Pregnant: Father Wanted. Claire Baxter

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