The Desert Prince

by Jennifer Lewis

  Her skin burned under the heat of his palms. Already the forceful—and purely physical—attraction between them threatened to overwhelm her. “You don’t love me,” she managed. “You just want me.”

  She frowned, fighting the emotion—the sobs—that hovered just beneath the surface of her voice. “You want to make things right, and you think you can do that by capturing me and keeping me here. Me and Kira…” Fear flared in her heart as she thought of Kira sleeping, innocent and unsuspecting, just a few yards away. “You can’t. You can’t make yourself love me no matter how much you might want to, and you can’t make me stay.”

  “Make myself love you?” The words exploded from his tongue, “I’ve been trying for over a decade to make myself stop loving you. I’ve always loved you and I always will love you.”

  A groan issued from somewhere deep inside him, and echoed off the white buildings around them. “I’ll love you until my last breath.”

  Desperation—and passion—flashed in his dark eyes. “Can’t you see that? Can’t you see that I can’t live without you?” He inhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t want to live without you.”

  Celia stood, unable to move, held up only by the strong hands that kept her captive.

  The force of his words had turned her blood to vapor. She felt weightless, breathless, helpless.

  “But you…But you…”

  “I’ve been a fool.” He lifted his head to the sky and let out a curse. “I’ve been a stubborn idiot who wouldn’t know paradise if he fell into it.”

  His eyes fixed on hers, this time wide with wonder and brimming with raw emotion. “I’ve lived an empty, soulless life since I lost you—since I threw you away out of my own cowardice and stupidity.” He made a strange sound, somewhere between a howl and a growl, primal and piercing.

  Then he drew in a sharp breath, frowning as if in agony. “I should have fought for you, claimed you, and told my father that you were the only bride I could take.” His voice rose to a crescendo, echoing off the buildings.

  Celia swallowed. His words wrapped around her like the warm desert air.

  Like the siren call of madness.

  Then he let go of her arms and fell to his knees at her feet. He took her hands in his. “Don’t leave, Celia. Please don’t leave.” His words were muffled in her shirtfront. Breathless and rasped, they scratched at her skin and clawed inside her. “I crave you with my heart and I love you with all my body and soul. Stay with me.”

  His strong hands held her tight.

  And she had no desire to push them away.

  He looked up, his handsome face taut with emotion. “Will you be my wife? Will you share my life and help me be the man I should have been all along? I can’t do it without you.”

  Dark and shining, his eyes implored her.

  “Oh, Salim.” She fought the almost overwhelming urge to shout yes.

  But she knew she couldn’t. “I’m still the Celia you couldn’t marry. The one who didn’t fit and wouldn’t work in your life.” Her voice shook. “I’ll always be that person.”

  She gestured to her work shirt and her dusty jeans. “I couldn’t ever be the polished and proper bride you need. It’s just not me. You may think you can change me, but you won’t.”

  She narrowed her eyes and girded herself against his emotional appeal. “I don’t want to change. I don’t want to live a lie. That’s not fair to me or the people around me.”

  “I know.” Salim dropped her hands. Losing their warmth left her cold, even in the desert heat.

  He sat back on his heels and looked up at her. “I know you won’t change. That you can’t change. That you don’t want to be anyone but just you.” She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. “And it just makes me love you more.”

  His words, spoken so low as he stared up at her from the dusty pathway, gripped her guts like a clenched fist.

  “I love you, Celia Davidson. I love your work and your passion…” Wearing a serious expression, he picked up one of her hands and pressed his lips to it. “And the grit under your fingernails.”

  Warmth swept through her.

  “Everything about you is precious to me.” A flicker of pain crossed his face, and he closed his eyes for a second. “When you turned me down and walked out of my office, I felt like my heart had been torn from my chest.”

  He clasped her hand in both of his. “I tried to tell myself—you can live without a heart. You’ve gone this far without it. You don’t need it.” He frowned. “But I knew I couldn’t.”

