Книга - The Desert Prince / The Playboy’s Proposition: The Desert Prince / The Playboy’s Proposition

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

Leanne Banks


The Desert Prince Salim Al Mansur, desert prince must marry and produce an heir but the woman he wanted, he couldn’t have. He’d been determined to keep their relationship strictly business. Though seeing Celia Davidson again had Salim reconsidering seduction. But was there anything he didn’t know?The Playboy’s PropositionWhen Michael Medici spotted the beautiful cocktail waitress, he made his move. One extraordinary night later, he knew he wanted more from Bella St. Clair. Too bad he’d just acquired her family’s business – and she despised him. The word no wasn’t in the Medici vocabulary so Michael made Bella an offer even the proudest woman couldn’t refuse. Become his no-emotions-involved mistress, and she’d regain the company…












“I don’t take a project unless I can implement my plans fully.”


Ah. An uncompromising artist. He’d expect no less of Celia. Wasn’t that part of her irresistible charm?

Salim called her bluff. “Sure.”

She blinked and her lips parted.

“Not all of them,” she stammered.

Salim turned to stare out at the empty road ahead. She wanted him to be one of those unimaginative suits, so she could turn down his project without a qualm.

But he couldn’t let that happen. He’d make it impossible.

Seeing her again had already fanned that unfortunate flame of desire she kindled in him. It had never truly gone out. This time he wouldn’t be done with her until it was extinguished — permanently.


THE DESERT PRINCE JENNIFER LEWIS

AND

THE PLAYBOY’S PROPOSITION LEANNE BANKS






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




THE DESERT PRINCE

JENNIFER LEWIS




ACKNOWLEDGMENT


Thanks once again to all the wonderful people who read this book while I wrote it: Anne, Anne-Marie, Carol, Cynthia, Jerri, Leeanne, Marie, Mel, my agent Andrea and my editor Diana.




About the Author


JENNIFER LEWIS has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. Happily settled in England with her family, she would love to hear from readers at jen@jenlewis.com. Visit her website at www.jenlewis.com.


For my sister Caroline,

whose adventurous spirit and creativity

are an inspiration.


Dear Reader,

My first book, The Boss’s Demand, told the story of the unfortunate but irresistible attraction between oil magnate Elan Al Mansur and his assistant Sara. Since it was published, I’ve received many e-mails asking whether there would be stories coming for Elan’s brothers, who appear in the wedding at the end of the book.

I’m happy to say this is the story of one of those brothers. Salim Al Mansur, the dignified eldest in the family, never quite got over his college sweetheart Celia. Now he finds himself in dangerously close proximity as she designs the grounds for his newest hotel.

This book takes the reader to Elan and Salim’s hometown of Salalah, Oman, an ancient coastal city looking out over the blue waters of the Arabian Sea. I had fun catching up with Elan and Sara while I wrote this book, and I hope you enjoy Salim and Celia’s reunion romance.

Jen




One


Did he know?

Celia Davidson took a deep breath and tried to stop her hands from shaking.

The Arabian Sea glittered outside the window of the elegant hotel offices, lapping against a ribbon of pure white sand.

The beach had probably been trucked in, along with the palm trees and the elegant hotel villas that lined its shores. With enough money you could remake anything.

Make it look as though the past had never happened.

The elaborately carved door in front of her opened and her stomach clenched in response.

“Mr. Al Mansur will see you now.” His well-coiffed assistant smiled politely.

Celia brushed at her jacket, rumpled by the long journey from New York to Oman, and tucked a flyaway strand of mousy blond hair behind her ear.

Silly. He hadn’t brought her here to rekindle their on-again, off-again romance.

Or had he?

That certainly wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t give him another chance to crush her heart beneath his heel.

And there was a lot more at stake now.

A rustling of papers from inside the office made her heart stutter, but she bravely took a step inside. Crisp white walls framed a high domed ceiling and two arched windows laid a spectacular view of the sea-lined horizon at her feet.

An antique desk filled the center of the room, its shiny surface devoid of clutter. Behind it, facing the windows, the broad back of a leather armchair concealed its occupant.

Her anxiety ratcheted up a notch as the chair swung to face her. Dark eyes locked onto hers. Black hair swept back from the aristocratic face and his wide, arrogant mouth sat in a hard line.

Unfortunately, he was every bit as handsome as when she’d last seen him, almost four years ago.

“Celia.” He rose from the chair and strode toward her.

Blood rushed to Celia’s head and she struggled to keep her feet steady on the thick carpet.

