Adrenalin was still rushing through Lyssa’s body in tremors, provoked by that instant of locked eyes, that brief connection, the reflection of her own awareness in Ric’s eyes.

She knew all the reasons why she should stay away from him, and they were numerous. Yet still, if the chance arose, she would not back away from kissing Ric. She would grab it—just to find out what it would be like to be kissed by him, to be held in his arms.

There. She’d made a decision. No more doubts. Just to satisfy her curiosity, she’d seize the moment. Then he’d go back to his world full of beautiful women, and she’d go back to hers. To the reality of raising a child alone. But at least she would have her memories.

BABY ON BOARD

From bump to baby and beyond…

Whether she’s expecting or they’re adopting— a special arrival is on its way!

Follow the tears and triumphs as these couples find their lives blessed with the magic of parenthood…

There’s twin trouble in February

with Caroline Anderson’s latest Romance:

Two Little Miracles

Dear Reader

One of the best things about researching the location for PREGNANT: FATHER WANTED was trawling through recipe books and drooling over tempting pictures of southern Italian dishes.

One of the worst things? Gaining weight as a result of trawling through those same recipe books, drooling over those tempting pictures and then satisfying my self-induced hunger!

But, aside from the food, research for this book was particularly enjoyable. Lyssa is a travel writer, so she was on the move and I saw the Amalfi Coast through her eyes. Of course she was also falling in love, and this might have coloured her view a little. Only a little, though. Renowned for its rugged terrain, scenic beauty, picturesque towns and diversity, the Amalfi Coast is listed by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site.

I hope you enjoy visiting the Amalfi Coast, and taking an emotional journey with Lyssa and Ric.

Best wishes

Claire

www.clairebaxter.com

PREGNANT: FATHER WANTED

BY

CLAIRE BAXTER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my editor, Meg Sleightholme, with thanks for

her belief and support—everything from picking

up and reading my first manuscript to suggesting a

Mediterranean location for this, my fourth book.

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU’RE going to Italy?’

Lyssa Belperio grinned as she nodded at her friend Chloe. ‘So, do you mind keeping an eye on the apartment as usual?’

‘Of course not. But I’m so jealous. Come inside and tell me about it. I’ll make a coffee.’

‘No.’ Lyssa waved her palms at Chloe as she stepped into the neighbouring apartment. ‘No coffee for me, remember?’

‘Oh, that’s right. I nearly forgot you were pregnant because you don’t show. I have herbal tea. Peppermint, rosehip or chamomile?’

‘Peppermint, please. You know the new travel magazine I told you about? The ultra-glossy one that I wrote that small piece for?’

‘About shopping in Hong Kong. Yes, I remember.’

‘Well, the editor emailed, offering me a commission. She wants a feature article written with the same wit and humour as the last one.’ She made air quotes around the key words. She’d written the article in her natural voice and couldn’t imagine writing any other way.

‘That sounds good. She must have liked your work.’

Lyssa gave a modest shrug. ‘I guess so. Anyway, this feature is about touring the Amalfi Coast.’

Chloe squealed. ‘You lucky duck. All expenses paid?’

‘Uh-huh. It’s being sponsored by a tour company. They’re going to provide a private driver and tour guide, and everything.’

‘Blimey. Do you need someone to take photos for you? I have a camera phone.’

Laughing, Lyssa shook her head. ‘Matilda said they’ll buy them directly from a local photographer. No amateur shots needed.’

‘Can you squeeze me into your suitcase, then? I’ll be good, I promise.’

‘I wish I could, but I travel lightly, remember?’

‘Cheeky. I’m not that heavy. Anyway, you’ll soon be much heavier than me.’ Chloe dropped the teabags into the bin, then adopted a more serious tone. ‘Are you sure it’s all right to travel in your condition? What if something happens while you’re away?’

‘Nothing’s going to happen,’ Lyssa said firmly. ‘I’ve been all over Asia; I’m sure I can handle Italy. And anyway, I’m only a little bit pregnant.’

‘As opposed to completely pregnant?’ Chloe held out the mug of herbal tea.

Pulling a face at Chloe, she took the mug and settled on one of the comfortable sofas. ‘There’s no problem with travelling at this early stage and, as I don’t show yet, I figure there’s no need for anyone to know.’

‘Are you going to tell your parents before you go?’

‘Oh, Chlo, they’ll be so upset.’ She took a moment to swallow the lump that had jumped to her throat at the mere mention of breaking the news to her parents, then sipped her tea before going on. ‘You know what they’re like.’

‘They’re protective.’

‘They’re incredibly old-fashioned.’

‘Even so,’ Chloe said gently, ‘they’ll have to know.’

Lyssa took another sip. ‘I know, but I’d sooner wait till I get back. If I leave straight after telling them, there’s no knowing what Dominic and Tony might do.’

‘Excuse me? What do your brothers have to do with it?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past them to hunt down Steve and force him to agree to marry me.’

Chloe snorted. ‘I’d like to see that. I wonder what they’d do? Would they actually hit him?’

Lyssa flapped her free hand. ‘Chlo, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t like violence and you can’t stand the sight of blood.’

‘No, but I’d make an exception in Steve’s case. After what he did to you, he deserves it.’

Shrugging, Lyssa acknowledged the little voice that said Chloe was right. ‘Maybe. But I don’t want anything to do with him again and I certainly don’t want Dom and Tony involved.’

‘So you wouldn’t consider taking him back even if he came crawling with an apology and a proposal?’

‘I think you know me better than that, Chlo.’

‘I know that you’ve always dreamed of having the perfect family…husband, babies…’

‘Yes, but…’ After swallowing hard, Lyssa said, ‘I wouldn’t have chosen to be a single parent. I want my baby to have a father—one that is there to see him or her grow up—and I’m terrified of doing this on my own, but I have to. An absent father is better than a bad father.’

‘Um, I hate to play devil’s advocate here, but you don’t know that Steve would be a bad father.’

‘He hates children.’ Lyssa’s hand went to her stomach as if she could protect her baby from the truth. ‘I can’t believe I misjudged him so badly. I thought he only hated other people’s children. I thought he’d want one of his own, but no, I was wrong.’

‘Oh, well, you’re better off without him, then.’

‘Exactly.’

‘It’s just that…’

‘What?’

‘Well, it’s going to be hard. I just want to be sure that you’ve thought this through, that you won’t have any regrets later.’

‘I won’t. I’d rather be alone with my baby than married to a man who doesn’t love us both completely and clearly doesn’t want to be with us.’

