Physical Attraction Quotes

Quotes tagged as "physical-attraction" (showing 1-22 of 22)
William S. Burroughs
“I don't know what falling in love for me is. The concept of romantic love arose in the Middle Ages. Now remember, the Arabs don't even have a word for love—that is, a word for love apart from physical attraction or sex. And this separation of love and sex is a western concept, a Christian concept. As to what falling in love means, I'm uncertain. Love, well, it means simply physical attraction and liking a person at the same time.”
William S. Burroughs, With William Burroughs: A Report From The Bunker

Faraaz Kazi
“It's love when someone can touch you without using their hands.”
Faraaz Kazi

“Her hand accidentally brushed up against his chest. She froze. His breathing remained steady and regular. He had not awoken. She was about to pull her hand away, then stopped. Never had she touched a man’s chest. She waited a moment. His breathing was still constant, still regular. He was still asleep. Flattening her palm against his chest, she felt the tautness of his muscles. She moved her hand, slowly, tremulously, down his chest and across his stomach, feeling the firmness of his skin and his strong physique. He seized her hand, pushed it away, and turned his back to her.”
Cate Campbell Beatty, Donor 23

Galt Niederhoffer
“Physical attraction did its part to glue them together, but something stronger than sexual attraction sealed the bond. When men and women grow apart, it is for the same reason they are drawn together; because they are finally, inherently too different. Friendships among women, on the other hand, were burdened by similarity.”
Galt Niederhoffer, The Romantics

“True love goes deeper than physical attraction. Only one's inner positive beauty is capable of creating a level of love that is irreplaceable.”
Edmond Mbiaka

Colleen McCarty
“Guys have a mental calendar of days in the week, and below the days are empty boxes. On days when they have sex, the box gets a checked. The check mark means all is good and right in the world. An empty box means...not that.”
Colleen McCarty, Mounting the Whale

Julianne MacLean
“A muscle in her delicate jaw tensed, and she took another sip of tea, dismissing him entirely in that same haughty manner he remembered all too well. "I don't believe so."
"Are you certain? You look familiar."
Her gaze shot up at last, and her eyes were sharp and assessing, brilliantly intelligent. He suddenly remembered she'd had a gift for science when they were younger, which was considered by some to be odd and inappropriate for a young lady of her station. He'd always found it rather intriguing.
Well, she still had brains. She seemed to know exactly what he was up to and was warning him to stop.
He smiled inwardly. She had spirit, too, he'd give her that. And by God, she'd grown lovely. He could not deny it. Those enormous green eyes were as disarming as ever. Even more so in fact.”
Julianne MacLean, Surrender to a Scoundrel

Stephanie Laurens
“Vane met her wide gaze, and managed not to smile wolfishly- no need to frighten the prey. The view he now had- of delectable curves filling a gown of ivory sprigged muslin in a manner he fully approved- was every bit as enticing as the view that first held him- the gorgeous curves of her derriere clearly delineated beneath taut fabric. When she'd shifted, so had those curves. He couldn't remember when a sight had so transfixed him, had so tantalized his rake's senses.
She was of average height, her forehead level with his throat. Her hair, rich brown, lustrously sheening, was confined in a sleek knot, bright tendrils escaping to wreathe about her ears and nape. Delicate brown brows framed large eyes of hazel brown, their expression difficult to discern in the gloom. Her nose was straight; her complexion creamy. Her pink lips simply begged to be kissed. He'd come within a whisker of kissing them, but tasting an unknown lady before the requisite introductions was simply not good form.
His silence had allowed her to steady her wits; he sensed her growing resistance, sensed the frown gathering in her eyes. Vane let his lips curve. He knew precisely what he wanted to do- to her, with her; the only questions remaining were where and when.”
Stephanie Laurens, A Rake's Vow

