Chapter 6 - The Touch of Snow
The transport SUV brought them back to the Beacon Hill estate at eleven o'clock.
The snow had started falling again, heavy and silent, laying a fresh blanket of white over the courtyard gardens.
Peter helped Matthew into the main living room before discreetly excusing himself for the night, leaving Matthew and Natalie alone beside the crackling stone fireplace.
Natalie kicked off her high heels, sinking onto the soft rug near the hearth, her emerald silk dress spreading around her like water. She let out a long, happy laugh, resting her chin in her hands as she looked up at Matthew.
"Did you see his face?" Natalie laughed, her eyes sparkling in the firelight. "His jaw almost hit the marble floor when you walked in!"
Matthew looked down at her from his wheelchair. The glow of the fire painted warm, amber light across her skin, highlighting the soft curve of her lips and the delicate arch of her throat.
For three years, Matthew had forgotten what it felt like to desire a woman. He had convinced himself that his broken body made him incapable of passion, incapable of love, incapable of ever touching or being touched again.
But looking at Natalie sitting by his fire, every nerve in his body burned with a deep, consuming fire.
"Natalie," Matthew said softly.
She looked up at him, her laughter softening into a quiet, breathless stare as she caught the intensity in his blue eyes. "Yes, Matthew?"
"Why did you agree to come with me tonight?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion. "You didn't have to put on that dress. You didn't have to face those wolves with me."
Natalie stood up slowly from the rug. She took two steps toward his wheelchair, stopping right between his knees.
She reached down, taking his broad, calloused hands in her soft, warm ones, bringing them up to press against her cheek.
"Because I love you, Matthew," Natalie whispered, her voice steady and true.
Matthew’s breath caught in his throat. His heart hammered violently against his ribs. "Natalie... look at me. Look at this chair. I am broken. I can't walk with you through the snow. I can't dance with you. I can't give you a normal life."
"I don't want a normal life," Natalie said, tears welling in her eyes as she sank onto her knees before his chair, resting her hands on his thighs, looking up into his face with pure, unadulterated devotion. "I don't care about the chair, Matthew. I care about the man sitting in it. The man who has a soul deeper than the ocean. The man who saved my family, who listens to my poetry, who fights for his empire with the heart of a lion."
Matthew reached down, his hands trembling as he framed her face, his thumbs gently wiping away her falling tears.
"Natalie..." he choked out, his voice breaking under the weight of three years of pent-up sorrow and love.
He leaned down from his chair. She reached up.
May you like
Their lips met in a deep, passionate kiss beside the roaring fire.
For the first time in three years, Matthew didn't feel broken. He didn't feel paralyzed. Wrapped in Natalie’s arms, feeling the warmth of her body against his, Matthew felt the dead, cold places inside his heart burst into brilliant, golden life.
