Warriors In Winter: In the Bleak Midwinter. Michelle Willingham

For however long I remain in Ireland.’

      She stared at him, the indecision etched upon her face. ‘I know what you want from me, Arturo. But I can’t change what I feel inside.’

      His hands came to rest upon hers. ‘Do you want me to stay?’

      For a time, she didn’t answer. The intensity in his eyes allured her, making her want to set aside the past and begin anew. Already she knew the taste of his kiss and the soft swirl of desire that reached into her heart, offering a night to forget.

      Even so, her courage faltered.

      ‘If you stay, I would be using you to forget my grief,’ she confessed. ‘You don’t deserve that. You should be with a woman who can give you the love I can’t. There’s nothing left within me.’

      ‘Belleza, are you afraid of me touching you?’

      ‘I’m afraid of the way I feel in your arms.’ She sensed that he would take her to a place where her mind would have no voice, where she would forget everything except the devastating pleasures of her body.

      He lifted her hands to his mouth, and she felt the warmth of his breath upon her fingertips. ‘Then I’ll take you home.’

      A wisp of regret slipped beneath her defences. This man confused her, offering her glimpses of a life she wanted. But she didn’t know if she had the courage to reach for it.

      With their hands joined, he led her back to her hut while snowflakes spun upon the wind, coating her lashes and hair. In the darkness, they walked in silence until they reached her home. Arturo raised her hand to his mouth in farewell and turned to go.

      ‘Wait.’ Her voice came out in the smallest whisper. She reached out and touched his shoulder, so very frightened of what she was about to do. ‘The orange,’ she reminded him.