Laura Kinsale
“She managed to smile without smiling, her serious face a-shine with pleasure- real pleasure, which was something he recognized only because he'd never seen it before, not on any of the hundreds of faces which had smirked vainly or proudly or coyly at him as he played out his hero farce.
It was Sheridan who looked away, feeling unexpectedly awkward. She was outlandish and yet curiously lovely in her sparrowish, humble way. It made him uncomfortable. He was partial to beautiful women; he liked prettiness as well as the next man. But this was something different. Something that touched him in obscure and half-forgotten places. In his soul, he might have said, if he'd thought he still had one to stir.
Which he didn't, as he proved to himself by lowering his eyelids and enjoying the deliberate and easy kindling of more familiar sensations. Her dress, cut in a modish horizontal line across her bosom, revealed quite enough to assure him that nothing artificial amplified the swell of her breasts. The straight neckline made an inviting path, starting low on her shoulders and crossing the opulent expanse of skin at a point that on most females would have been perfectly modest, but which on Miss St Leger clearly showed the shadowy prelude to a luxurious cleavage.”
Laura Kinsale, Seize the Fire

Connie Mason
“If your heart’s no’ engaged in your marriage, then ye shouldna be averse to a wee bit of lust outside of it,” he said, advancing around to her. She made him feel pleasurably male again. He decided to listen to his groin and not stifle the urge.
Lust wasn’t the same as love. Surely it wouldn’t be a betrayal of Fiona if he used his body to wreak vengeance on his enemy. Especially not if he convinced Lachlan’s bride to succumb willingly.
“Ye interrupted the ceremony before the vows were complete. I’m no’ even officially a wife, I dinna suppose,” she said, still circling the spring to keep her distance from him.
Her nipples stood out beneath her bodice, whether from cold or the memory of his touch, he didn’t much care. They were a fine sight in any case. He ached to suckle them.”
Connie Mason, Sins of the Highlander

Jeffrey Stepakoff
“Grace leaned forward, studying him up close, able to make out some of his facial features in the clay mask: strong brow, broad cheekbones, prominent jawline and chin. As a flavorist, she was familiar with kaolin clay, a virtually tasteless edible mineral often used as an anti-caking agent in processed foods, various toothpastes, and originally kaopectate. But she'd never encountered the raw product out of the lab, and certainly not like this. She leaned closer to him.
He smelled of sediment and mostly sweat, a decidedly masculine note, the precise replication of which one could base an entire career, and then some. Even the most skilled perfumers in the world, experts in the animal secrets of civet and ambergris, couldn't get it just right. It was a human thing. And she'd studied it, androstadienone and most of the known male pheromones, and she knew the effects certain concentrates could have on certain women. She'd written the reports and seen the CT scans of activity in women's brains. Still, knowing about it intellectually and rationally did not in any way lessen what it was doing to her right now, the effect it was having on her senses and her body. 'Can he tell?' she wondered.
Lean and broad-shouldered, he had the build of a man who spent his days using his body in labor. She could see it in the way the mud set into the ridged musculature of his forearms, like the russeting across a firm apple. Still, the inner details of him escaped her. His hair was caked with dry clay, and she thought of the figures she'd seen artists craft in their hillside studios in Montmartre, with the Sacre-Coeur church on the summit above and the bawdy Moulin Rouge crowds teeming below. He looked like that, an unglazed unfinished sculpture of a man, but for his eyes, vast and deep, and very much alive, as if he were trapped inside his statued body.”
Jeffrey Stepakoff, The Orchard