Chloe looked as if she wanted to say more, but she pressed her lips together. She was a great friend and Lyssa felt a sudden rush of emotion. Chloe would support her no matter what. Even if she thought she’d made the wrong decision, she’d be there for her and she really appreciated that.

But she’d made the right decision where Steve was concerned.

‘Anyway,’ Chloe said after a resigned sigh, ‘you might meet someone in Italy. You always used to talk about your Italian fantasy man.’

‘Uh-uh. No way.’ Lyssa shook her head. ‘That was before.’

It was true that she’d dreamed for years of visiting Italy. She’d had this crazy notion about finding her soulmate there. But she’d grown up since then. She’d learned that true love itself was the fantasy.

‘Not this trip. That’s the very last thing I intend to do. I’m going to be a mother and that’s the only relationship I’m interested in from now on.’

‘But you might—’ Chloe saw her expression and mimed zipping her lips.

Lyssa was serious. Nothing would stop her taking this commission. It was her dream job. But meeting a man over there was the furthest thing from her mind. Besides, no one would want her now she was pregnant. She shook her head at Chloe.

‘I’m going there to work and at the same time, hopefully, get in touch with my Italian roots. Nothing more.’

Ricardo Rossetti stared at his uncle Alberto. ‘But I’m no tour guide—’

‘No, no, I know, but you know so much about the history of this region. More than Gino or myself. You would do a very good job and believe me, I would not ask if I were not desperate. Gino’s accident is the worst thing that could have happened. I would take over myself but my doctor says I must not drive. I am sorry for Gino, of course, but this accident of his is very inconvenient.’

Ric leaned his elbows on the dinner table. His uncle’s table, still covered in the remains of a very good meal, thanks to his aunt’s superb cooking. He owed these people. They had always taken him in at a moment’s notice—ever since his twelfth birthday and the death of his parents. He was still taking advantage of their generosity now in his adulthood. Whenever he needed to get away, to recharge, he came back to their home.

Wasn’t it time he gave something back?

They both worked too hard. He didn’t understand why they felt they had to expand their business now, when they should be winding down, and when his uncle’s health had had a few setbacks. He wished Alberto would retire, or at least let him prop up the business financially—he could easily afford it and he’d happily do it.

But they’d never take his money.

His help, on the other hand, they could ask for without any loss of pride. And this wasn’t much to ask really. All he had to do was drive some foreign woman around.

‘The good thing, Ricardo,’ his uncle said, ‘is that this woman is from Australia. She will not have heard of you. That is good, no?’

Ric nodded. ‘I’ll do it, but I hope she’s worth it.’

His uncle’s face creased into a worried frown. ‘No, no, Ricardo. You must treat her with respect, not like the women you associate with in Milano.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behaviour.’ He laughed, though it was a little disconcerting that his uncle seemed to know the type of woman he normally dated.

It made no difference what type of woman this travel writer might be. He wasn’t interested in women of any type at the moment; he had more important things to think about. ‘I meant, I hope her article is worth the effort. I hope it’s good for business.’

‘Yes, of course. I understand. You will be all right to drive? Your knee is better?’

Ric waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s OK, Uncle. I won’t be here too much longer.’

‘You know your aunt and I are always happy to have you here.’

‘I know, thank you.’ Still, he wanted to get back to Milano. He wanted to get on with his life. This time out had been one forced on him by injury. He certainly wouldn’t have chosen to take time off at this stage of his football career. But the club doctor and his management had advised him to have a complete break during his rehabilitation; to think about his future. Ominous words for any player, but for him they were horrifying.

Rome. It had a smell all of its own, Lyssa decided as she hugged herself in excitement. Traffic, food, coffee and a touch of something else…roasted chestnuts? The guide books hadn’t mentioned it, but she would. She pulled out the small notebook she always carried with her and made a note to include the peculiar smell in her article.

Standing outside the hotel which, she’d read, was only a few hundred metres from the Colosseum—the Colosseum, for heaven’s sake—she could hardly believe she was really here. In Rome.

How long had she dreamed of this moment?

Only all of her life. For as long as she could remember she’d listened to her father speak fondly of bella Roma, where he’d lived, worked, married and from where her parents had departed for a new life in Australia.

She’d love to drop her luggage in the hotel room and go for a walk. It was only a matter of minutes to the Circus Maximus and all sorts of sights…but she was tired.

So tired. After a twenty-two-hour flight—and that didn’t include time spent waiting around in airports—she was exhausted.

Of course, pregnancy didn’t help. She’d been weary before she’d even set foot on the plane. Add in the stress of everything that had happened before then, and it was no surprise she felt as limp as a week-old lettuce.

Turning, Lyssa manoeuvred her suitcase on its little wheels through the hotel entrance and across the marble floor. It was only mid-afternoon; she had time to catch a couple of hours’ sleep and still see something of the city before bedtime. Plus, her driver wasn’t due till mid-morning the next day, which meant she’d be able to do more sightseeing after an early break-fast and before she started the job itself.

Perfect.

For a couple of weeks she’d pretend that her real life didn’t exist. It would be waiting for her when she returned and she’d have the difficult job of telling her parents about her pregnancy, but for a little while she’d forget about that.

After checking in Lyssa made her way to her room, showered, then flung herself into bed. Although she’d been born in Australia, she’d obviously absorbed so much of her father’s love for this place that coming here felt like coming home. She closed her eyes and drifted towards sleep on the strangely comforting blanket of sound—Vespas, sirens and car horns—coming from the streets below.

A moment later, Lyssa woke to the ring of the telephone.

She tried to make sense of the rapid-fire Italian pouring from the phone then, puzzled, peered at the time in the digital display.

Finally, the facts fell into place. Far from having only just fallen asleep, she’d slept right through the night and well into the next day! And rather than running late as she’d expected, her driver was waiting for her outside the hotel.

She’d barely put the phone back on its hook before she’d leapt out of bed and was on her way to the bathroom. With no time to wash her hair, she scraped it back from her face. She’d normally use a hair straightener to counter the natural wave that always reappeared overnight and made her hair unruly at best. Straight hair made her look more sophisticated, even older, but today a pony-tail would have to do.

Back in the bedroom she pulled jeans and a T-shirt from her case. She’d intended to start off the tour in a smart suit and only revert to her standard travelling gear once they were well away from the city. But that idea went the way of the smart hairdo. Speed won out over style.

Ric let out an impatient sigh, checked his watch again and leaned back against his Lamborghini Gallardo. His uncle had wanted him to use the minibus but he’d been adamant. It was bad enough having to act as a tour guide without looking the part too.

