Pregnant: Father Wanted. Claire Baxter

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