“Hello,” she stammered. She extended her fingers and slid them into his large hand. A jolt of energy startled her, though it shouldn’t since he’d always had that effect on her.

Her heart still ached from the last time he’d brushed her off and slammed the doors of his life against her—again.

Was that why she’d come? He’d finally invited her into the inner sanctum and she couldn’t resist a chance to walk the glittering floors and fondle the treasures he’d never shown her before.

His eyes were expressionless as his palm pressed against hers, the formal gesture a stark contrast to the intimacy they once shared.

She pulled her hand back, skin humming.

Salim’s stern good looks had always intimidated her as much as they’d attracted her. His tailored suit barely concealed the muscled body she remembered far too well.

“Thank you for coming.” He smiled and gestured for her to take a seat. “As you’ve been told, I’m planning a land reclamation project. I understand that you specialize in sensitive treatment of ecologically challenging sites.”

Celia blinked. Apparently he intended to gloss over the fact that they’d slept together the last time they met.

Focus. “I’ve worked on a number of desert projects, including an oil field in West Texas that I restored to native short grass prairie. I’m experienced with the issues involved and I—”

“Yes. I read your online portfolio.” He turned and strode away from her. His broad shoulders tapered to his slim waist, accentuated by the well-cut suit.

He hadn’t bothered to attend her presentation at the conference where they’d had their steamy tryst. No doubt he had more important things to do.

Silenced by his brusque comment, she scanned her surroundings. Pictureless walls and ornament-free shelves. The only decoration was a gold-sheathed dagger that hung on the wall.

Probably used to pierce his business rivals.

She knew he was capable of utter ruthlessness. He’d cut her adrift without a backward glance.

Twice.

Though, really, she had only herself to blame for letting it happen again. Their college relationship was long over, but she’d fallen back into his bed at the first opportunity like a lemming running for the cliff edge.

“The site is out in the desert.” His deep voice jerked her back to the present.

He walked to the window and stood silhouetted against the bright view of the manicured bay. “My mother’s people owned the land and it was explored and drilled in the 1970s. By the end of the decade it lay exhausted and abandoned and has remained in that condition ever since.”

She steeled herself to ask the question landowners hated most. “Is the land polluted?”

“Probably.” His eyes met hers, cool and dark, devoid of emotion.

Which was fine, because she felt enough for both of them. Sheer terror raced along her nerves at what still hung unspoken between them.

You don’t have to tell him.

Her friends thought she was crazy to come here. They’d begged her to keep her distance and her secret.

Those sharp black eyes fixed on hers again. “I’ll need to take you out to the site.”

“Of course.” She pulled her PDA out of her pocket, trying not to think about being all alone with him, way out in the middle of nowhere. “That would be great. When would you like to go? I’m an early riser and I …”

“Right now.” He rose from the chair as if ready to head for his car.

Not a question. A statement of fact. Apparently Salim Al Mansur was used to issuing orders and he expected her to jump.

“But it’s afternoon. Won’t the desert be awfully hot right now?” Couldn’t she at least unpack and change? She was tired and disoriented. She’d come right here from the airport without even stopping to drop her bags off in her room at the hotel.

Though technically she was in the hotel right now. Salim owned it, part of his string of luxury resorts in the Gulf region. This office was his on-site throne room.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. For the first time the slightest flicker of humor seemed to glimmer in their lightless depths. “The desert is hot. It is in its nature.”

She gulped. “You’re right, of course.” She forced a thin smile. “Might as well face things head-on.”

She blanched.

The elephant in the room lumbered silently.

Had he summoned her here because he’d somehow learned the truth?

Salim strode toward his car. The desire to move—anywhere—surged through his limbs on a wave of thoughts and sensations.

He’d hoped that memories had deceived him, but unfortunately Celia Davidson was even more beautiful than he remembered. Although she’d come straight off a long flight, her skin glowed and her eyes shone blue as the Bahr al-Arab in the afternoon sun.

He dismissed the driver and pulled open the passenger door for Celia. His eyes strayed as she climbed in, and her boxy beige suit couldn’t hide the lithe and shapely body he’d held in his arms.

Some memories were a curse that haunted you through all eternity.

“Buckle your seat belt.” He started the ignition and pulled out of the hotel parking lot, leaving the sparkling oasis he’d created for the grittier and dustier world outside.

Celia belonged to that world, and he’d do well to remember it.

Funny how she still wore her golden hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, like the college student he remembered. She’d never been one to fuss over her appearance and he’d admired that at the time. Now it irked him that she glowed more than women who spent all day preening.

