The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition: The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition

He tried to keep his eyes on her face, to ignore the way her thin cotton T-shirt draped over her chest.

She pushed a strand of damp hair off her face, and dusted off her jeans as the others approached, apparently self-conscious. “What do you think of the lost city?”

“I’m thinking it’s very happy to have been found again,” Sara said with a grin. She held little Hannah in her arms, and the baby reached out for a dangling branch. “It’s so beautiful. And rather mystical, too. If I rub on that pot over there, will a genie pop out?” She gestured to a tall reproduction oil jar beside a nearby doorway.

“No, but I’m hoping the vine I planted in it yesterday will pop out soon if it gets watered often enough.”

“It’s hot, Mommy,” whined Ben. “Can we go inside?”

“Won’t help, I’m afraid,” said Celia. “They’re not turning on the air-conditioning until next week.”

“Ben, you must learn to enjoy the heat.” Salim set him down and ruffled his hair. “We Omanis don’t need artificially cooled air to live our lives.” He’d make sure his own son didn’t grow up too dependent on modern conveniences. There was a lot to be said for living according to tradition. He’d worn a long, white dishdasha today, perhaps to remind himself of his place in the world.

He averted his eyes as Celia leaned forward to offer Ben a cool Thermos, revealing a flash of cleavage. If she had on traditional Omani attire, such mutually embarrassing moments would be avoided.

Then again, she was wearing traditional Omani attire last night, and look what happened.

Apparently there was no helping him.

“I love the heat,” Sara exclaimed. “It took me a while to get used to it when I moved to Nevada to work for Elan, but now I can’t imagine living somewhere that never gets hot.”

“Maybe I’ll convince the two of you to move back to Oman.” Salim let slip the words that had danced in his mind ever since they arrived.

“That would take a lot of convincing. I’m not sure my employees would be too thrilled.” Elan chuckled. “But I can see Celia’s taken to the place already. I heard her speaking flawless Arabic yesterday.”

Salim frowned. Was Elan trying to paint Celia as his perfect mate again? Couldn’t he see that only did more harm than good?

“My Arabic is hardly flawless.” Celia flushed a shade darker. She snuck a glance at Salim, who pretended not to notice. “I know just enough to make myself understood.”

“Yours is probably better than mine,” Elan said with a smile. “I’ve lived in the U.S. so long I’ve forgotten a lot.”

“It’s coming back, though,” said Sara. “You did a fantastic job haggling over that rug for the dining room yesterday.”

“Raw instinct. I’m sure you’d have gotten it for even less if you tried.” Elan looked at Celia. “Sara’s a demon negotiator. I think that’s how she really won my heart. We Al Mansur men like our women made of pretty stern stuff.”

Elan looked approvingly at Celia’s work attire. Salim felt a twinge of annoyance—surely not jealousy?

Salim realized his brow had furrowed into a frown. He cleared his throat. Celia fidgeted, no doubt uncomfortable with this discussion of what kind of woman Al Mansur men needed.

“Would you like me to show you the plantings?” Celia’s voice was a little squeaky. “The shrubs are sarh. They’re native to the region and can go long periods between watering.” She darted forward to stop Ben from plucking one of the berries. “They’re not poisonous, but they might have been sprayed with something at the nursery.” She looked at Sara. “I always check that plantings are nontoxic if they’re in an area where children may find them.”

“That’s very thoughtful.” Sara made a silly face at Ben, who grinned in response, then glanced up at Celia. “I’d almost suspect you of being a mother yourself.”

Celia stood openmouthed. Salim could swear her skin turned pale. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and breathless. “Just being practical. My clients hate lawsuits.”

She didn’t glance up at him, the client. “She’s right. I hate lawsuits. Such a time waster and so … unfriendly.” He smiled. “I’m about to give Elan and Sara and the kids a tour of our found-again lost city. Will you join us?”

“Uh, sure.” Celia glanced around, as if looking for an excuse not to.

He couldn’t blame her. It was awkward trying to act normal after the night of heady passion they’d shared.

If he could turn back the clock and undo their sweaty, embarrassingly emotional tryst, he would.

What kind of idiot thought that sleeping with a woman he craved would help him get over her?

He’d plunged the arrow of longing even deeper into his flesh. He doubted even a knife could cut it free now.

He couldn’t begin to imagine how Celia felt. Didn’t dare even let his mind wander in that direction.

“This way, everyone,” he called, aiming for cheerful confidence. “Celia could tell you how the city rose up out of the desert, stone by stone. She’s seen a lot more of the process than I have.”

“It’s been truly amazing.” Celia marched boldly ahead. “I was nervous that a lot of construction would destroy the site, but Salim’s crew really know what they’re doing. They were so careful to preserve the past.”