Stephanie Laurens
“So saying, she managed to straighten- which left her facing the house, looking directly at the blank bow windows of the downstairs parlor. With the storm darkening the skies, the windows were reflective. They reflected the image of a man standing directly behind her.
With a gasp, Patience whirled. Her gaze collided with the man's- his eyes were hard, crystalline gray, pale in the weak light. They were focused, intently, on her, their expression one she couldn't fathom. He stood no more than three feet away, large, elegant and oddly forbidding. In the instant her brain registered those facts, Patience felt her heels sink, and sink- into the soft soil of the flower bed.
The edge crumbled beneath her feet.
Her eyes flew wide- her lips formed a helpless "Oh." Arms flailing, she started to topple back-
The man reacted so swiftly his movement was a blur- he gripped her upper arms and hauled her forward.
She landed against him, breast to chest, hips to hard thighs. The breath was knocked out of her, leaving her gasping, mentally as well as physically. Hard hands held her upright, long fingers iron shackles about her arms. His chest was a wall of rock against her breasts; the rest of his body, the long thighs that held them braced, felt as resilient as tensile steel.
She was helpless. Utterly, completely, and absolutely helpless.
Patience looked up and met the stranger's hooded gaze. As she watched, his grey eyes darkened. The expression they contained- intensely concentrated- sent a most peculiar thrill through her.
She blinked; her gaze fell- to the man's lips. Long, thin yet beautifully proportioned, they'd been sculpted with a view to fascination. They certainly fascinated her; she couldn't drag her gaze away. The mesmerizing contours shifted, almost imperceptibly softening; her own lips tingled. She swallowed, and dragged in a desperately needed breath.
Her breasts rose, shifting against the stranger's coat, pressing more definitely against his chest. Sensation streaked through her, from unexpectedly tight nipples all the way to her toes. She caught another breath and tensed- but couldn't stop the quiver that raced through her.
The stranger's lips thinned; the austere planes of his face hardened. His fingers tightened about her arms. To Patience's stunned amazement, he lifted her- easily- and carefully set her down two feet away.”
Stephanie Laurens, A Rake's Vow

Lisa Kleypas
“The simple action of pulling her body against his was strangely satisfying, like a puzzle piece snapping neatly into place. She gave a low cry, automatically clutching at his arm. The loose lock of fine blond hair blew across Nick's face, and the fresh, faintly salty fragrance of female skin rose to his nostrils. The scent made his mouth water. Nick was startled by his instant reaction to her- he had never experienced such a visceral response to a woman. He wanted to leap from the wall and carry her off like one of the wolves that had once roamed the medieval forests, and find some place to devour his prey in private.”
Lisa Kleypas, Worth Any Price

Lisa Kleypas
“Any words of greeting Leo had intended to say vanished instantly. His gaze traveled slowly over her. She was like one of the exquisite feminine images painted on bandboxes or displayed in print shops. The pristine perfection of her made him long to unwrap her, like a bonbon done up in a neat paper twist.
Leo's silence went on so long that Catherine was forced to speak again. "I'm ready for the outing. Where are we going?"
"I can't remember," Leo said, still staring.”
Lisa Kleypas, Married By Morning

Lisa Kleypas
“It wasn't that he disliked her. Beatrix was an odd creature, but fairly engaging, and far more attractive than he had remembered. In fact, she had become a beauty in his absence, her gangly coltish shape now curved and graceful...
Christopher shook his head impatiently, trying to redirect his thoughts. But the image of Beatrix Hathaway remained. A lovely oval face, a gently erotic mouth, and haunting blue eyes, a blue so rich and deep it seemed to contain hints of purple. And that silky dark hair, pinned up haphazardly, with teasing locks slipping free.”
Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

Lisa Kleypas
“Obviously you have no liking for Prudence," he began, "but if you-"
"I've tried my best to like her. I thought if one peeled away the layers of artifice, one would find the real Prudence beneath. But there's nothing beneath. And I doubt there ever will be."
"And you find Beatrix Hathaway superior to her?"
"In every regard, except perhaps beauty."
"There you have it wrong," he informed her. "Miss Hathaway is a beauty."
Audrey's brows lifted. "Do you think so?" she asked idly, lifting the teacup to her lips.
"It's obvious. Regardless of what I think of her character, Miss Hathaway is an exceptionally attractive woman."
"Oh, I don't know..." Audrey devoted careful attention to her tea, adding a tiny lump of sugar. "She's rather tall."
"She has the ideal height and form."
"And brown hair is so common..."
"It's not the usual shade of brown, it's as dark as sable. And those eyes..."
"Blue," Audrey said with a dismissive wave.
"The deepest, purest blue I've ever seen. No artist could capture-" Christopher broke off abruptly. "Never mind. I'm straying from the point.”
Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