“Is it a long drive?” She stared straight ahead. Avoiding his glance, perhaps.

“That depends on what you’re used to. Here in Oman almost everywhere is a long drive. Have you been to our country before?”

“No, never.”

“You always said you wanted to come.”

He watched as she turned, startled. She hadn’t expected him to bring up the past.

“And I meant it.” Her steady blue gaze stabbed him with accusation. Reminding him she’d expected so much more of him than he’d been able to give. She tore her eyes away with visible effort. “But that was a long time ago.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be interested in this job.” He shot a sideways glance. “I think I expected you to refuse.”

He watched her neck lengthen. “Because of our history together?”

A moment of weakness had led him to her bed again after all those years apart. He’d been shocked at seeing her in the unfamiliar circumstances of a hoteliers’ conference looking just as she had when they were in college together.

They’d been so young and innocent.

So foolish.

Celia had been deadly silent when he’d made it clear their renewed liaison had no future. She was a woman of reason. Surely she wouldn’t expect a man in his position to continue an affair that could never end in marriage?

He glanced sideways at her, taking in the unchanged elegance of her profile. “I expected you to refuse because of the challenging nature of the project. I imagine most sensible landscape architects would laugh in my face.”

Their encounter four years earlier was at a Manhattan conference on hotel design, so he knew she was in the landscape field. Still, he’d been surprised when his assistant had brought him her portfolio to consider as the landscape architect for this project.

The odd coincidence had presented an opportunity to face the past head-on—and push it from his mind forever.

“I enjoy taking on challenging projects.” She sounded defensive, but he wasn’t sure why. “And the location is a new one for me.”

“You must travel a lot.” He guided the car out of the hotel’s palm-lined drive and onto the road.

“Yes. Manhattan is my home base work-wise. I live nearby in Connecticut, but I’m on the road two weeks out of most months.”

Curiosity clawed at Salim. Or was it jealousy? “Your boyfriend doesn’t mind you being away so much?”

She blinked. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” She tucked a strand of escaped blond hair nervously behind her ear.

“I’m sorry.” Relief crept through his chest.

“Why should you be sorry? My life is very full.” She stared straight ahead, jaw stiff as she uttered the words.

Why had he offered a condolence? She’d told him four years ago that she’d never married. Perhaps he felt guilty that he’d ruined her for all other men?

No doubt he gave himself too much credit.

But he’d never forgotten her. In fact, he blamed her for the demise of his first marriage, though she’d been at least three thousand miles away the entire time.

Their whirlwind romance at the conference had only deepened her infuriating hold over him. How could he take a suitable wife and hope for a successful marriage if he was enthralled by another woman?

Banishing Celia Davidson from his heart and mind would obviously be a challenge, but it must be done. The future of the Al Mansur dynasty depended on it.

Salalah’s neat rows of boxy buildings gave way to plantations of palm trees. Celia couldn’t help staring. How did they water this emerald forest of lushness out here in the desert?

“Salalah is naturally fertile. We get more rainfall than the rest of the country.” Salim’s low voice penetrated her scattered thoughts.

“That must come in useful when you’re landscaping your hotels. How many do you have?”

Phew. She’d managed to get the conversation back on a semiprofessional track.

“Twelve, at last count.” He turned the steering wheel with a capable hand.

A big, leather-clad wheel, on what was obviously a very expensive car. Salim Al Mansur could probably buy and sell a few small nations with his pocket change.

“You must have bought quite a few palm trees.”

The side of his mouth nearest her hitched slightly. A smile or a scowl, she couldn’t be sure. “And I’ll buy a few more if fate allows.”

The palm trees receded behind them as the landscape opened up to the kind of bare, brown nothingness she’d expected. Some places were meant to be bare and brown, yet she could rarely persuade her clients of that. They’d rather install thousands of sprinkler heads in a quixotic attempt to create paradise in a place that was never meant to be one.

Celia squinted. Had the sun created a mirage, or was she staring straight ahead at a range of mountains?

“The Fog Mountains.” His low voice interrupted her disbelief. Salim must have noticed her staring.

“Wow,” was all she could manage.

A band of clouds hung low over the tree-cloaked crags, green as Vermont, like something out of a fairy tale.

She gulped.

She’d been so wrapped up in her personal angst about coming here that she’d totally neglected to research the region. Better keep quiet about that, too.

Salim had always told her his country was full of surprises. Once upon a time she’d assumed they’d discover them together, but not like this.

How odd to be sitting inches away from him after everything that had happened. His solid, masculine presence next to her was only too familiar.