Not that there was anything wrong with the minibus his uncle used—for a family man. But he was not a family man and he had no intention of becoming one. Giving up his car was beyond the limit of what he was prepared to do for this woman.

The hotel door opened and he lifted his head to see a young girl hesitate, look to her left, then right, and go back inside. A pretty girl, she reminded him of his sisters and he wondered how they were getting on at boarding-school. He should contact them; it had been a while.

He was still watching the entrance when the girl reappeared, this time with the concierge he’d spoken to earlier. After scanning the parked cars, the concierge pointed in Ric’s direction.

Frowning, he saw the girl nod then head towards him, wheeling a large suitcase behind her.

‘Buon giorno,’ she said when she stopped in front of him. ‘Mi chiamo Lyssa Belperio.’

Ric stared at her.

This was the important visitor his uncle wanted to impress? This was the woman who was going to kick-start their push to attract Australian tourists?

Couldn’t be. She was too young. He glanced over her shoulder, half expecting her mother to join them. But no, she seemed to be alone.

‘Lyssa Belperio,’ he repeated. ‘The travel writer from Australia?’ he asked in English.

‘Yes, that’s me.’ Her broad smile made her look even younger.

‘Ric Rossetti.’ He held out his hand and watched her face for any sign of recognition. As expected, there was none. Instead her eyes flickered to the car behind him.

‘Um…the paperwork I was given said the tour would be in a minibus.’

‘Normally, yes, but I’m afraid it’s unavailable.’ When she gave the car a doubtful look, he said, ‘I hope that’s not a problem?’

She shrugged. ‘I guess not. But will there be room for my suitcase?’ she asked, peering at the short rear end of the Lamborghini.

‘Of course.’ He took the case from her and went to the front of the car. It was a tight fit with his own bag already there, but he managed to squeeze in her case too. He returned to open the passenger door for her.

She grinned. ‘The engine’s at the back, I hope? It does have one?’

He smiled back, nodding. ‘Oh, yes, it definitely has one.’

He’d expected someone…different. Older, sophisticated, stylish. But Lyssa Belperio… well, she was none of those things. As she settled in the low seat, he shook his head. In her pink trainers, jeans and baggy pink T-shirt she looked like one of the many backpackers that thronged the piazzas of Rome.

Once inside the car he removed the baseball cap he’d worn to avoid being recognised in the street and tossed it into the space behind the two seats. He wouldn’t like to think of either of his sisters travelling overseas alone and unprotected. Sharing a car with a strange man for weeks. What were her parents thinking of?

It was lucky he would be around to make sure she was safe for the duration of her stay.

Uncle Alberto’s warning had been unnecessary. Getting involved with someone like Lyssa would be completely alien to him. He dated women who knew the rules of the game, who were not expecting anything beyond a good time.

Women, not girls.

Lyssa drank in the sights as Ric manoeuvred the car out of the traffic-clogged streets of Rome. In most cities, she’d have to go to a museum to see the type of history that here people lived with every day.

Crumbling statues, fountains, ancient monuments and ornate churches. Twenty-first-century traffic passing two-thousand-year-old ruins. History, graffiti, advertising and art mixing together madly.

And then there were the beautiful people. Sexy Roman women who all seemed to be dressed in the latest designer fashions. Not that she’d know anything about that—she wouldn’t know a Valentino from a Versace and she’d skipped the section in the guide book about shopping. But she could see that they had style, these women.

She settled back as they left the city behind and took the autostrada south. So much for her chance to see Rome, but she couldn’t complain. She was here to do a job and that was to write about this company’s tours of the Amalfi Coast.

How could anyone complain about an all-expenses-paid opportunity to see one of the world’s most beautiful stretches of coastline?

Besides, once she’d finished working she’d have a couple of days in Rome before catching the flight home. It was all good.

Talking of good, she sneaked a glance at her driver. No tour guide she’d ever met before had looked liked this. Leaning against the flash car in his charcoal suit—designer, she assumed—and white shirt, open at the neck, he’d looked more like a model or a movie star than a driver. Even the baseball cap couldn’t spoil the image.

As she’d walked up to the car, eyes as dark as espresso coffee had studied her and she hadn’t liked the fluttering that had started up in her stomach in direct response. It had seemed as if he was totally focused on her, and she’d had the oddest feeling that she knew him.

She didn’t know him, of course. Although…

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. It was ridiculous, but he looked exactly like the fantasy man she’d imagined years ago when she’d first dreamed about travelling to Italy.

Now that he’d lost the cap she could see his dark hair, short but just long enough to curl, and, combined with the sharp line of his jaw and straight nose, the look caused a quiver of recognition in her stomach.

She turned to stare out of the window without seeing the cars that whizzed by. It was weird that she remembered her fantasy with such clarity. She’d been with Steve for a couple of years, and there had been boyfriends before him. But talking about the dream with Chloe had probably kept the image alive over the years.

She jumped as a car horn blasted right next to her window.

‘OK?’

She nodded at Ric, who was expertly darting in and out of lanes of traffic. Convinced now that Italian drivers were obsessed with testing the decibel count of their car horns, she was glad the tour company had insisted on collecting her from Rome. If she’d had to drive south alone, she’d have been a nervous wreck.

‘Where are we heading?’

‘Salerno. We’ll eat lunch there.’

‘Lunch? How long will it take us to get there?’

‘Three, maybe three and a half hours.’

‘Oh, boy. That long?’ But she was hungry now. That was one thing she’d noticed about being pregnant—the outrageous hunger. Well, that and the tiredness. At least she’d escaped morning sickness. So far, anyway.

‘Do you think we could stop somewhere to eat before then? Soon? I didn’t have time for breakfast and I’m…’ She stopped. There was absolutely no need for him to know about her condition. ‘I’m hungry,’ she finished hurriedly.

He shot her a glance. ‘You should have said. I’ll find a pasticceria, yes?’

‘Yes.’ Oh, yes. That sounded good.

Within minutes, Ric had turned off the autostrada and Lyssa had time to look at the scenery, the creamy-coloured cows and clusters of terracotta-roofed houses clinging to the sides of hills.

He drove into a small town and parked at the end of a higgledy-piggledy line of cars that made Lyssa smile. It was just so…Italian. There was no other word for it.

CHAPTER TWO

LYSSA stood in front of the sparkling glass cabinets, pondering her choice with as much awe as if she’d been staring at a Michelangelo sculpture or a fresco by Raphael.