Lisa Kleypas
“Christopher stood facing Beatrix, trying not to gape. And failing utterly. She might as well have been standing there in her undergarments. In fact, that would have been preferable, because at least it wouldn't have seemed so singularly erotic. He could see the feminine outline of her hips and thighs clad in the masculine garments. And she didn't seem at all self-conscious. Confound her, what kind of woman was she?
He struggled with his reaction to her, a mixture of annoyance, fascination, and arousal. With her hair threatening to tumble from its pins, and her cheeks flushed from exertion, she was the epitome of glowing female health.”
Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

Lisa Kleypas
“Where is Albert?"
"He'll be here momentarily. I asked our housekeeper to fetch him."
Christopher blinked. "She's not afraid of him?"
"Of Albert? Heavens, no, everyone adores him."
The concept of someone, anyone, adoring his belligerent pet was difficult to grasp. Having expected to receive an inventory of all the damage Albert had caused, Christopher gave her a blank look.
And then the housekeeper returned with an obedient and well-groomed dog trotting by her side.
"Albert?" Christopher said.
The dog looked at him, ears twitching. His whiskered face changed, eyes brightening with excitement. Without hesitating, Albert launched forward with a happy yelp. Christopher knelt on the floor, gathering up an armful of joyfully wriggling canine. Albert strained to lick him, and whimpered and dove against him repeatedly.
Christopher was overwhelmed by feelings of kinship and relief. Grabbing the warm, compact body close, Christopher murmured his name and petted him roughly, and Albert whined and trembled.
"I missed you, Albert. Good boy. There's my boy." Unable to help himself, Christopher pressed his face against the rough fur. He was undone by guilt, humbled by the fact that even though he had abandoned Albert for the summer, the dog showed nothing but eager welcome. "I was away too long," Christopher murmured, looking into the soulful brown eyes. "I won't leave you again." He dragged his gaze up to Beatrix's. "It was a mistake to leave him," he said gruffly.
She was smiling at him. "Albert won't hold it against you. To err is human, to forgive, canine."
To his disbelief, Christopher felt an answering smile tug at the corners of his lips. He continued to pet the dog, who was fit and sleek. "You've taken good care of him."
"He's much better behaved than before," she said. "You can take him anywhere now."
Rising to his feet, Christopher looked down at her. "Why did you do it?" he asked softly.
"He's very much worth saving. Anyone could see that."
The awareness between them became unbearably aware. Christopher's heart worked in hard, uneven beats. How pretty she was in the white dress. She radiated a healthy female physicality that was very different from the fashionable frailty of London women. He wondered what it would be like to bed her, if she would be as direct in her passions as she was in everything else.”
Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

Lisa Kleypas
“Sara noticed that his white teeth were slightly snaggled, giving his smile the appearance of a friendly snarl. It was then that she understood why so many women had been seduced by him. His grin held a wickedly irresistible appeal. She stared at his chest as he untied the laces and positioned her cap correctly.
"Thank you," she murmured, and tried to take the strings of the cap from his fingers.
But he didn't let go. He held the laces at her chin, his fingers tightening. Glancing up at him in confusion, Sara saw that his smile had vanished. In a decisive motion he pulled the concealing lace from her hair and let it fall. The cap fluttered to a patch of mud and rested there limply.
Sara lifted her hand to the loose braided coil of her hair, which threatened to tumble from its pins. The chestnut locks gleamed with fiery highlights, escaping in delicate wisps around her face and throat. "Mr. Craven," she scolded breathlessly. "I find your behavior untoward and a-and offensive, not to mention-oh!" She stammered in astonishment as he reached for her spectacles and plucked them from her face. "Mr. Craven, h-how dare you..." She fumbled to retrieve them. "I... I need those..."
Derek held them out of reach as he stared at her uncovered face. This was what she had kept hidden beneath the old-maid disguise... pale, luminous skin, a mouth shaped with surprising lushness, a pert little nose, marked at the delicate bridge where the edge of her spectacles had pressed. Angel-blue eyes, pure and beguiling, surmounted by dark winged brows. She was beautiful. He could have devoured her in a few bites, like a fragrant red apple. He wanted to touch her, take her somewhere and pull her beneath him, as if he could somehow erase a lifetime of sin and shame within the sweetness of her body.”
Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