“Salim’s very big on the past.” Elan shot a narrow-eyed glance at his brother.

“Speaking of which.” Salim said as he paused in front of a two-story building of white stucco, shaded with native date palms.

Elan turned and frowned. He blinked up at the pale walls, ornamented with a strip of painted diamonds. “It looks like … our house. Where we grew up.”

“It is.” Salim paused, watching his brother’s face. “Come inside.”

He led them through the shady arched doorway, into the cool interior. “I know you don’t have the happiest of memories from here, but that house is gone now, and for some reason I wanted to recreate it here.”

Elan’s mouth hung open as he surveyed the stone floor, the smooth stuccoed walls, all exactly like the home they’d shared long ago. “Wow,” Elan said softly as he blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “This takes me back.”

“We were happy in that house once.”

Elan frowned. “When we were all together. Before father sent me and Quasar as far away as possible and screwed up all our lives.”

Salim swallowed. Their father’s action had abruptly ended their happy childhoods. With his fun-loving and energetic brothers banished to distant boarding schools, Salim lived a lonely and cloistered existence. His mother had died soon after, leaving him alone with the harsh father who never had a kind word for him.

So what? He’d survived. And prospered.

Elan cocked his head. “You’ve recreated our home, and now you’ve brought me back to it.” His eyes twinkled. “If Quasar was here, we’d be a family again. Of sorts.”

“We are a family.” Salim spoke gruffly. He was determined the Al Mansurs would face the future together. “Quasar will come one day.” Their wild younger brother was hard to keep up with. One day he’d settle down.

Or at least Salim hoped so.

Sara gazed up at the high ceilings, ringed with a simple painted frieze. “It’s beautiful. Simple and elegant. I’m sure you’ll recreate a happier version of the past here.”

“I’m not nearly that ambitious.” Salim crossed his arms, trying to ignore the rush of emotion in his chest. “It was a typical Omani building that seemed suitable for the site.”

“Sometimes you have to confront the past in order to move forward,” Elan said slowly, glancing around the familiar—yet unfamiliar—space. Salim’s stomach clenched at his words. “I avoided the past like a dog that hunted me. I just ran faster to get away from it. Put as much distance between me and … home … as I could. I locked all that hurt and disappointment away, and vowed to never feel anything like it again.”

Sara leaned forward. “Until one night in the desert, I pried open the lockbox of his emotions.”

“And I’ve been a changed—and far happier—man ever since.” Elan slid his arm around Sara’s waist.

Salim swallowed. “I’m very happy for you. Naturally, since I’ve been here in Oman all the time, I’ve been surrounded by the past and have had no need or desire to run away from it.”

He looked sideways at Celia. She stood rigid as a statue. No doubt she felt herself an unfortunate intruder in this family tableau. He quickly glanced out the window.

“Sometimes you can run from something without even knowing it.” Elan’s low voice penetrated the fog of his thoughts. “It’s even harder to find your way back, in that case.”

Salim frowned. “You speak in riddles, brother. I’m simply glad you’re here and I intend to keep you here as long as possible.”

“I’ll tell you, it feels really good to be back. We’ll have to make a habit of it.” Elan smiled at Sara.

She nodded. “I’d love Hannah and Ben to grow up knowing their Omani family, and being aware of their heritage.” Her eyes shone. “We should visit as often as possible.”

Salim watched his little niece, now crawling across the stone floor with impressive speed. His heart filled with joy, and a sense of purpose fulfilled. “You’re welcome here every single day, literally. Nothing could mean more to me than to bring our family together again.”

A sudden fit of coughing took Celia by surprise, and she struggled to get it under control. “Sorry! I don’t know what happened,” she stammered, when she finally managed to stop and take a sip from the shared Thermos.

“The dry air,” said Elan, reassuring, as usual. “Can you believe that a family of five and at least five servants lived in this house?”

Celia’s eyes widened. “Are there more rooms?”

“There’d better be.” Elan chuckled. “Can’t have men and women in the same room. Anything might happen.” He winked.

Salim narrowed his eyes. Some traditions had rather fallen by the wayside, at least in the bustling coastal cities. Still, better for Celia to see how different life was here than in the States.

Salim held a curtain aside so they could walk through the doorway into the next room. “Our room,” Elan said as he stared, then glanced up at Sara. “Though Salim forgot the bed. We brothers shared one. We used to make up crazy stories in here, while the grown-ups were still sitting out in the courtyard. Wow, that was a long time ago. Probably the happiest time of my life, until I met Sara.”

Sara glanced at Celia, who still stood there as if she’d seen a ghost. “He was far too busy working to be happy, until I sorted him out.”

“Look who’s talking, Miss Workaholic.” Elan prodded her with his fingertips.

