrette held her hair in a messy updo.
With a husky breath, she dropped to his lap, dove both hands into his hair and pulled his head back, planting a hard kiss on his lips.
Brushing the hair from his forehead, she asked, "Will you sit for me today?"
He held her tightly and stroked her hair.
She was shorter, yet had the same hair and moved with the same self-assured serenity as her daughter.
He brushed the hair off her face and turned his attention to his dessert.
Jackson didn't respond until she put her fingers in his hair.
Jackson embraced her and stroked her hair as she began to weep.
He nuzzled into her hair.
He brushed the hair off her face.
She placed one hand in his hair and the other on his chest.
The wind yanked Carmen's hair with icy fingers.
His black curly hair was cut short, every hair in place, and his angular jaws were freshly shaven.
Had she even combed her hair this morning?
Combing her hair, she was thankful for the natural curls that softly framed her face.
Alex tousled her hair as if she were a child.
Alex held a chair for Lori, and Josh glanced uncomfortably at Carmen, running a hand through unruly red hair as he spoke under his breath in a sarcastic tone.
In her concern for his safety, she hadn't showered or changed clothes - or even combed her hair.
Of course, as long as she kept the hood up, he needn't know her hair was a mess.
He ran fingers through hair that didn't need straightening and brushed the straw from his pants.
He laughed and tousled her hair.
She ran a hand through her hair and moaned.
His lips were warm and inviting and the hair on the back of his neck was silky soft.
He tousled her hair.
I'm out of your hair - that's what you wanted, isn't it?
And I haven't shown up on your doorstep so often because I want you out of my hair.
She rubbed her cheek against the soft hair on his neck.
He backed up a few feet and stopped, lowering his head and growling in a way that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
He brushed hair away from Lana's pale face.
She won't need to break the Immortal Codes and return your mate to you, because in the next three days, you'll be out of her hair.
Maybe Rhyn going on this crazy journey keeps him out of Darkyn's hair.
She hugged him hard. Rhyn wrapped his arms around her, marveling at how real her body felt in the dream. Her hair tickled his face, and he rested his chin on her head. They held each other for a long moment.
Kris sat beside her. Hannah's skin had gone from pale to gray, and her features looked gaunt. He couldn't help thinking Katie wouldn't survive a week down here if Hannah was suffering so badly after a day. He touched Hannah's hair, revolted when a handful came off in his hand.
Hannah looked down at it then at him. Her blue eyes had turned dark, and Kris shook the hair off his hands. He tried to smile reassuringly.
Hannah's blond hair flashed through the trees.
Magic shot through him, burning like fire. Kris gasped. Another blast, and he fell to the ground. His body roiled with the demon magic, convulsing until the blow faded. He felt himself hauled up by his neck and thrust onto the ground again. His vision blurry, Kris could only see Hannah's beautiful blond hair. Sorrow replaced anger, and he reached out, touching the soft wheat curls.
He'd lost them all. Lilith, Jade, Hannah. Even Andre. He'd not only failed every Immortal that ever lived, he'd failed the only people he'd ever cared for. He lay on the ground, gasping as he tangled his fingers in Hannah's hair.
He stared. It was not Hannah lying beside him but a demon with blond hair. Kris pulled his legs beneath him to sit, and Rhyn released him.
Satisfied, Rhyn rose, towering over the tiny woman with flaxen hair.
She had short brown hair and kind hazel eyes.
It was two years ago and one of my roommates yanked my long, golden blonde hair.
I just need you to sign these papers and I'll be out of your hair.
Ivy was the smaller of the two and had jet-black hair.
Her hair was brown and frizzy.
I had brushed my hair and pulled it into a ponytail.
His hair was a tad past barbering time and he wore polished black shoes and black socks, inconsistent with the rest of his attire.
Both were in their late 30's, losing their hair, gaining a mid-section and happily married.
Her hair was short and dark and worn in an easy style that seemed to require little care.
Her hair was shorter and the smile on her face made her all the more attractive.
Fred possessed a full head of snow-white hair, carried himself ramrod straight and was a familiar sight and well-liked figure about town.
She rarely combed her hair, owned no more than three or four shapeless dresses, which appeared in all seasons, most of which were stained and wrinkled.
Dean, his hair still soaking wet, wearing an open-neck polo shirt while carrying his shoes, felt like the village idiot.
He ran his hand through his hair self-consciously.
It pained Dean to see her 30 pounds thinner, wearing an ill fitting wig in place of her waist-length ebony hair, but her indomitable spirit continued to leave him in awe.
He brushed back what seemed like a foot of wavy blond hair.
The man was about Dean's age, shorter, with dark hair and moustache and dressed in full biking attire.