His unique scent, warm and spicy, drew her back into the past. He shared her bed for two whole years. They’d grown from childhood to adulthood together, sharing intimacies and joys and … incredible sex.

Her face heated at the memory. She’d fully expected to spend the rest of her life with him.

Then he’d ended it all in the most horrible way imaginable.

They climbed the lush green heights in silence and descended back to the rumpled beige floor of the desert. Relentless in its bleakness, it stretched to the heat-blurred horizon, broken only by the occasional isolated building.

As they drove, Celia found herself waiting for something marvelous to happen, like palm trees or mountains appearing out of the dusty haze.

Isn’t that why she’d come here? Hoping for a miracle of some sort?

Salim turned off the main road and headed west on a dirt track to … nowhere.

After some minutes he pulled over, next to a dilapidated metal shed whose roof had fallen in, and climbed out in silence.

Confusion clouded Celia’s mind as he opened her door and ushered her out onto the hot, sandy ground.

“This is the place?” Her incredulity showed in her voice.

Salim’s face darkened. “It was beautiful, once.”

Hard to believe. An abandoned jeep with no seats or wheels lay tilted on its side just to the left of them. Strange wheel-topped objects hunkered here and there amongst the rocky sand.

“Those are wellheads. All capped. There’s an old pipeline running to the coast. It can all be removed. The oil is exhausted.”

Salim strode amongst the detritus, his elegant dark suit an almost humorous contrast to the shabby surroundings.

“You’re planning to build a hotel here?” Was this some kind of elaborate joke?

Beads of sweat broke out along her upper lip and she tried to dab them away gracefully.

“Come this way.” The land gathered here and there into little rubble-strewn rises. She followed him behind one, and around the rise, signs of activity surprised her. Piles of dirt indicated a fresh excavation. She peered past a mound into a wide, shallow hole. The chiseled edges of dressed stone stood in sharp contrast to the rocky sand around them. “Stone blocks? Where did those come from?”

“There’s a complex of buildings under the sand here. Maybe even a whole city.”

Salim’s gruff voice couldn’t hide his enthusiasm.

“The famous lost city of the desert?” A rush of excitement danced over Celia’s skin. She glanced up and realized that similar excavations surrounded them. Low walls emerged from the dusty terrain, tracing the ancient contours of buildings.

Ancient roads revealed themselves in the sand around them, cobbles worn smooth by time and the passage of many feet.

“We’re on the frankincense trade route from the coast. There were caravan routes throughout the area, leading north into the Empty Quarter, to Saudi Arabia and beyond. Cities sprang up around oases where the merchants would stop to water their camels.”

“But there’s no water here.” She glanced around, searching for the clichéd shimmering lake surrounded by palm trees.

“There was once.” He kicked at a clod of rocky dirt with his black leather shoe. “It’s still here, buried under the ground. The remains of an aquifer.”

Celia stared at the arid soil. “There’s enough water left to irrigate?”

“More than enough.”

Something in his voice jerked her gaze to his. Was it her imagination or did triumph dance in his eyes? Anticipation, anyway.

It echoed like butterflies in her tummy.

“There’s enough water to supply the hotel and staff housing. The excavations stretch over a five-hundred-foot area. I plan to reconstruct some of the buildings so visitors can see how people lived and worked back then.”

“And perhaps you could leave some in a state of semi-excavation, so visitors could see how you found them. It’s startling to see such perfectly made blocks emerging out of the sand.”

He looked at her, thoughtful. “Yes. Let people see how the past lay hidden here for so many centuries.”

His vision for this desolate wasteland animated his features and made his eyes shine. He looked heart-achingly handsome, the sun burnishing his tanned features.

He peeled off his jacket and threw it down on a half-buried wall. Celia tore her gaze from the sight of his broad back straining against his thin white shirt.

Her faithless eyes tracked him as he strode, bold and athletic, across the rugged terrain. “Come here.”

Celia scrambled over the rocky ground in her one pair of “smart” shoes. She certainly wouldn’t be dressed like this if she’d known they were coming to the site.

“This is where the excavation started.” He pointed to a wide, shallow pit, where layers of dirt had been brushed away to reveal the remains of several wide walls. “I hired a student to collect data about our family history. He became fascinated with this land and told me satellite imagery suggested signs of an ancient crossroads here. I hired an archeological team to excavate, and his suspicion was proven correct.”

“What a find. Are you sure a hotel is the best use for the site? Perhaps archaeologists would like to study it in greater detail.”

Salim’s brow clouded. “I wish to bring this place back to life, not preserve it as a mummified corpse to be picked over by vultures.”

