Page 57 of The Alpha's Auctioned Pregnant Mate

"You look beautiful," Articus said, his voice husky with emotion. The scent of her perfume—something light and floral—wafted toward him, making his heart race.

A faint blush colored Wren's cheeks. "You clean up pretty well yourself," she replied, her tone teasing.

Articus offered her his arm, feeling the warmth of her skin as she looped her arm through his. Together, they walked out to his car. Articus had chosen the Range Rover for today, the leather seats were cool against their skin as they settled in, the engine purring to life with a turn of the key.

As he drove them out of the pack lands and into the surrounding countryside, Articus stole glances at Wren. She was looking out the window, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched the scenery pass by. The setting sun painted the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over her features.

She’s so beautiful. I want her all to myself.

After about thirty minutes, he turned onto a narrow dirt track that wound up into the hills. Wren looked at him questioningly, but he just smiled and kept driving. The Rover handled the uneven terrain smoothly, barely jostling its occupants.

Finally, they reached their destination. Articus parked the car and came around to open Wren's door. The scent of pine and wildflowers filled the air, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves overhead.

"We'll have to walk a little bit from here," he said, offering his hand to help her out.

They hiked up a short, steep trail, Articus keeping a careful eye on Wren to make sure she didn't slip. When they crested the hill, he heard her gasp.

Before them stretched a picturesque valley, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. A small lake glittered at the center, its surface like molten gold, surrounded by lush forest in various shades of green.

In a clearing near the shore, Articus had set up a picnic blanket—a soft, plush affair in deep red—and a wicker basket.

"Articus, this is... breathtaking," Wren said, her voice filled with awe. Her eyes were wide as she took in the view, her hair gently tousled by the breeze.

He smiled, pleased by her reaction. "I thought you might like it. Shall we?" He gestured toward the picnic setup.

They made their way down to the clearing, where Articus unpacked the basket. He'd prepared all of Wren's favorites—fresh bread, an assortment of cheeses, grapes, and a bottle of chilled white wine.

As they settled onto the blanket, Articus poured the wine into the crystal glasses he'd brought along. The crisp Chardonnay sparkled in the fading light as he handed a glass to Wren. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

They ate and talked as the sun sank lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the valley. Articus found himself relaxing, drawn in by Wren's warmth and humor. She told him stories of her childhood, of the mischief she would get into with her Dad, and tried to recreate her mom’s scowl.

This feels so right. So perfect.

But even as he thought it, doubt crept in. Was Wren truly enjoying herself, or was she just making the best of her situation?

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the hills, Articus lit a small lantern he'd brought. The soft glow illuminated Wren's face, highlighting the curve of her cheek and the fullness of her lips. Without thinking, he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Wren's breath caught at his touch, her eyes meeting his. In the soft lantern light, he could see the flecks of green and gold in her hazel eyes, giving them a mesmerizing depth. Her long lashes cast delicate shadows on her cheekbones, and a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose became visible.

The air between them seemed to crackle with tension. His fingers lingered on her skin, tracing the delicate line of her jaw. Slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away, Articus leaned in.

Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss. Wren's hand came up to rest on his chest, and Articus cupped her face gently, deepening the kiss. He poured all his conflicted emotions into it—his love, his desire, his guilt, his fear.

He could taste the sweetness of the wine on her lips, mixed with something uniquely Wren. When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Articus rested his forehead against hers.

"Wren, I..." he began, the words he'd been holding back all evening on the tip of his tongue.

I love you. I want you to be my mate, truly and completely.

But he couldn't say it. The weight of their circumstances stopped the words in his throat. Instead, he said, "We should head back. It's getting late."

They packed up in companionable silence, the tension from their kiss still hanging in the air. On the drive home, Wren's hand found his on the gear shift, her fingers intertwining with his. The simple gesture made Articus's heart soar and ache in equal measure.

Back at the house, they lingered in the foyer, neither quite ready for the evening to end. Articus looked down at Wren, drinking in the sight of her. Her lips were still slightly swollen from their kiss, her cheeks flushed.

"Thank you for tonight," Wren said softly. "It was wonderful."

Articus smiled, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "The pleasure was all mine."

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