If you'll just tell us what Cleary looks like we'll get out of your hair.
The bullet hole hadn't been visible at first due to Wassermann's long hair, the condition of the body, and the length of time in the water.
The guy had black hair and a mustache.
Ralph finished cutting Harry Toomey's hair and went out back.
He might have a mustache, black hair or a shaved head for all we know, and two and a half million could buy a face-job making him look like Robert Redford.
The other rider doffed her helmet, spilling waves of blond hair.
He didn't know a name or a number but the fellow had black hair.
She paused and smiled up at him, one eye almost covered by a wave of gray hair.
Alex absently ran fingers through his hair and sighed heavily.
He ran a hand through his hair again.
He ran a hand through short curly black hair that didn't need straightening.
He says blond hair and amethyst eyes are a killer combination.
The shock of red hair on the top of his head was unruly, as if he had been running his fingers through it.
Pulling her hair back, she squeezed water out of it and then fluffed it with her fingers to release the natural curls.
Picking a few of the Tiger Lilies, she tucked them into her hair.
She breathed deep, throwing her head back and fluffing her hair with her fingers to cool her scalp.
He gently stroked her hair, his voice soft and close to her ear.
Throwing back the covers, she slid off the window seat and headed for the door, using her fingers as a comb to put her hair in some kind of order.
The hair on the back of his neck was soft and curly.
Running a hand through his hair, he took a long deep shaking breath.
He tousled her hair with his other hand.
Katie walked into the kitchen with her hair uncombed and her eyes looking puffy.
A soft breeze lifted the perspiration from their hair and replaced it with the scent of honeysuckle.
He held her close for a while, caressing her hair and back ... crooning to her as if she were a child.
She ran her fingers up his arm, tracing the large vein – feeling the fine dark hair.
One face stood out, a shock of unruly red hair waving in the wind.
Finally he sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.
Its wool was as soft as freshly washed hair and it bleated when she scooped it into her arms.
He tousled her hair with one hand, and the dimple appeared below his eye.
Sometimes I think you can hardly wait for me to get out of your hair.
Her hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a month and her coat was wrinkled and full of holes.
She tugged playfully at some hair on his chest.
I'll keep them out of your hair.
Both Tim and Jim had brown hair and blue eyes, but their personalities were as different as day and night — just like Katie and Alex.
He stepped into the room and removed his hat, running a hand through an unruly shock of red hair.
What if the baby had red hair?
Grandpa Pulock had red hair!
He stroked her hair while he rocked and crooned to her.
In their room she changed into a charcoal gray suit and combed her hair.
The tall, stringy youth with white-blond hair turned to face them.
Long, auburn hair was loose around her shoulders, and her face glowed.
His eyes and hair were black, his features noble.
Damian's white-blond hair was familiar to her before his face came into view.
Her hair was short and curly, too, unlike the blond, blue-eyed father that'd all but raped Jenn on their mating night.
The boy looked to be around ten with blond hair and cold, steady blue eyes.
Someone stopped her, and she looked up, barely registering the face of a tattooed man with long, dark hair.
Another woman lay on the ground near the youth named Damian, her shapely figure, porcelain complexion, and auburn hair indicating her beauty even in her sleep.
The dead woman's pale skin and hair starkly contrasted with Jonny's black silk sheets and duvet.
Something as small as a piece of hair or a tooth—anything that the soul of the dead immortal might still cling to.
He smelled the scent of his own skin and hair burning.
Jenn ran her fingers through her hair, tousling it.
She'd been wearing pale pink, as innocent as the flowers that fell from blooming apple trees and caught in her hair.
Jenn ran a hand through her short hair.
If you touch a hair on Yully's body, I'll slaughter you.
He smoothed her hair from her face.
Claire's auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail, her shapely body clad in a black cat-suit.
Her fiery hair was darker than Yully's, her eyes bluer than even Sofi's.
Yully's hair blazed like a fire, her skin as pale as the obelisk.
Yully was pale, her hair sizzling with magic.
A tiny form, with white-blond hair and swathed in a blanket, slept peacefully.
She'd cleaned up since he last saw her, and her short hair was still damp.
He looked as tired as she felt, his hair disheveled and dark circles beneath his blazing golden eyes.
Sirian edged closer, his wise gaze and silvering hair the only signs of aging on his otherwise lean frame.
He ignored the senses warning him of the guards drawing near and instead smoothed dark hair from her face and listened for her breathing.
A man in his prime with silvered hair emerged from the darkness.
The hair on the back of Taran's neck rose in warning.
Long, dark hair hung loose and dripping around her shoulders.
Rissa was dressed in clean men's clothing, her hair braided once more.