The cases were crammed with artistically arranged trays of focaccias, filled panini and bowls of brightly coloured fruit. Finally she settled on a panini piled high with ham, salami, mortadella, fontina and pecorino.

They carried their purchases outside to a tiny table in the shade of a striped awning. After a few mouthfuls, Lyssa sat back with a contented sigh.

‘Better?’ Ric asked.

‘Much. I’m sorry about the delay. I know you probably have a timetable to keep to.’

‘No, not at all. The philosophy of Amalfitori is to be flexible, to fit in with whatever the clients want to do, to create a unique and unforgettable holiday experience for them.

‘Nothing about the tours is “off-the-shelf”. We aim to satisfy our clients’ individual wishes while ensuring total immersion in the life and culture of the area.’

She chuckled. ‘That sounded like a well-practised sales spiel.’

Ric broke into a grin that made his eyes sparkle. One cheek dimpled and Lyssa suppressed another sigh. He really was exceptionally good-looking and if this trip had taken place at another time, in another life…

But there was no point in letting herself think that way. No point at all.

‘I practised it specially for you,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘for the important travel writer I had to make an effort to impress, but you don’t seem very impressed.’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve heard so many of those speeches and read so many brochures, they all sound the same after a while.’

‘So what does impress you about the places you visit, then? It’s important that I know. I need to make sure you don’t leave disappointed.’

‘It’s hard to say.’ She picked at a piece of ham that was falling from the panini. ‘Often it’s the smallest things. You know, if the waiters in a town are unfriendly, or a hotel’s receptionist is helpful—it all influences your opinion. But then, it’s important to remember that other travellers might have a very different experience, so you have to try to remain objective when you write the story.’

He nodded.

‘Of course, bigger things can make a difference too. If, say, you visit a town where there’s a vibrant festival going on and the whole place is buzzing with excitement, and the next day you visit another where the streets are empty and everyone seems to be asleep, you’re going to gain very different impressions of the two towns. But on another day, it might be reversed. You see what I mean?’

‘How long have you been doing this for a living?’

‘Five years, give or take.’

‘No. You don’t look…’

‘Old enough? I know. I’m twenty-six but I look about eighteen, don’t I?’

‘Well—’

‘No, don’t bother.’ She flapped a hand. ‘There’s no correct answer. Actually, I do look older when I’ve had time to prepare… clothes, make-up. But you took me by sur prise this morning.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, don’t apologise. It’s good that you were on time. Makes a good impression.’

Smiling again, he said, ‘Well, that’s a start. I did something right.’

Lyssa nodded, her mouth full, and Ric waited till she’d finished chewing before he spoke again.

‘Do you enjoy being a travel writer?’

‘I love it. It’s the best job in the world.’

‘And have you been to Italy before?’

‘No. Actually this is the first time I’ve been to Europe. Until now all of my jobs have been nearer to home—Asia, New Zealand, the Pacific islands.’

He frowned, a vertical line appearing between his eyebrows. ‘Are you saying you travelled through Asia on your own?’

‘Oh, yes; Asia is—’

‘But anything could have happened to you.’

Indignant, she pulled herself up straighter. ‘I’m tougher than I look. I’m perfectly capable. I can cope with any unforeseen incidents.’

He held up his palms in apology. ‘I interrupted you. Please, go on.’

She studied his face for a moment before, deciding he was genuinely apologetic, she continued. ‘As I was saying, Asia is fantastic, of course, but I’ve been looking forward to Europe for so long. Italy especially, since my family is Italian. I’m fascinated by the history you have all around you here.’

‘Asia has history.’

‘Oh, it does, of course, but it’s different. I love to hear about the Romans, Greeks, Carthaginians, Trojans.’

‘Ah, well, I can give you what you want. You should leave here a very happy woman.’

‘I’m sure I will.’ She didn’t flatter herself that there was a double meaning to his words, but even so, warmth in the region of her throat felt suspiciously like the start of a blush. She quickly bent her head to examine the panini.

‘Would you like a coffee before we set off again?’

She’d love one. A hefty dose of caffeine would go down very nicely right now, but since the positive test result she’d been revolted by the taste. She fervently hoped this was one side effect that would be reversed as soon as the baby was born.

She shook her head. ‘Just water for me, thanks.’

Moments later Ric placed a glass of iced water in front of her and a frothy cappuccino on his side of the table.

She wasn’t turned off by the strong aroma of coffee, just the taste. She inhaled deeply then took a gulp of water and watched enviously as he scooped up froth. ‘I thought no self-respecting Italian would drink cappuccino after breakfast?’

‘It’s still early enough to count as breakfast time,’ he said in a serious tone.

‘Right.’

‘I’d like to think I am a self-respecting Italian.’

She winced. She really should think before she spoke. ‘No offence intended.’

A smile tugged at his lips and she saw the teasing light in his eyes. ‘None taken. Did you know the cappuccino was invented by Capuchin monks?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘They used coffee to keep them awake through the long nights of religious practice.’

‘And millions of people are grateful to them.’

She caught her breath at the sparkle in Ric’s eyes as he lifted his cup. It was a good thing she didn’t have the slightest interest in him as a man, because he certainly had a lot to be interested in. Just the way his eyes glinted could almost make her forget she was nearly a mother.

He’d left the dark suit jacket back in the car and the crisp white shirt showed off his broad shoulders and slim waist. And then, she thought with a silent sigh, there was the way he moved. Without being obvious, she’d watched him go inside earlier and really, he was wasted as a tour guide. With his height and his lean shape he was more suited to…well, anything.

Actually, she suspected he must have a lucrative second source of income to own the type of car he drove. Either that, or being a tour guide paid much more than writing about those same tours.

Not that it was any of her business.

Looks weren’t everything, she reminded herself. Ric Rossetti might turn out to be a bore at best, and she had to spend three weeks with him.

By the time they’d arrived in Salerno and Ric had pointed out some of the historical sites, Lyssa was starving again. They wandered along the main boulevard, Corso Umberto, and she was relieved when Ric led her down a tiny street to a little restaurant. She hoped the portions weren’t on the small side too.

The owner came forward to greet Ric and was clearly pleased to see him. They’d barely settled at their table before they were served a beautifully displayed platter of antipasto.

‘Unless you’d prefer to order from the menu, Roberto would like to surprise us.’

‘Ooh, yes. Let him surprise us. As long as it’s food and plenty of it, I’ll be happy.’

Ric laughed. ‘You can rest assured on that score.’

