College dropout Kells Beckwith is uncertain about his future. His mother intervenes, giving him an unusual job prospect. Her friend, designer Wendy Hart, has launched her first fragrance. Unfortunately, the ‘nose’—the man who created her signature perfume—has died. None of the ‘noses’ Wendy hires to duplicate the haunting perfume can crack it. Kells, however, has an uncanny sense of smell that plunges him nose-first into the cutthroat world of high fashion. There, he meets Christophe Morisset, a legendary ‘nose’ and a very sexy man, who can't—or won't—reproduce the fragrance called “White Matinee.”
Despite initial friction, the men have a hot fling, but Kells soon learns it isn't easy romancing the ‘nose.’ Nevertheless, Kells can't get over the mercurial, sexy Frenchman who teaches him that the sense of smell doesn't come from the nose but from the brain.
Can Kells ever persuade Christophe to give him a chance, to think with his heart and not his brain? A future with Christophe may be impossible. Though the man never leaves Kells' mind, he's always just out of reach until they eventually meet again. Can Kells finally win the love he so desperately wants the second time around?
Christophe held a bottle under my nose, and I inhaled. The scent was intoxicating. I closed my eyes and experienced an explosion of color. Yellow. Bright yellow.
“Are mimosas yellow?” I asked. The only mimosas I knew were champagne cocktails.
“Oh, yes. I am so glad you see the color.”
I realized now that he’d infused the scent into his version of White Matinee. I kept my eyes closed as he took the bottle away from my nose and capped it. He closed the case and began moving about the room. I was too afraid of opening them and seeing him walk out, keys in hand saying something like, “Have a nice life!”
Instead, a few seconds later he was back on the bed. I opened my eyes, and he was naked and gorgeous. I was hungrier for him than I could even imagine I’d be. He leaned in and kissed me. I put my arms around his neck, surprised at how muscular he was. I’d been with two men sexually. The first one, Howard, was a hippie in San Francisco, and a huge mistake. The second guy had been an even bigger lapse in judgment.
Christophe pushed me to the bed, his lips roaming my face and neck. He paused to pay some extra attention to my throat, then picked up a bottle and dropped a tiny pinpoint of oil on my top lip.
“What is it?” I asked.
“My special blend. It conjures up the fragrances you love most.”
I inhaled as the oil began to warm against my skin. It was there again. The chocolate. And the pineapple, and the deliciousness of pecans. “Oh, my God, I smell bananas and mimosas!”
He chuckled. “I’m going to spoil you for any man you ever meet…”