  He climbed to his feet, still holding her hands fast in his, eyes riveted to hers. “You’ve shown me that I do have a heart, and that I can’t keep acting a role I’ve learned the lines for, but that I don’t believe in.”

  He let out a long, shuddering breath. “I’ve tried to live my life for my family, for its honor and pride and for the future of our line.…” He shook his head, confusion sparkling in his eyes, then bursting into a laugh. “When all along, you were my real family. You, and now Kira. You’re the people I should care about and love and cherish.”

  Celia’s breath came in unsteady gasps. “We’re family.” She tested the words aloud as the truth of his passionate words echoed in her core.

  “You were always meant to be my wife. That’s why we fell in love and were so happy together. In my youthful stupidity, I had no idea what a mistake I was making to toss that away and go along with someone else’s plan.” He squeezed her hands. “You are my wife. You always have been and always will be, whether you like it or not.”

  Mischief—or was it sheer conviction—glinted in his eyes.

  Celia bit her lip. “I ruined you for everyone else.”

  “You did. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re husband and wife and we don’t need any contracts or ceremonies or rings to prove it.”

  Eyes wide, she stared at him. “So you don’t even want to marry me?”

  He shook his head. “I’m already married to you. I don’t need a piece of paper to make it real.”

  She stared at him. The hard lines of his regal face seemed softer than usual. He glowed with…hope.

  But maybe they were getting carried away. “But what about the practicalities? We can’t live together.”

  “Of course we can.” He raised her hands to his mouth and pressed his lips to her fingers. Her skin shivered in response. “We can live together here, and in New York, and in Muscat, and Bahrain and…wherever your work takes you. We’ll be nomads, like my Bedouin ancestors.” His eyes sparkled. “I think that will suit us very well.”

  “But what about Kira? Where will she go to school?”

  “Life is school for the Bedouin.” A smile tugged at his arrogant mouth. “And we’ll hire a tutor. I had one, and I still got into the same college as you, with your genius-professor parents.”

  Celia smiled. “You do have a point there.”

  She racked her brain for more objections. All sensible thoughts seemed to have departed on the hot, blossom-scented wind. “So, this would be our home base, but we could travel to, say, New Zealand, if I had a job there?”

  She peered at him, unable to believe this was really possible. It was just too perfect. With Salim and a tutor she really could bring Kira with her when she worked.

  “Of course. Wherever we travel to, we’ll always be home because we’ll have each other.”

  She stared at him, openmouthed. Why not? The genius—and beauty—of it swelled in her heart.

  “Mama!” Her daughter’s high-pitched voice rang through the air. Celia turned to see her standing at the door of the building where she’d left her. Tears streaked her face and her mouth was turned down in an expression of dismay.

  Celia tugged her hands from Salim’s and ran to her. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

  “We’re leaving, aren’t we? That’s why you packed my toys.” A fat tear rolled over her plump cheek.

  “Um, actually…” She couldn’t seem to find words. H
er mouth hadn’t caught up with her brain.

  “I don’t want to leave.” Kira blinked, eyes wide and brimming. “I’d miss my daddy too much.”

  Kira glanced behind her, and a rumble of emotion emerged from Salim’s chest. “I’d miss you far too much, as well, my princess.”

  “So we’re not leaving?” Kira’s eyes brightened.

  “No,” Celia said firmly. “At least not unless we’re all together.”

  “And Daddy could come with us to America?”

  “Of course. He knows America well.”

  “My two favorite people in the world are from there.” Salim smiled and brushed away a glittering tear with his thumb. “And we’ll go to other countries, too. Now, when your mommy gets a new job, we’ll go with her. And we’ll all manage my hotels together, as well. I think you’d be a big help with that.”

  “Me, too.” Kira’s tears had vanished, replaced by her sparkling smile. “I’ll help you get rich. I’m good at that.” Salim guffawed.

  Celia smiled and hugged Kira close. “She’s right. I told you about her lemonade stand. Watch out or she’ll set one up by the pool.”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

  “And you have to have a wedding so I can wear a flower girl dress. My friend Rachel wore one with little blue flowers.” Kira frowned. “But I want pink flowers.”

