53 Quotes About Feminine-beauty

Letting his gaze travel possessively over her, he drank in the loveliness of her face as she sat in a ray of sunlight. 'To be sure, she had a temper to match those red streaks in her golden hair,' he thought fondly. Her pale blond eyebrows were knitted in thought as she worked. She had luxurious lashes and cobalt eyes with the power to devastate him. She had a smattering of light freckles on her cheeks and fine, aristocratic features.

Tate couldn't stop staring. She must be thirteen or fourteen, he thought. But even at that age, she had the most striking face he'd ever seen. Here large eyes nearly black, her nose slender over shapely lips, painted her in an exotic light. She was tall, thin, giving her a fragile, lithesome look as though molded wild by the wind. Yet young, strapping muscles showed through with quiet power.

Even behind the so-called protection of the changing screen, Dominic could see every line of Katherine's body in the firelight. He supposed he should feel guilty, but that was the furthest thing from his mind as he watched her shadow stoop to pick up her nightgown. By God, she was perfect. From the soft curve of her breasts as the shift slipped over them, to the long lines of her arms and legs, it seemed her body had been plucked from his most detailed, sinful fantasy.

She was beautiful.Before, she had been pretty and gorgeous, lively and smiley, all red hair and perfect skin and quick movements. Now her eyes were deeper. He could fall into her face forever and happily drown there, pulled into her depths. There were worlds in her mind that were only just forming before.

Every man has his weakness.""I know they do." She lifted an eyebrow. "I'm still looking for yours."Cheeky girl. She had to know she took his breath away.God, she was lovely in the moonlight. She was lovely in sunlight, for that matter, and in the pouring rain. Gabe suspected that even in total darkness, she would be radiant. Because though her features were exquisite, and her lips the pinkish hue of rose petals, her most beautiful feature by far was her heart.

But Cassandra was even more breathtaking than he remembered. Her golden sunstruck beauty illuminated the sterile environment of the clinic. She was wonderfully dressed in a green velvet walking dress and a matching hooded cloak trimmed with white fur. Her hair, so shiny it looked molten, had been pinned up in a complex mass of coils and topped with a flirtatious little excuse for a hat. He felt her presence like a shock, every nerve tingling.

His wife looked vulnerable and lovely, like a nymph sleeping in a wood. The fantastical profusion of her hair was like something from a mythological painting, curling golden locks spreading everywhere in lavish disarray.

She was even prettier up close than he'd imagined. Bowtie lips with up-turned outer corners. Peachy skin- smooth, he could tell just by looking, yielding. Glossy curls around a love-heart face.

Lady Helen, who had been accompanied by her husband, Mr. Rhys Winterborne, was far more reserved than the twins. Instead of Pandora's raw and radiant energy, or Cassandra's effervescent charm, she possessed a quality of sweet, patient gravity. With her silver-blonde hair and willowy slenderness, Helen seemed as ethereal as a figure form from a painting by Bougereau.