Undertow: Building Sanctuary, Book Two Read Online Free PDF Page A

personal things, his private things, and she had no right to be rifling through them. He’d offered her the hospitality of his cabin. She couldn’t repay it by nosing around in his belongings.
    Simone replaced everything and stretched out on the bed. The warmth of the cabin combined with the movement of the boat lulled her, but even more comforting was the way she could smell Victor on the blanket and pillow.
    As she drifted off, she had to admit that his scent, more than anything else, was what soothed her into sleep.

    They sailed into Searsport harbor under an overcast sky. Victor had a feeling that Simone had drifted to sleep, cocooned in the warmth of his bed, but that was an image so stirring he didn’t dare give fantasy the weight of reality. It would be bad enough to return to sleeping there with her scent wrapped around him, a scent that wouldn’t fade for days.
    A part of him—and not a small part—warmed in anticipation.
    Slim had come through with the first part of their deal, at least—securing a slip for him in the busy harbor. Victor docked without hassle, tying off with the help of a young, hungry-looking boy who probably expected a few pennies and went wide-eyed when Victor pressed two quarters into his small, dirty hand. The boy folded his fingers over the treasure before anyone else could catch a glimpse, and Victor hid the ache in his chest beneath a smile.
    The boy shoved the coins into his pocket, murmured his thanks, and departed so fast the wooden dock trembled under his tiny worn shoes. Victor hopped back onto the boat and spent a few moments steadying himself with the boring minutiae of tying down sails and checking lines, using the comforting routine to find his balance.
    Guilt intruded, just as it always did. All too easy to see a cousin or nephew in that young boy’s place, hanging around docks or city street corners, desperate for any job that might put a few cents more in the family pocketbook. The last word from the family farm had been more desperation, more poverty.
    He’d sent more money than the place was worth over the past few years. The first three times he’d had it returned, his proud, upstanding family unwilling to accept money earned in a life of crime. Then the crops had failed in 1930, and the next letter he sent came back only with stiff gratitude. Proof of the depth of their desperation. Proof of everyone’s desperation.
    In his darkest moments, he could almost understand how so many of the werewolf packs had gone so bad, so fast. Maybe civilization among wolves had always been the dream, and this was what they were meant to be. Savage, desperate beasts, fighting over the scraps the weak were unable to protect.
    Instinct revolted. He fisted both hands and dragged in a deep breath, tasting rain—or even snow—on the biting, salty air. Brooding could wait until he’d gotten Simone into town, hopefully ahead of the coming storm. With his head full of plans for finding an inn and making the most of their time on the mainland, Victor almost forgot what would be waiting for him when he eased open the door.
    Simone was stretched out on his bed, looking sweet and comfortable, like she belonged there. Her scent had already twined with his, marking this place that had been his sole domain since he’d purchased the boat.
    She groaned and rolled over, curling her body into a ball to ward off the chill of the air. “Not now, I’m sleeping,” she murmured.
    Victor slipped into the small cabin and pulled the door shut. “Sorry, darling, but it’s time to get a move on. We’re in Searsport.”
    Wide blue eyes blinked open, and Simone struggled to prop herself up on her elbows. “Damn, I slept the whole trip.”
    The movement arched her body, lifting her breasts, and inconvenient arousal stirred. How easy it would be to slide over her, to sink home into the cradle of her hips, feel her long legs wrapped around him. He could make her arch like that out of ecstasy, show her the