  Celia’s eyes met Salim’s. His twinkled. “What do you say? Does she get to wear the flowers?”

  Celia bit her lip, willing tears not to pour from her own eyes. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

  Epilogue

  “T he guys are here!” Sara poked her head from behind the beaded curtain separating Celia from the prewedding festivities outside.

  “What? I thought today was a no-guys-allowed thing.” Celia glanced down at the fresh henna, drawn in swirling organic patterns on her arms and hands. She couldn’t move until it dried. It was rather fun being propped up on cushions while everyone came behind the curtain to see her.

  Everyone female, that is. Today’s wedding celebration was the party for women, and hundreds of them milled about in colorful finery, laughing and chatting and picking their way over the cobbled stones of the lost city in high heels.

  “We’re only sticking with the good traditions, remember? What fun would your wedding party be if your husband-to-be couldn’t share it?”

  “You’re right.” Celia giggled. “He does know he can’t touch me, I hope.”

  “I’ll fight him off with a stick.” Sara cast her eyes around for a weapon. “Maybe one of those sticks they all carried in the men’s ceremony yesterday. Look out, here they come.”

  Salim and Elan burst through the curtain. Salim swept forward, careless of her elaborate paint job, and pressed his lips to hers. Heat rushed through her, mingled with excitement and elation that the wedding was finally underway after all the weeks of planning.

  With effort, she pulled her lips from his and drew in a shaky breath. “Farah spent nearly three hours on my arms. Don’t smudge the henna!”

  “It’s nearly dry.” He leaned forward, and his hot breath caressed her ear as he whispered, “And when it is I’m going to trace each precious line with my tongue.”

  “Salim.” She glanced over his shoulder. “We’re not alone.”

  “We’ll be alone soon enough,” he murmured. His eyes flashed with desire that echoed inside her.

  She glanced behind him, as Sara walked in with the children. “I’m not so sure. There must be a thousand people staying here and in Salalah.”

  “As well there should be. It’s the celebration of the century.” Salim beamed proudly. He did have the decency to step back. He stood next to Elan, both of them tall and regal in long white dishdashas, with the traditional curved khanjar dagger tucked into a sash at the waist.

  “Elan’s not wearing jeans!” Celia exclaimed.

  “I’m getting in touch with my heritage.” He grinned. Ben tugged at the long robe and Elan turned to pick him up. “Next thing you know, I’ll be riding a camel.”

  “Can we, Dad? Oh, please!” Kira ran into the curtained tent like a blast of air, her sequined dress sparkling.

  “Of course you can.” Salim picked her up and whirled her around. “Anything for my princess.”

  “Those camels are more dressed up than I am.” Celia glanced ruefully at the embroidered silk dress she was trying not to get henna on. “I think I need a few more tassels to compete.”

  “I think the camels look adorable.” Sara smiled. “Where on earth did you get them, Salim?”

  “Faisal brought them from his village. His uncle owns them. They walked for five days to get here.”

  “The lost city welcomes camel trains once again.” Celia grinned. “They look right at home here, too, nibbling on those native trees I picked out so carefully.”

  “Speaking of the lost city.” Salim cocked his head. His intense gaze made heat flash over Celia’s skin. “It’s been found again and it needs a real name.”

  “But the archaeologists couldn’t seem to figure it out.” Celia sighed. She’d put quite a bit of effort into tracking it down herself. “They kept calling it ‘the city of the Ubarites’ which is more a description than a name.”

  “I’d imagine the name changed over time,” cut in Elan. “Depending on who was living here and running the place. They’d name it after whatever was important to them.”

  “And I intend to do the same.” A sheepish smile tilted Salim’s arrogant mouth. “We shall call it Sal-iyy-ah.” He pronounced the syllables slowly.

  Sara burst out with a laugh. “Ce-l-ia! I love it.”

  Celia gasped as surprise and embarrassment reddened her face. “You can’t! I’m not even from here.”