“That’s Mrs. Workaholic, to you.” Sara gave him a playful shove. “It’s true, though. We both helped each other mellow out. I think when you enjoy your work it’s good to marry someone else who’s career-oriented. Then no one’s left moping at home. What do you think, Celia?”

Celia’s elegant throat contracted as she swallowed. “I suppose so.” Her voice was scratchy. “I’ve never been married.”

“It’s not easy to meet the right person,” mused Sara. “And sometimes they take some time to realize it themselves.”

Salim frowned. Were they trying to cook up mischief again? Couldn’t they see that Celia would rather be anywhere but here? No doubt all this talk of family and Omani traditions made her want to run for cover.

He frowned. “Let’s go.”

Salim and his family had left Celia at the site to finish her work. She’d almost died during all the talk of family and togetherness.

How would they feel about her if they knew she was hiding a member of their own family from them?

It hurt that she was depriving Kira of her own family and heritage. Not to mention depriving Salim of the family he so openly craved.

She’d decided to tell him about Kira tonight. Whatever happened between them had happened, and she couldn’t do anything about that now. All she could do was try to make the future brighter for all of them.

She was sure he’d come see her.

But he didn’t.

Probably busy with work. She knew he had business dinners several nights a week. And he did have family visiting. Maybe they needed some time to themselves.

At least that’s how she tried to reassure herself.

After a fitful night of broken sleep, she decided to go for a quick run on the beach to shake off stress. Exercise made almost anything easier to cope with.

Sensitive to Oman’s conservative sensibilities, she dressed in light cotton pants and a shirt rather than her usual jogging bra and shorts. It was actually cooler to keep herself covered, she’d discovered. Which no doubt explained why most people in this region didn’t expose their bare skin to the punishing sun.

No one paid attention to thermometers here. There were only two temperatures: hot, and very, very hot. Compared to the misery of the Connecticut winter she was missing, she wasn’t complaining.

Once dressed, she picked up the phone for her daily call to Kira. Her daughter’s garbled hello greeted her. This was Celia’s usual time to call, so her grandparents allowed Kira to answer the phone. “Hi, sweetie.”

“Mama come home.”

“Mama will be home soon, sweetie. Two weeks. That’s not long, is it?”

It felt like an eternity.

“Mama come home today.” Tears thickened the words.

“I wish I could, lovie, but Mama has to work.”

“Kira come, too, and help you work.” Her little voice brightened and Celia could picture those dark eyes filled with excitement at her new idea.

Celia’s chest constricted. “I wish you could, my baby. I wish you could.” Tears threatened and she sucked in a deep breath.

“Why can’t I?” Her brave voice sounded suddenly so grown-up.

Why couldn’t she? She was too young to need to attend school. There was truly no reason why she couldn’t “help” while Celia arranged potted portacula plants and studied the fall of shade over garden walls.

Except that this was her father’s home.

And he didn’t know she existed.

“I … I …” Celia’s voice shook. She needed to get control of herself quickly and reassure Kira there was nothing wrong. “One day you’ll be big enough to help me.”

“When?” Again, the forceful clarity of a child far older than three.

“Soon,” she lied. What was one more lie? Except that each one seemed to eat another hole in her soul. “Do you want me to sing you a song?”

“Okay Mama.” Her reply didn’t conceal her disappointment. “You sing ‘Rock-a-bye Baby.’”

Celia gulped and inhaled. The song was so familiar she usually didn’t pay attention to the words, but today they rang with threatening prescience, echoing from one side of the world to another. “… When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, down will come baby, cradle and all.” Her voice wavered and she tried to turn it into a laugh.

She was so afraid of breaking that bough. Of rocking the safe world she’d tried to create for Kira thousands of miles away in Connecticut. But she was learning that sooner or later it had to break, and she’d just have to do her best to catch her.

Brushing away tears, she hung up the phone with promises that she’d send more pictures from her cell phone and tell Kira exactly what she ate for breakfast.

Running shoes laced, she pushed out into the invigorating morning warmth. Her shoes sank into the sand as she ran, and her calves enjoyed the extra work as she filled her lungs with fragrant sea air.

A high rock outcropping marked the end of the hotel property. She ran to it, then stretched in the shade on the far side for a few minutes. She was about to turn and run back, when she heard familiar voices.

“Celia’s more beautiful than I thought she’d be.” It was Elan’s jovial voice.

The object of their conversation blanched and ducked behind the craggy rock. A fissure near eye level allowed her to see the beach beyond, stretching to the hotel complex. She shifted until a sliver of visibility revealed Salim and Elan.

“You thought I’d spend years pining over an ugly woman?” Salim sounded in good humor. Again he wore a long, white dishdasha, this time with the traditional ornamental khanjar dagger at the waist. Morning sun reflected off the hard planes of his handsome face.