Lisa Kleypas
“Sara noticed that his white teeth were slightly snaggled, giving his smile the appearance of a friendly snarl. It was then that she understood why so many women had been seduced by him. His grin held a wickedly irresistible appeal. She stared at his chest as he untied the laces and positioned her cap correctly.
"Thank you," she murmured, and tried to take the strings of the cap from his fingers.
But he didn't let go. He held the laces at her chin, his fingers tightening. Glancing up at him in confusion, Sara saw that his smile had vanished. In a decisive motion he pulled the concealing lace from her hair and let it fall. The cap fluttered to a patch of mud and rested there limply.
Sara lifted her hand to the loose braided coil of her hair, which threatened to tumble from its pins. The chestnut locks gleamed with fiery highlights, escaping in delicate wisps around her face and throat. "Mr. Craven," she scolded breathlessly. "I find your behavior untoward a-and offensive, not to mention-oh!" She stammered in astonishment as he reached for her spectacles and plucked them from her face. "Mr. Craven, h-how dare you..." She fumbled to retrieve them. "I... I need those..."
Derek held them out of reach as he stared at her uncovered face. This was what she had kept hidden beneath the old-maid disguise... pale, luminous skin, a mouth shaped with surprising lushness, a pert little nose, marked at the delicate bridge where the edge of her spectacles had pressed. Angel-blue eyes, pure and beguiling, surmounted by dark winged brows. She was beautiful. He could have devoured her in a few bites, like a fragrant red apple. He wanted to touch her, take her somewhere and pull her beneath him, as if he could somehow erase a lifetime of sin and shame within the sweetness of her body.”
Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

Sarah MacLean
“He moved closer, crowding her back into the darkness. He didn't touch her, but strangely, it didn't matter. He was close enough to feel, tall and lean and ever so warm. "But you're going to wager now, Pippa, aren't you?"
He was muddling her brain and making it very difficult to think clearly. She took a deep breath, the scent of sandalwood wrapping around her, distracting her.
She shouldn't say yes.
But somehow, oddly, she found she couldn't say no.
She reached for the dice, where they lay small and white in his broad palm. Touched them, touched him- the brush of skin against fingertips sending sensation coursing through her. She paused at the feeling, trying to dissect it. To identify it. To savor it. But then he was gone, his hand falling away, leaving her with nothing but the ivory cubes, still warm from his touch.
Just as she was.
Of course, the thought was ridiculous. One did not warm from a fleeting contact. It was the stuff of novels. Something her sisters would sigh over.
He moved, stepping back and extending one arm toward the hazard field. "Are you ready?" His voice was low and soft, somehow private despite the cavernous room.”
Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

Sarah MacLean
“It's just that... since we met, I have been rather... well, fascinated by..."
You.
Say it, he willed, not entirely certain what he would do if she did, but willing to put himself to the test.
She took another breath. "By your bones."
Would she ever say anything expected? "My bones?"
She nodded. "Yes. Well, the muscles and tendons, too. Your forearms. Your thighs. And earlier- while I watched you drink whiskey- by your hands."
Cross had been propositioned many times in his life. He'd made a career of refusing women's requests. But he had never been complimented on his bones.
It was the strangest, sexiest confession he'd ever heard.
And he had no idea how to respond.”
Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover