Scent of Vanilla

She smelled like vanilla. Standing at the other side of the room, he watched her walk through the door and his pulse quickened. She moved with a feline grace through the crowd.
He could picture her as a tigress, moving stealthily through tall grasses to her prey. The party raged on around him, people dancing, people drinking. She smiled and conversed with a group of three people as she made her way towards him. Her eyes had not yet found his. He could not take his off of her lithe form or her leonine mane of hair. Hair he wanted to entangle himself with.
She laughed, her white teeth flashing between her full lips. He stood there against the wall, feeling constricted as he waited for her to come to him. He was 6' in height, wavy brown hair, with broad shoulders and chest. He could feel the eyes of several women in the room land on him but what he wanted; who he wanted was nearly 20 feet away. He found himself growling with frustration and impatience.
She threw back her head and laughed at something one of the other guests said, and the sound of her throaty laugh tightened things low in his body. He left the wall, working his way through the room, inexorably towards the object of his desire. The closer he got to her, he could hear the conversation she was involved in. Ah, she was a novelist. Interesting. He would have thought she was a goddess by the way she affected him from across the room.