‘The owners are friends of yours?’

‘Not exactly. I’ll order a bottle of frascati, shall I?’

‘Not for me, thanks.’ She pointed at the thick green jug on the table. ‘I’ll stick to water.’

‘Are you sure? Would you prefer something else? Lambrusco, or Prosecco?’

‘No, thanks. I don’t drink at all, but don’t let that stop you ordering whatever you want.’

He shook his head at the hovering waiter and poured them both water from the frosty jug.

Surprised, she asked him about Salerno while they ate antipasto and was soon astonished by the level of detail he was able to provide about any period of history—from the Goth to the Norman occupations of the town—and yet she was far from bored.

He paused while she got excited over the arrival of ravioli filled with crabmeat in a buttery sauce. She sniffed at the bowl before taking a forkful of the creamy pasta. She closed her eyes for just a moment, then opened them to see Ric watching her with that sparkle of amusement in his eyes again.

He smiled. ‘The plan was to see some more of the town this afternoon, then stay overnight and set out from here on the Amalfi Coast drive tomorrow. But, since you like history, perhaps you’d prefer to head south this afternoon, to visit Paestum?’

‘I’ve never heard of Paestum.’

‘It was an ancient Greek city which was abandoned in the ninth century AD, mainly because of malaria, since it was surrounded by marshes. It gradually became buried by swamps and it was forgotten about for nine hundred years until the construction of a new road, when it was rediscovered and excavated. They found three well-preserved temples as well as other buildings.’

‘Oh, wow, that sounds great. I’d love to visit if we can fit it in.’

‘No problem. I’ll make a call and arrange a hotel down there for tonight.’

Lyssa grinned at the waiter as he placed grilled sea bream with a salsa verde and fried artichokes in front of her. ‘This looks wonderful.’

Then, as she was about to start eating, a man with the deepest wrinkles she’d ever seen approached their table.

‘Scusi, mi scusi.’

He smiled at Ric and spoke in a stream of Italian that Lyssa had no hope of following. He didn’t seem to care, he had eyes only for Ric, so she settled back to enjoy the meal.

Moments later the man pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, borrowed a pen from a passing waiter and thrust them both at Ric, who, she thought, was very patient with the old man as he scribbled on the paper and smiled at the man’s profuse thanks.

Puzzled, she watched the man walk away then asked, ‘Did you just give him your autograph?’

He nodded and picked up his cutlery. ‘How’s your food?’

‘Brilliant. Look, I know I’m being nosy, but I’m intrigued to know what that was all about.’

‘How much did you understand?’

‘Hardly anything. I wasn’t listening, actually. I was eating.’

‘Good choice. Roberto’s chef is one of the best in my opinion.’

‘So…?’

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to explain, but then he looked up and his dark eyes locked with hers.

‘I should explain. I play football. For one of Italy’s major clubs. In Milano.’

‘Oh.’ She nodded. ‘That explains the car.’

He smiled. ‘Yes. I refused to use the minibus.’

She tilted her head. ‘My brothers are sport mad. They watch the Italian soccer—that’s what we call football back home—on the sports channel.’

‘Do they?’

‘Yes. They might even have heard of you.’

She didn’t like football herself. She didn’t think much of the players either. From what she knew of sportsmen—at least, those who made the news—most of them seemed to be insensitive, looks-obsessed jerks. She didn’t like their hedonistic lifestyles, nor the way they treated their wives and girlfriends.

Knowing Ric was part of that world put things into perspective for her. He might be extraordinarily good-looking, but he was not her type at all. And she clearly wasn’t his type either, since she wasn’t a blonde bimbo.

The thought of bringing up her baby in that world repulsed her, which was fine, as there was not the remotest chance of that happening.

‘I don’t get it myself.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t understand why people become so passionate about it. It’s just a game.’

‘We’ll have to agree to disagree, then.’

‘Yes.’ She narrowed her eyes and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Another thing I don’t understand is why you’re working as a tour guide. You can’t possibly need the money.’

After a short burst of laughter, he said, ‘No, I don’t. You’re very direct, aren’t you?’

‘Direct is a nice way of putting it. I speak without thinking most of the time. It’s a bad habit. I really should try to fix it.’

‘No, I like it.’

Her eyes met his and she felt a jolt as her insides reacted to his words. Pathetic, she told herself. She wasn’t so starved of affection that she could be affected by a statement that wasn’t even a real compliment.

Or was she?

She cleared her throat. ‘So, the tour guide thing?’

‘It is my uncle’s business. I’ve been staying with my uncle and aunt. Their regular driver, Gino, had an accident. It wasn’t his fault but he has a broken leg and he was supposed to drive you, so they asked me to help out.’

‘I see.’

She smiled and nodded at Roberto when he appeared at their table to check they were enjoying their meal, then returned her gaze to Ric, curious to know more.

‘Shouldn’t you be in Milan now?’

‘No.’ Something flashed in his eyes but it had gone before she’d had time to work out what it was. ‘I’m on rehabilitation leave. I’ve had a knee reconstruction.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. That must be so frustrating.’

‘It is.’ He took a drink of water, then sighed. ‘And it’s not my first operation on the same knee. I’ve been through the whole recovery period before.’

She clicked her tongue in sympathy. ‘Aren’t you worried about being recognised?’

Ric flicked a dismissive wave. ‘I might be recognised, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Not here. In Milan, yes, it can be a nuisance. In other cities, Rome for instance, possibly. But generally I find the paparazzi limit themselves to covering high-profile events or the celebrity nightspots. My day-to-day activities aren’t normally interesting enough for the media, and down here I don’t think we’ll see any photographers.’

‘What about fans?’

‘They’re rarely a problem. Like the man who came to the table today, they’re usually polite. They deserve to be treated politely in return. These people spend their hard-earned money to go to games. The least they deserve is respect. I hope you don’t object if we have the occasional interruption?’

‘No, not at all.’

After thanking Roberto for the delicious food and refusing a gelato to follow—even she had finally eaten enough—they got up from the table. As they headed for the door she wondered whether Ric had a girlfriend and, if he did, whether she matched the image Lyssa had of footballers’ women. Supermodel-slim. Perfectly groomed. Tall. All the things she wasn’t.

She didn’t have body issues, but she was just an average woman and fully aware of her shortcomings. These sports people lived like rock stars and they had the women to match. She’d thought of them as bimbos, but that might be unfair. She shouldn’t judge them for choosing to obsess about their looks.

She wasn’t interested in Ric, so it made no difference, but still she felt a little spear of disappointment that she could never have been his type even if things had been different for her.

