Page 45 of The Alpha's Auctioned Pregnant Mate

She pulled her hand away, finally breaking free of his grasp, and wrapped her arms around herself. It was a defensive posture, one she'd adopted countless times in her life as a rogue.

"It's just... you kissed me that night when I was upset, and I understand that I was vulnerable then. But then you pulled away in the market when I was not vulnerable. And you've been so careful not to touch me since then. I thought maybe you regretted it, or..."

"Oh, Wren." Articus's voice was so full of emotion that it made her look up. The expression on his face—a mixture of concern, regret, and something else she couldn't quite name—took her breath away. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way."

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she'd come to recognize as a sign of nervousness. It was oddly comforting to see that even the confident Alpha could be unsure sometimes.

"The truth is, I find you incredibly attractive. Too attractive, maybe. That's why I've been trying to keep some distance."

She blinked, confused. His words didn't make sense. If he found her attractive, why push her away? "I don't understand," she admitted, hating how small her voice sounded.

Articus sighed, his broad shoulders slumping slightly. "When I kissed you that night, you were vulnerable, like you said. I felt like I'd taken advantage of the situation.

“And then in the market, I was afraid of moving too fast, of pressuring you when you're in a difficult situation. I wanted to give you space, to let you adjust to everything without complicating things further."

He paused, his eyes searching her face. "You've been through so much, Wren. You're still adjusting to pack life, to having a place to belong. The last thing I wanted was for you to feel like you had to... be with me... just because I'm the Alpha. I wanted any relationship between us to develop naturally, without the pressure of pack dynamics."

His words slowly sank in, and she felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. All this time, she'd been convinced he was rejecting her when, really, he was trying to protect her.

To give her a choice. It was something she'd rarely been afforded in her life, and the realization made her throat tight with emotion.

"I'm such an idiot," she groaned, burying her face in her hands. She could feel the heat of a blush spreading across her cheeks.

"Hey, no." Articus gently pried her hands away from her face, forcing her to look at him. His touch was gentle but firm, grounding her and sending tingles down her arm. "You're not an idiot. This is all... complicated. We didn't exactly meet under normal circumstances."

She let out a small laugh at that. "That's an understatement." After all, how many relationships started with one party rescuing the other from kidnappers?

Articus smiled, and her heart did that annoying flip-flop thing again. His thumb traced small circles on the back of her hand, doing things to her she hadn’t known were possible with just a touch.

"Wren," he said softly, his voice low and intense, "I need you to understand something. I care about you—a lot. More than I probably should, given how short a time we've known each other. But I don't want you to feel obligated, or rushed, or—"

She cut him off the only way she could think of—by leaning in and pressing her lips to his.

For a moment, Articus froze, and she worried she'd made a terrible mistake. But then, with a low groan that sent heat pooling in her belly, he pulled her closer, one hand cupping her face while the other slid around her waist.

The kiss deepened, and it was even better than she remembered. Heat spread through her body, and she found herself clutching at his shirt, trying to get closer.

Articus kissed like he did everything else—with passion, skill, and a hint of restrained power. His lips moved against hers with a perfect balance of gentleness and intensity, coaxing rather than demanding.

She felt herself melting into him, all her doubts and fears fading away in the face of this undeniable connection between them.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily. Articus rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart, matching the frantic rhythm of her own.

"Wren," he murmured, his breath warm against her lips, "Are you sure about this? Because if you're not ready, or if you need more time—"

"Articus!" she interrupted, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. Her hands came up to frame his face, feeling the slight stubble under her palms. "I'm sure. I want this. I want you."

He opened his eyes, searching her face for any sign of doubt. Whatever he saw there must have convinced him because the next thing she knew, he was kissing her again, with an intensity that made her toes curl.

This kiss was different—deeper, hungrier. It spoke of desire long restrained, of a connection that went beyond the physical.

They lost track of time, trading kisses and soft touches as the sun began to set behind the mountains. Articus's hands roamed her back, tracing the curve of her spine while she explored the solid planes of his chest.

Every touch, every kiss, felt like coming home—like she'd finally found where she belonged.

Eventually, Articus pulled back, his eyes dark with desire. "We should head back," he said, his voice rough in a way that sent shivers down her spine. "Before it gets too dark to drive safely."

She nodded, suddenly shy in the face of the intensity between them. "Okay."

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