The hair on the back of his neck and forearms rose.
He raised his eye- band to meet the gaze of the warrior, a man with dark eyes and hair and cocoa skin.
Sirian's gaze returned to hers, and the two exchanged a look that made the hair on the back of Taran's neck rise once more.
She did not remember when the lines at his eyes and forehead became deep creases or when his red-blond hair went grey.
His gaze was a familiar bright green, his hair curly and black.
The ship's captain belted orders to his sun burnt crew, and Taran turned, his dark hair tossed in the sea breeze.
The lanky youth had grown into a muscular man with icy green eyes, curly black hair, and chiseled features as cold as his father's.
She wiped her face as she walked and tugged off the hood she wore to cover her hair.
He ran his hand through his curly hair and closed the door to the tack room.
He grabbed one by the hair and yanked her toward him.
He twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers.
His dark gaze was direct, his hair and clothing neat.
His blond hair was braided down his back, his grey eyes deep set.
Her long curly blond hair had been pulled up in pig tails and tied with huge bows.
A table had been placed in the middle, and Jonathan sat at it, disguised as a man with graying hair.
Placing the coffee cup on the window sill, he ran a hand through thick black hair that curled in all the right places.
She left her hair down, brushing it until the long blonde curls shined.
He had black hair and dark brown eyes that never seemed to look directly at anyone.
Alex ran fingers through his hair and then rubbed the back of his neck.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily.
He leaned back and ran fingers through his hair.
I think she looks like a princess with her hair up like that, don't you, Daddy?
I picked some yellow flowers to go in her hair, but she said they looked better in a vase.
Catching her hair up in a pony tail, she tugged on her boots and joined Alex in the kitchen.
He licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair.
Pulling the hair off her neck into a French roll, she used a few bejeweled clips and let it go at that.
She was sitting at the vanity table brushing her hair when he returned.
He brushed a lock of hair back from her face and then traced her jaw with a finger.
Pulling her hair into a pony tail, she secured it with a blue ribbon.
Either way you'd have hair everywhere.
Finally he ran a hand through his hair.
He looked away and ran a hand through his hair as he gazed absently at the floor.
When he finally found a print, it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up – dogs.
He ran a powerful hand through thick hair that still held a touch of red.
People with green eyes and red hair are supposed to have freckles.
He smiled down at her and stroked her hair as if she were still a child.
She pushed his hand away from her hair.
His curly brown hair stopped somewhere short of being unruly, but it was clean and clipped short.
Tall with dark hair... had a kind of sophisticated look about him.
She pulled her hair back from her face and wiped the water from her eyes.
She lifted the hair off the back of her neck and read on, but the sticky heat was too distracting.
Selecting a pair of shorts and a halter-top to wear around the house, she searched for something to hold the hair off the back of her neck.
The hair on the back of her neck felt like it was standing on end.
The night air was so charged with electricity, that she could feel the hair rising on the back of her neck.
She dropped the curtain and ran shaking fingers through her hair as she opened the door.
She pulled her wet hair back into a braid at her neck and fluffed the loose tendrils at her temples into curls.
She lifted the hair off the back of her neck and stretched.
She tucked a strand of hair back into her topknot and followed him into the forest.
She pulled his hand from her hair and held it a moment.
His attempts at braiding her dark hair the way she liked it had ended up in a series of knots, because he didn't quite understand how to do it and his man-sized fingers were too clumsy.
She wouldn't be buried in the ethereal silks of the wealthy or have her hair inlaid with flowers and perfumes.
With great effort, he worked the knots free from her hair and braided it one last time.
Xander arranged her dress and hair with care.
Xander gingerly pulled the necklace free and rearranged her hair.
He placed the cloak over her body and covered her face, not wanting to get dirt in her dark hair.
He pushed the hood back first and shivered at the breeze that ruffled his dark hair.
With dark hair and eyes and the caramel skin marking his Cuban heritage, Jonny was tall and lanky.
Xander saw brown hair and a young face.
She was in her mid-twenties with dark hair and eyes.
His hair was mussed, and his state of dress – T-shirt and pajama pants – indicated he'd just woken up.
Despite her agitation, she ruffled the eighteen-year-old's hair fondly.
Jessi smoothed the hair away from her face.
It made the hair on her forearms stand up.
I know what time of day you brush your hair, he said in the same calm tone.
The normally upbeat girl with raven-colored hair and gray eyes appeared tired and worn down.
He cooked bare-chested, wearing black chinos, his dark hair clasped at the base of his neck.
She ran a hand through her short, dark hair.
Long, dark hair was neatly bound at the base of his neck.
His hair was tied back.