She shook off the feeling as they emerged into the bright spring sunshine and Ric excused himself to make a phone call. She was being silly. She was here to do a job and she had no business being attracted to Ric. The fact that he was completely out of her league was just an additional reason not to entertain such a ridiculous notion.

Later, Lyssa gazed at the majestic Poseidon Temple with the Basilica standing next to it in a field of wild red poppies. She listened to Ric explaining that it was built around the same time as the Parthenon in Athens and was considered the best preserved example of a Doric temple in the world.

It wasn’t the accent that made his speech so entertaining, and it wasn’t the facts, though he had a way of including details that fascinated her. No, there was something about his smooth-as-velvet voice combined with his matter-of-fact manner that made her want to listen to every word.

‘Since you’re not a real tour guide, how do you know so much about the history of the place?’ she asked as they turned to head back to the car.

He shrugged. ‘What can I say? Even as a child, I found it interesting.’

‘Did you grow up around here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do your parents still live here?’

‘They died the day I turned twelve.’

She sucked in a breath through her teeth. ‘Both at once?’

‘Yes. Car accident.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, her heart going out to him. She hesitated, but was unable to resist asking, ‘Who did you live with after the accident?’

‘I moved in with my uncle and aunt.’

‘The ones who own Amalfitori?’

‘Yes.’

They were strolling slowly and he was a step ahead of her, making it difficult to see his face, but his voice sounded as matter-of-fact as ever, as if he didn’t find the subject painful.

Or maybe he was just good at hiding it.

‘Were you an only child?’

‘No, my sisters were babies. My uncle and aunt took them in too. They required a lot of attention.’

‘Did they have children of their own as well?’

‘Yes. Older children. My cousins were sixteen, seventeen and nineteen.’

Too old to be interested in the same things as a twelve-year-old, she assumed. Not an only child, then, but probably a lonely one.

He turned to gesture to her to go ahead of him and she saw the sadness in his eyes. She had to swallow before speaking again. ‘So you had to find something to occupy yourself and history was it?’

For a moment he looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected her to understand, but then he nodded. ‘You’re right. I spent hours studying history books.’

After a pause, she said, ‘Well, thanks for the suggestion, Paestum was definitely worth the visit.’

‘You’re welcome. It’s in my interests to make you happy.’ His dimple appeared as he smiled. ‘And you’re easy to please.’

His protective hand on her back as he guided her past a group of tourists was pleasing her at that moment. She told herself not to be quite so easily pleased. She couldn’t afford to be an idiot.

‘Well…’ she walked away from his hand, moving to her side of the car and looking at him across the roof ‘…I hope you can keep up the high standard you’ve set.’

‘I intend to.’

After he’d steered the car back onto the road, he said, ‘You mentioned you had brothers.’

‘Mmm. Older brothers. Two.’

‘Did they look after you when you were growing up?’

She blew out a breath. ‘If, by that, you mean did they frighten off every boy who came near me, yes, they did.’

He chuckled. ‘Good. That’s what brothers are supposed to do.’

Groaning, she said, ‘They were so annoying. When I went out with a group of friends, they’d turn up to keep an eye on me. You don’t do that to your sisters, do you?’

‘No,’ he said with a grimace, ‘but only because they’re away at school in Switzerland.’

‘Boarding-school?’

‘Yes. Well, I thought it was the best option under the circumstances. My uncle and aunt shouldn’t have the responsibility, and they’re not easy girls to keep under control.’

‘Do you see them at all?’

‘Of course. Whenever I can. I haven’t abandoned them if that’s what you’re thinking.’

She searched his face. Satisfied by what she saw, she relaxed. ‘Well, I found out much later that my brothers had ulterior motives. It wasn’t only me they were keeping an eye on, it was my friends.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, oh. It was all right for them to go out with girls of my age, but not for me to go out with boys of their age. Or of any age for that matter.’

‘What about your parents? What did they think?’

‘Oh, they were no help at all. They were so strict. They didn’t like me mixing with Australian girls because they thought they’d corrupt me. If they could have done they’d have locked me away till I was married, though how I’d have met anyone to marry I don’t know.’

She heaved a sigh from deep inside. ‘Honestly, growing up in an Italian family in a country like Australia was difficult at times.’

‘Difficult? How?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a fabulous life and I’m grateful, but it’s the whole caught-between-two-cultures thing. My parents were stuck in the old ways, the ways they grew up with, but I was part of a different world. I’m sure things had changed where they’d come from too, but they couldn’t believe that because they couldn’t see it with their own eyes. You know what I mean?’

‘I can see how that would be a problem.’

‘Everything I wanted to do was different from the way things were done in their youth, therefore it was wrong. Clothes, music, dancing…and they blamed the new country for all of it.’

He shot her a glance. ‘So you weren’t allowed to be like your friends?’

‘No. Oh, and my nonna lived with us too. She was so embarrassing.’

‘Embarrassing how?’

‘Well, I’d be at school lining up at the canteen to buy lunch like everyone else—a burger or a meat pie or something—when my nonna would turn up with this enormous meal she’d cooked for me. She expected me to sit down and eat it while she watched, and she was very hard to refuse.’

She waved away Ric’s laughter. ‘You might think it’s funny, but I can tell you, it wasn’t at the time. Then there was shopping. Oh, my goodness, you have no idea what that was like.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, fruit and vegetables, for example. I don’t know what it’s like here, but over there the shopkeepers don’t like you to touch them. They put up signs to that effect. But both my mother and my nonna just pretended they couldn’t read English and went ahead and poked and prodded everything in the shop. They practically squeezed all the juice out of something before they decided it wasn’t good enough to buy.’

Ric grinned. ‘You’re exaggerating, surely?’

‘No, I am not.’ Actually, she was a little, but it had been good to hear Ric laugh after the sadness of their earlier conversation. ‘Oh, I could go on, but I won’t. Just consider yourself lucky not to have grown up overseas.’

‘I will.’

‘Have you travelled at all?’

‘I have. I’ve even lived abroad. In England. I played football over there for a while.’

‘Really? That explains your very good English. Did you like it there?’

‘Yes, I would have liked to stay longer but…’ He shrugged. ‘I was on loan and my club wanted me back. Anyway, I’ve travelled throughout Europe and to America, but I’ve never been to Australia.’ He turned off the main road. ‘Here’s the hotel.’

Lyssa sat forward as they drove through a shady pine wood. ‘This is nice.’