He’d spent years pining? Well, he’d admitted as much to her at their dinner together.

Celia bit her lip and listened.

“I’m glad you’re finally coming to your senses where she’s concerned.” Elan wore jeans and a white towel wrapped around his neck. Sweat shimmered on the thick muscle of his back.

“What do you mean?” She couldn’t see Salim’s face, but she could picture his thoughtful frown.

“You know, getting back together with her. I know the two of you spent the evening together the night before last. How come Celia wasn’t with us at dinner last night?”

“She had something to do.”

Celia bit her lip.

“Make sure you don’t let her get away a second time.”

“A third time, actually.” Salim sounded somewhat embarrassed.

“What?”

“I didn’t tell you we had a little … reunion … four years ago at the Ritz Carlton in Manhattan.”

“And what happened after that?”

“I flew back here. She has her own career, her own life. It was obvious there was no future between us.”

“She told you that?”

“No, but it was understood.”

“You told her that.” It wasn’t a question. Apparently Elan understood his brother, despite their years apart.

“I don’t like confusion.”

“Brother of mine, you have a talent for screwing up your love life. I’m going to personally see to it that you don’t mess things up this time.”

Salim laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all under control.”

Celia’s ears burned. What on earth did he mean?

She gulped. He’d be horrified if he knew she was listening in on their private conversation.

“How, exactly, do you have it under control?” Elan’s voice grew closer.

Celia shrank against the rock, its rough surface digging into her palms and knees.

“Isn’t it obvious? She’ll go back to the States, and I’ll stay here.”

“How does that solve anything?”

“It’s a clean break.”

“Yeah, except that’s not what you need. She’s the one, Salim. You know it, don’t try to tell me different.”

Salim laughed, but it wasn’t a genuine laugh, more of a forced guffaw. “No, Elan. Your romantic American notions are touching, but Celia is not the one. I intend to marry Nabilah Al Sabah.”

Celia’s jaw dropped as her ribcage tightened around her painfully swollen heart.

“Who’s Nabilah Al Sabah?” Elan’s skepticism showed in his tone.

“She’s the daughter of Sheikh Mohammad Al Sabah.”

“The guy who owns that big shopping mall in Dubai.”

“Among other things. He has a large retail empire.”

“So this proposed marriage is something of a business arrangement?” Elan didn’t try to hide his distaste.

“Not at all.” Salim had the decency to sound offended. “I’ve chosen her because I think she will be an ideal wife and will make a good mother for our children.”

“How many children do you two have together?”

Celia gulped.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never even kissed her.”

Elan laughed. “Then how do you know she’ll be a suitable wife?”

“She comes from excellent stock.”

Elan let out a long dismissive snort. “Brother of mine, you know I have a strong appreciation for excellent stock. I pay close attention to it—when selecting my stallions and mares. With women and marriage it’s entirely different, let me assure you.”

“I’ve been married before.”

“Not successfully.”

Celia’s breathing was in danger of becoming audible, as she crouched painfully against the rock, a few feet from the brothers. Sweat trickled down her face.

She heard some movement in the sand, and when they spoke again they were farther away.

“I was young then, and unprepared for the responsibilities of marriage and family. I tried to fulfill them as best I could, but only disappointed a wife who wanted an affectionate husband, as well as a reliable head of household.”

“Because you were still crazy about Celia and didn’t want to make love to another woman.”

The long silence made Celia aware of the pounding of her own heart, louder than the surf hitting the sand a few yards away.

“At the time, yes.”

“And what makes you think that will be different now?”

“Because I’m older and wiser. I’ve accepted that I cannot marry Celia and I must choose a suitable wife and do everything in my power to make the relationship work.”

“Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?” Elan’s incredulity rang across the sand.

Probably his own brother was the only person to express an honest opinion to a man as powerful and revered as Salim Al Mansur.

“Why can’t you marry her?” Elan demanded.

“She’s American, free-spirited, she doesn’t care about tradition.”

“I can tell you from personal experience that such women make very fine wives and mothers.” She could almost hear Elan’s grin.

“It’s different with you and Sara. You live in America. Celia would never live here in Oman.”

“How do you know? Have you asked her?”

“Of course not. Besides, she wouldn’t fit in. You’ve seen how she dresses. She’d never go along with all the arcane social rules and regulations we have here.”

“You certainly don’t. At least from what I’ve observed so far. I’ve seen you drinking wine, for a start.”

“I may not always agree with traditions, but as head of the family I have a duty to uphold the best of them. I’m proud of the customs and mores of our country, and I want my children to be raised accordingly.”

“Brother.” She heard a rustling sound, like Elan taking hold of Salim. “If you plan to marry another woman, then why are you playing around with Celia? Why did you bring her here?”

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