  “No one is from here.” Salim crossed his hands over his broad chest, eyes glittering. “It was abandoned. Empty, lying in ruins. You helped bring it back to life, and now we shall all enjoy it together.” He lifted his chin, defying her to disagree.

  “That’s crazy…” Celia fanned herself, henna be damned.

  “It’s perfect.” Elan hoisted Ben higher on his waist. “It’s both Arab and Western at the same time. Just like our family.”

  “The city is our vision come to life, just as the rest of our lives will be.” Salim kissed Kira’s cheek, and she giggled. “And Kira likes the name.”

  “Well, if Kira likes it, who am I to argue?” She felt a goofy smile spread across her face.

  This was all a bit too much, and the actual wedding wasn’t even until tomorrow!

  “Someone bring this woman a cocktail!” exclaimed Sara.

  “No, please, I’m far too light-headed already. The frankincense is making me giddy.” She gestured to the aromatic lump smoldering in an open brazier. “I know it’s fabulously valuable and the entire city was built around its trade, but I’m starting to think it’s possible to suffer overexposure.”

  “Maybe you’re just delirious with happiness,” Sara said as she winked.

  “Yeah. That could be it.” She grinned and leaned back in her cushions.

  Salim could honestly say the wedding was the most spectacular event he’d ever attended, let alone hosted. Over a thousand people joined in the festivities, many of them from the States, including Celia’s friends and relatives, Salim and Elan’s younger brother, Quasar, and Sara’s large troupe of brothers and sisters and their children. They danced and sang and feasted and shared a four-foot-high cake decorated with candied lilies and orchids, until the stars twinkled over Saliyah.

  The noise of revelry still filled the air as Celia and Salim hurried, hand-in-hand, along a lamp-lit stone path toward their lavishly decorated honeymoon suite.

  Once inside, Celia closed the door behind them and clicked the lock. “Alone at last.” Her eyes shone. “It’s past 3:00 a.m. They’re never going to leave, are they?”

  “Why would they? They’re having the time of their lives.” Salim’s chest swelled with pride and happiness. �
��As am I. Especially now that I have you all to myself.”

  Kira was happily settled in a suite with Sara’s children for the night.

  Celia threw off the emerald silk shawl that covered her shoulders. “Why did we both have to wear green?” She stretched and her delicate gold dress clung to her curves.

  Heat stirred inside him. “It’s traditional.” His words were a throaty growl. “For fertility.”

  Celia raised a slim brow as she strolled toward him, limbs lithe. “I’m not sure that’s a problem for us.”

  “Not in the least.” He slid his hands around her waist.

  Mischief lit her eyes as she wrapped long, slender fingers around the hilt of his khanjar. “Is an Omani wife allowed to grasp her husband’s…dagger?”

  “Only in the privacy of the bedchamber.” Heat roared through him. “And only if she’s looking for trouble.”

  Celia licked her lips. “Trouble is exactly what I have in mind. We haven’t had nearly enough time for that lately.” She tugged at his elaborate embroidered sash, pulling until it came loose and tumbled to the floor.

  Salim’s fingers plucked at the delicate shell buttons on her dress to reveal glowing, silky skin. He sighed at the rich, floral scent that filled his senses as he stripped off her elegant layers. “Gold underwear,” he breathed, as the wickedly scant lace bra and panties revealed themselves.

  “Got to match.” Celia’s cheeks glowed, and her breath came in unsteady gasps through parted lips. Together they removed his formal dishdasha with unsteady hands, until he stood naked, and very aroused, before her.

  Celia wore nothing but her sensual gold satin lingerie—and a single green silk garter just above her left knee.

  Salim slid a finger inside the unfamiliar but strangely erotic accessory. “Why do women wear these?”

  “To drive men crazy.”

  “It works.” He frowned. His arousal thickened as he slid his hand up her thigh and cupped her soft backside in its delicate satin and lace shell.

  “Good.” Her eyes flashed. “About this fertility thing.…” She cocked her head slightly. One henna-decorated hand strayed to her belly. “What if it works?”