Perfume: The Book Review Novels & Stories

James directly tagged Stephen in the group, saying, "Stephen, my tactic worked, right? Back then, I used this on countless ladies! It never failed me once! How was it? Is Yvonne smitten? Women, am I right? Treat her well, and she'll fall for you." Stephen thought for a while. Yvonne must have been dazzled by the fireworks, not him. However, he'd had a good time too, so he wasn't going to let this get to him. He opened the gift Yvonne had given him. He took the bottle of perfume and gave it a whiff. He narrowed his eyes. The scent was unique. It was like walking in a quiet forest in the winter. It was cold and mature, with long base notes.

She wanted to go to the lab to get the perfume first. The shop was not far from the lab, just a ten-minute drive away. Her assistant had already helped her pack the perfume, so she just swung by and collected it. Janice smelled the perfume. It was an elegant fragrance with a faint tobacco scent. It was a very masculine smell. The heart notes were warm and woody, evoking a sense of calm and confidence. She thought he was sure to like it and smiled. She carried the perfume in her hand and walked out of the lab. Her car was parked in front of the lab’s door.

Immediately, a sales associate beelined toward me, her eyes scanning my casual outfit with a smile so fake I could hear it creaking. “Hi there! Can I help you—” “I’m just browsing,” I said sweetly, already brushing past her toward the handbags. Nothing screamed healing from trauma like sniffing real leather. I turned the corner and stepped into a perfume boutique. Not just any boutique—the kind that dimmed the lights on purpose, like scent was sacred and silence was mandatory. Rows of crystal bottles lined the glass counters like tiny weapons of seduction. It smelled like money. And memory. A woman in black gloves stood behind the counter, too elegant for her own good. She gave me a polite n

I can’t tell. “I mean the answer to your question. I don’t wear anything… cologne.” “Oh.” I hold the book against my chest. So his natural scent just happens to smell like bark ripped off a pine tree dipped in oud. Wow. “Okay,” I sigh, not knowing what else to say. “You helped me with that book yesterday.” A smile creeps at the corner of his mouth, and God, he just got more attractive. “I’ve been searching for it for a while.

She wasn't Anzania. I sighed. What the hell just happened? "Okay I assume that's not her. So I'm going to tell you this again. Perfume is sold all over the world. Literally shipped to every part of the world." Of course she was telling the truth. Why the hell wasn't this the first thought that came to my mind? That smell took me way back. The wolve in me couldn't control it. I mated with her. That smell was hers. "Do you want to go back?"

Suddenly the marble, the moodboards, and the multi-project screens dissolved, replaced by another penthouse in another city, another voice laughing against my ear. My fingers tightened around the bottle’s neck, knuckles whitening. Outside, a yacht passed by, its horn sounding faintly. Inside, a single scent managed to resurrect an entire chapter I had slammed shut. This perfume could have come from its boutique, sent because I’d once been on their customer list. It could have been a random gift from someone who knew I liked niche fragrances. It could have. But only one person had ever stood behind me in the kitchen, set the same bottle on the counter, and said, “Wear this. It’s… you.”

He seemed pretty much troubled then sighed. He stretched his hand. "Here, take it." "What is this?" Scar finally asked, taking the book. "I have never wanted you to become a perfumer and chose a major that could help you with your future. But, you are so obsessed with not listening to me..." He sighed again. "And if you are that determined to be a perfumer, this book could help you." It was totally unbelievable and completely unexpected from Connor O'Dean. Scar almost asked if he was drunk but controlled her itch.

She sighed, feeling more relaxed from the moment the scent surrounded her. “Vanillin,” he said. “Excuse me?” “The aroma of old books. It’s actually lignin—related to vanillin. It’s why used bookstores have that fragrance they do. I read about it”—he motioned to a book on a shelf to his left—“in a book.” He grinned. She looked him over—maybe a little older than she’d original thought, slightly scruffy, T-shirt with something about obscenities on the chest. “What sort of books do you like?” he asked.

She ran fingers over crisp, leather-bound volumes, selecting several books on perfumery—her latest passion, a delicate world far removed from the trouble swirling outside. She sprawled across her bed, the pages open at her side, indulging for a rare moment in irresponsibility. The words soothed her. Musk, rose, bergamot—nothing about scandal, sickness, or revenge, only fragile blossoms and hidden notes. The serenity shattered when a familiar voice sounded outside her door—low, hesitant, and slightly breathless. “Ophelia? Are you awake?” She propped herself on one elbow. “Come in, Nathan.”

I just saw it and thought it was perfect, so I bought it. I have the biggest smile on my face looking at one book of so many songs some I already know how to play some I don't. It's one of the best gifts I've ever gotten hands down. She still hasn't opened her gift, and I am curious why so I look at her and raise my eyebrow kind of questionly, and she shrugs like she isn't sure. Then she opens the bag, pulls out the paper, and then the bottle of perfume. She sprays it on her wrist sniffs it and says "oh its mint smells nice thank you" She does that with all the perfumes i got her three iroiclly since i didnt really pay attenion one was lavender one was mint and the last was fruity. I kind of