The Desert Prince

by Jennifer Lewis

  She stumbled for the door and pushed out into the sunlight, raking a hand through her long, tangled hair.

  Why did she let this happen?

  She came here to participate in an interesting project, earn good money…and tell him about Kira.

  She certainly hadn’t come here to sleep with him at the first opportunity.

  Common sense deserted her entirely when Salim was around. She knew that. So why had she let herself be tempted into his bed?

  Salim clearly saw this as an opportunity to enjoy her body and revel in the warm light of old memories, before he left her behind—yet again—and got on with his own life. Which, as she knew from long, painful experience, did not include her. Or Kira.

  How could she do anything so stupid? Had she thought that suddenly everything was different and he loved her?

  A hard blast of air escaped her lungs. What an idiot she was!

  She hurried along a neat brick walkway under a row of lush palms, keeping her eyes down so as not to make contact with any of the gardeners pulling dead fronds from the trees and sweeping the paths.

  And what was her excuse now for not telling him about his daughter? They’d been alone all night in bed and she could have blurted the truth at any moment.

  But the moment never seemed right.

  Dammit, the moment would never be right.

  She lowered her eyes as two hotel managers passed her on the path, with a hushed glance at her rumpled finery. Shadows slashed like knives across the path, as sun crept through the palms.

  Oh, how he’d hate her if he knew the magnitude of the secret she still kept hidden while she lay naked in his arms.

  How in the world would she ever tell him now?

  Five

  S alim’s chest filled with pride as they approached the gates of the lost city. He was driving the new seven-seater SUV he’d bought to accommodate his newly expanded family, and the children played cheerfully in the rear-facing backseat, while Elan and Sara exclaimed over their first sight of the new complex.

  “It’s amazing the way it just rises up out of the sand,” Sara said as she leaned forward. “I love the crisp whiteness of the buildings here. Maybe we should paint our house white?” She turned to Elan. “I think you painted it the exact same color as the land around it so that no one could find you.”

  Elan chuckled. “You’re probably right. I didn’t want anyone to find me, until you came along.”

  Salim smiled. His brother was obviously very happy, despite his unconventional marriage. He hoped he’d soon feel as settled and content himself.

  “How come Celia isn’t with us?” Sara’s question deflated his momentary joy.

  Guilt pricked him.

  Sleeping with Celia last night was wrong on so many levels.

  “She’s here already. At least that’s what my assistant told me. She came to supervise a delivery of plants. I’m sure we’ll run into her.” Would he even be able to look her in the eye in front of his family?

  He’d taken advantage of her, knowing full well that their relationship—as always—had no future.

  Sometimes he cursed the fact that he was the eldest son. That the burden of tradition and the future of the Al Mansur family rested with him.

  But it did. Simple as that.

  He pulled up inside the open gates and helped everyone out.

  “It’s loud.” Little Ben covered his ears with his hands. Salim didn’t usually notice such things, but there were quite a few pieces of machinery in motion.

  “That’s the sound of progress,” Salim said as he bent down to pick him up. “You can’t make things beautiful without some noise. Haven’t you been to your dad’s work sites?”

  “No!” Sara laughed. “He’s too young. And so far he’s looking more like an artist than an oilman.”

  “You like to draw?” Salim peered into Ben’s bright eyes.

  The child nodded. “And paint. And I like to make up stories, but I don’t know how to write them down yet.”

  “He’s a genius,” proclaimed Elan proudly.

  Salim nodded. “He’ll be the next Leonardo da Vinci.” He stroked the boy’s soft cheek. “You’ll put the Al Mansur name on the map, won’t you?”

  “I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself,” said Elan.

  Salim snorted. “A few hotels, nothing more. I hope to make this area a popular tourist destination. It’s good for our economy and provides work for the people.”

  “It’s a lot more than that,” Sara gushed as she walked forward, wide-eyed. “This is incredible. It’s a whole city out in the middle of the desert.”

  Warmth surged inside him. “I can’t take all the credit. The city was always here—we just found it and dusted it off again.”

  “It’s breathtaking. Look at the artistry.” A ribbon of painted frieze ran along the wall of a building next to them, and turned the corner onto another crisp, cobbled street.

  “My architect hired talented craftsmen. It’s been a joy to bring so much talent together in one place.”

  “Speaking of which, there’s Celia. Goodness, look at those beautiful trees. What kind of bush is that?”

  “I have no idea. Celia knows far more about Omani plants than I do at this point.” Her knowledge and expertise floored him. And the pleasure she took in her work made it a joy to behold.

  Salim’s heart ached with trepidation as they approached. What a night they’d spent together. A taste of heaven in the one pair of arms he could never resist.

  He cursed his own weakness.

  His torment was worsened by the sight of those faded jeans she wore. They hugged her long, strong legs and cupped her firm backside. She was reaching up to prune a branch as they approached, and her pale yellow T-shirt lifted to reveal a sliver of slim waist.

  Arousal flashed through him, heating his blood and bruising his ego.

  Had he no self-control around this woman?

  “Hello, Celia.” He managed the gruff greeting with a poker face. “Hard at work, as usual.”

  He didn’t want the others to know about their tryst last night. Elan might tease him mercilessly, or worse, try to make more of it than it was.

  She turned. Her face glowed with exertion, and he could swear her cheeks grew pinker at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”

  Her blue eyes glowed with excitement that only fanned his desire.

  “What kind of question is that?” He tried to act casual. “It’s my newest resort, not to mention the home of my ancestors.” He attempted a smile. “This is where I should be.”

  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 tr
aditional 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.”