The hotel itself was a three-storey white building, well away from the road, with arched windows opening onto wrought-iron balconies.

The beautiful young woman behind the reception desk greeted Ric with a smile. ‘We’ve been expecting you,’ she said.

Lyssa made a point of smiling at her, just to check whether she was invisible. She might as well have been for all the notice the receptionist took of her. With a resigned shrug she turned away to look around the small, elegant hotel with its ceramic-tiled floors and thick white walls. Who could blame the girl for ogling Ric? She’d had to stop herself doing the same thing—and she wasn’t interested in him as a man, only as a tour guide.

Ric joined her and they made arrangements to meet later for dinner before heading off to their respective rooms.

Lyssa’s high-ceilinged room had a bright blue bedspread, tubs of red pelargoniums on the balcony and a view through the pine trees to the sea. With a satisfied sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed.

It had been a busy first day and her energy level was waning. She was tempted to lie down for a while, but she’d learned her lesson. There was no such thing as a brief doze now that she was pregnant. Once her head hit the pillow she’d be out for the count.

It would make more sense to jump straight into the shower and take her time freshening up before dinner. That would definitely make her feel better.

She’d packed a few simple non-crushable dresses, her standard wardrobe for evening wear while travelling, so she pulled one out of the suitcase and took it into the bathroom with her.

After the shower, she took the time to straighten all the kinks out of her hair, then applied the makeup she hadn’t had time for that morning. Finally, she slipped the simple leaf-green dress over her head and stood in front of the mirror as the slinky fabric slithered over her hips.

Not bad. She’d already gained a little weight. Not enough for anyone to guess she was pregnant—and to be honest, it was probably due more to her hefty appetite than anything else. The dress wasn’t tight, but it did accentuate her curves.

She shrugged as she stepped into her only pair of high heels. It wasn’t as if she was trying to impress Ric, but she did feel an irrational need to show him she could look her age—and she knew she did tonight.

The look on Ric’s face as she walked into the restaurant told her he was impressed, and she felt a thrill despite her denial.

He was silent as he pulled out a chair for her and she caught his eye. ‘How old do I look now?’

He gave her a lopsided, one-dimpled smile. ‘Ancient.’

With a laugh, she took a sip of the iced water that was waiting for her on the table. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

He nodded slowly as he sat down, and his eyes glittered as they drifted over her again.

Suddenly unsettled by his slow appraisal, she changed the subject and kept the conversation light while she ate the best potato gnocchi she’d ever tasted, then salad, cheeses and a simple gelato for dessert.

By the time she parted from Ric and made her way to her room, she was relaxed and happy. Certainly more relaxed and happier than she’d been for a long time.

Since she’d shared the news of her pregnancy with Steve.

Since she’d learned that at the time she needed him most, he wanted nothing to do with her.

She firmly pushed thoughts of Steve out of her mind. He was history. He had no part in her life now and she refused to waste precious time thinking about him.

She didn’t want to think about how she was going to manage on her own either. For now, it was almost as if she’d entered an alternate reality, one where she didn’t have to worry about the future, where she didn’t have to look any further forward than the next day.

CHAPTER THREE

REMEMBERING how Lyssa had enjoyed her food the day before, Ric ordered breakfast for both of them, a feast of fruit, yoghurt, cheese, ham, bread rolls and sweet cakes. Then he sat back with his espresso to wait for Lyssa to come downstairs, surprised at how much he was looking forward to seeing her again.

It wasn’t that he was attracted to her—although he had to admit he’d almost been knocked off his feet when she’d walked into the restaurant for dinner in her sexy dress—it was because she was fun to be with, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such simple, innocent fun with a female, the last time he’d teased, laughed and shared a joke with a woman. If ever.

She’d made him realise how rusty he was at having a platonic relationship. Almost all his relationships with the opposite sex involved just that—sex. But Lyssa didn’t want any more from him than what he had to offer right now: his knowledge, protection and company—actually, she probably didn’t want his protection, but she would have it whether she wanted it or not.

And she wasn’t like the women he was used to. Not cynical, jaded or bored with life. There was a freshness about her that appealed to him. It did him good just to be around her positive energy.

He’d been having a miserable time lately. It was true that he was recovering from a knee operation as he’d told Lyssa, but it was more than that—he had a decision to make. One that would affect his future, his whole life. Spending time with Lyssa had already made him forget his problems for one day, and he liked the idea of forgetting them for a while longer.

Doing this favour for his uncle could be just what he needed to take his mind off his problems. They’d still be there when it was finished, but at least he’d have a brief respite from thinking about them.

Just then Lyssa entered the room and he forgot about everything as he put down his cup to stand and meet her. She was again wearing her jeans and trainers and another baggy pink T-shirt that made her look like a teenager and hid the very grown-up curves he knew were underneath.

He thrust away the image of her in the clingy dress that had shown off just how womanly she was. He didn’t want to feel a physical attraction for her. She wasn’t his type and he didn’t need her to be. It was enough that he found her interesting and enjoyed her company.

‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’

She beamed a smile at him. ‘Like the proverbial log.’ Then as she dropped her gaze to the table, her eyes lit up. ‘Wow, this looks great.’

‘We can’t have you starting the day without breakfast again, can we?’

‘No, I completely agree.’

As they ate, they discussed Ric’s proposed itinerary—a leisurely drive along the coast, visiting Palinuro, Maratea and other places along the way, and arriving in Vietri sul Mare in time for lunch.

‘Sounds perfect,’ Lyssa said as she polished off the last of the cakes, ‘and not just because you mentioned lunch.’

Ric laughed, watching her brush cake crumbs from her clothes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had breakfast with a woman that didn’t consist of coffee, gossip and not much else. Lyssa was like a breath of fresh air. ‘Well, if you’ve finished here, we’ll make a start, shall we?’

‘Sure.’

The same receptionist was on duty as they checked out and Lyssa was tempted to tell the girl she was making a fool of herself smiling flirtatiously at Ric. But she kept quiet. It was none of her business and, for all she knew, Ric might plan to visit the hotel at a later date to take advantage of what the girl was clearly offering.

But he hardly seemed to notice the attention he was receiving and definitely wasn’t flirting in return. Which was surprising, given the girl’s exotic looks and obvious interest.

Settling back in the Lamborghini, Lyssa pulled a notepad and pen from her handbag to make notes on the trip so far. She’d deliberately left her laptop at home, not wanting to be distracted from the details of the trip by emails and so on.

This was the way she preferred to work, keeping copious notes as she went and typing them all up when she got home. It helped her to get her feelings down on paper—they seemed to flow from her fingers through her pen onto the page. Later she’d spend time finding the right words to convey those feelings to her readers. It might seem old-fashioned to some but it was her process and she had no intention of changing it.

Ric glanced across as he drove away from the hotel. ‘What’s the verdict? Are you going to write a favourable article?’

She chuckled. ‘You’ll have to wait and see. It’s far too early to say—you might blot your copybook yet.’

In truth, she was a great believer in early impressions and she couldn’t really imagine Ric doing anything to spoil the very favourable impression she’d gained so far. But who knew?

She slid a surreptitious glance at him. He’d forgone the suit today in favour of faded jeans and a dark blue polo shirt—probably a designer label but she wouldn’t know the difference. All she knew was that he looked incredible.

She’d hoped, she’d really hoped that the flare of attraction she’d felt the day before would have dissipated overnight, and that the flutters she’d felt were just shock at his resemblance to the man of her dreams. But on the contrary she felt an intense awareness of his masculinity, of his muscular footballer’s legs working the pedals, his strong arms on the steering wheel. And it was so annoying. It was not what she wanted to feel at all.

With deliberate movements, she dropped the pad and pen into her bag and asked Ric about the region they were driving through. By the time they arrived in Vietri sul Mare, renowned for its many ceramic factories and shops specialising in colourful creations of clay, she felt quite the expert.

They strolled through the quaint little town, which was decorated with wall mosaics; the townspeople had even tiled the dome of their cathedral with majolica, the decorative pottery that had been of prime importance to the economy since medieval times.

Not normally one for shopping, Lyssa found herself entranced by the beautiful designs and couldn’t resist buying a large, colourful platter from one of the many shops selling such items.

‘I don’t know how I’m going to carry this home,’ she said with a rueful smile as she stepped out onto the street.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll get it shipped.’ Ric took the awkwardly shaped parcel from her. ‘If you give me your address in Australia, I’ll arrange it. Will it suit your home?’

Her home. She thought of the small inner-city apartment she’d shared with Steve. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to continue to pay the rent now that he’d gone, especially with her income looking uncertain. Travel writer was hardly a suitable occupation for a woman with a baby in tow, was it?

With a jerky movement, she shook off the gloomy mood that had threatened to descend for a moment. It was such a happy, colourful day, she didn’t want to let any depressing thoughts intrude.

One way or another, she would earn a living, enough to pay for everything her child needed, even if she had to write nappy-rash articles for parenting magazines. Actually, that wasn’t such a bad idea. She could write about parenting, especially the joys and challenges of being a single parent.

There were other possibilities too but she’d explore them later. In the meantime, she was here in this wonderful place. With Ric, who was still waiting for her to answer his question.

‘I’ll make it suit my home, even if I have to redecorate. I love it.’

Grinning, he said, ‘Well, I’d say it suits you. It’s bright and cheerful.’

‘Oh.’ She felt a glow in her cheeks and a matching warmth in her stomach. ‘I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.’

He looked surprised. His dark eyes narrowed and focused on her. They seemed to peer right inside her, as if he could see what kind of relationship she’d had with Steve. She didn’t want him seeing so much and dragged her eyes away.

‘Now, where’s that lunch you promised me?’

He tapped the edge of the platter. ‘I’ll take this back to the car before we find somewhere to eat.’

She watched him walk off with his easy, athletic stride and let out a deep sigh. He was far too attractive for her peace of mind. She had to get herself under control. He’d made one simple comment and she’d gone all gooey. Bright and cheerful. It was hardly an extravagant compliment. Nothing to get excited about.

Anyway, she was pregnant. She couldn’t afford the luxury of getting excited about anything he said. He was off limits as anything but a tour guide.

After lunch they set off for their hotel along the two-lane road squeezed between rocky slopes on one side and, on the other, dramatic cliffs overlooking the sea hundreds of feet below.

‘So, this is the famous Amalfi Coast drive?’ Lyssa said between gasps of horror as they rounded a series of tight hairpin bends.

‘Yes, this is it. Stunning view, isn’t it?’

‘Is it?’ She was too terrified to take her eyes off the road—not that she was driving. A horn’s blast signalled yet another bus coming around the bend towards them. ‘Good grief!’ she moaned. ‘How much more?’

Ric shot her an amused glance. ‘I thought you were an intrepid traveller?’

‘Don’t look at me!’ she snapped. Then in a softer tone, ‘Sorry about that, but please keep your eyes on the road.’

One hand clinging to the car seat, she pressed the other against her belly. The spectacular view she’d been trying not to see was doing things to her insides and she could feel her lunch churning in her stomach.

‘You’re really worried, aren’t you?’

‘I don’t feel well.’ She’d ask him to turn around and go back, but she knew it was out of the question on this ridiculous road. ‘Will it take much longer?’

‘Not too long and I won’t let anything happen to you, Lyssa. I’m a good driver.’

‘I know.’ She groaned as the sports car rounded the tight bends smoothly, with no screeching tyres. ‘It’s not your driving; it’s the road.’

He took one hand from the wheel and patted her hand where it was clutching the seat. ‘Don’t be scared. I’ll look after you.’

Relieved to see his hand return to the wheel, she closed her eyes. The momentary contact had been comforting, but it couldn’t alter the fact that she felt nauseous.

‘It’s worse in peak season,’ he said, ‘when the road is full of foreign bus drivers.’

A good reason to be glad she’d travelled early in May, Lyssa thought. After what seemed like hours, Ric turned off the road, drove through a terraced orchard and stopped in front of a low white building. Their hotel.

‘You look very pale,’ he said as she stepped out of the car.

She felt the blood draining from her face even as he spoke. With one hand on her back and one under her elbow, he assisted her into the reception area and she was grateful for the support.

She sat in a chair while Ric checked in, then he escorted her to her room.

‘You should probably lie down for a while,’ he said and she could see the genuine concern in his face.

She wanted to thank him for his help but instead she nodded and went inside, too ill to speak. She’d never known nausea like this.

Yes, the drive had been scary, but it was more than that. Maybe it was hormones. Maybe morning sickness had finally caught up with her, a bit late in the day. But what a time for it to happen.

Shutting herself in the bathroom, she gave in to the inevitable and afterwards was glad to flop onto the bed and let sleep overwhelm her.

Later, showered and changed and feeling one hundred per cent better, Lyssa found Ric sitting out on the large terrace, which he had all to himself. His worried expression as he stood and came towards her made her smile.

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