“Of course,” she stammered, chastened. She knew virtually nothing about his background. His home and family was a tacitly off-limits subject when they were in college.

She had found out why.

“I wish for people to travel here with a sense of purpose and anticipation. I want to share the history of our country and its people with anyone who cares to visit, not a few rarified academics.” His dark eyes shone. “I hope people will come from other countries to visit.”

He frowned and shoved a hand through his hair. She tore her eyes from the sudden clenching of his thick biceps when he looked back at her. “Perhaps you know that Oman’s oil supply is limited. In a decade or two it’ll be gone. It’s my goal—personal and professional—to develop tourism as a well of riches for our future.”

His zeal rose in the hot desert air like the frankincense that must have once perfumed it. Celia’s chest swelled.

For a split second she saw a glimpse of the warm and excitable boy she’d once been so in love with.

She nodded. “The Salalah coastline is spectacular. The ocean is such an intense shade of blue. And those mountains … I’d never have imagined something like that here in the desert.”

“Exactly. For every person who knows and appreciates the beauty of our country, there are untold millions who know nothing about it—yet.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “I intend to change that.”

Celia wiped another bead of sweat off her lip. Salim’s mischievous smile was having a very unsettling effect on her.

He’s dangerous, and don’t you forget it. He’d already broken her heart twice.

And now there was another heart at stake, far more precious than her own.

“What kind of hotel design are you planning?” She managed to sound calm.

“Low rise. Buildings designed to blend with their surroundings, but to offer all the comforts a traveler would desire. Some will be luxurious—others will accommodate those with simpler tastes or a more modest budget. We shall welcome everyone.”

He spread his arms in a generous gesture that tugged at somewhere deep inside her. She’d been so unwelcome in his life.

She cleared her throat. “And the landscape. What did you have in mind?”

That wicked smile played about his lips. “I don’t. That’s why you’re here.”

“Native plants or lavishly watered opulence?”

“They each have their own beauty. I imagine them coexisting here.” He glanced around the strange half-dug excavations. “This was a meeting place of people, cultures and ideas. A place where anything was possible.” His dark gaze fixed on hers. “And that’s what I want you to create.”

Her stomach fluttered.

Could she do it? Take this job and work with Salim Al Mansur after everything that happened between them? With a secret as hot and volatile as the desert air hovering between them?

The work sounded fascinating. To watch an ancient watering hole come back to life as a modern day resort, and to have free rein to plant it any way she saw fit…. The challenge was irresistible—almost.

“What’s the budget?”

Salim’s eyes narrowed.

Her question was crass—but she was in business.

“This project comes from my heart.” He pressed a palm to his chest, broad fingers silhouetted against his fine white shirt. “I don’t intend to put a number on the cost to restore it.” He held her gaze just long enough to make her heart thud like a drum. “Whatever it takes.”

Celia blew out a breath as his low voice reverberated around her brain. What would it take?

If she worked with him she’d have to tell him. Hell, she wanted to tell him. The secret ate her up inside. Every day she ached to tell him.

You have a daughter.

But the consequences might be unthinkable.




Two


As Salim piloted the car back to Salalah, he got the distinct impression Celia was trying to back out.

“How do you feel about honoring the land’s history of oil production?” She glanced sideways at him, blue eyes alive with intelligence. “That’s surely part of the area’s heritage, too.”

“You mean, incorporate the wellheads and pipelines?”

“Exactly.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t take a project unless I can implement my vision.”

Ah. An uncompromising artist. He’d expect no less of Celia. Wasn’t that part of her irresistible charm?

Salim turned and called her bluff. “Sure.”

She blinked and her lips parted.

“Not all of them,” she stammered. “I think an area’s industrial history can be part of its magic. I designed a park two years ago around an old coal mine in England. We preserved the pithead as part of the project because that mine was the reason the town grew there in the first place.”

Salim nodded as his hand slid over the wheel. “I appreciate original thinking. Too many tourist destinations are carbon copies of the same island fantasy.”

“Aren’t they? Sometimes it’s hard to tell if you’re in Florida or Madagascar. I have a heck of a time with some of my clients though. They don’t want to use native plants because they don’t see them as ‘upscale.’ I guess familiarity breeds contempt.”

“We business types need educating.”

Celia raised a blond brow. “Sometimes it’s not worth the trouble. Many people aren’t interested in being educated. They want business as usual.”

Salim turned to stare out at the empty road ahead. She wanted him to be one of those unimaginative suits, so she could turn down his project without a qualm of conscience.

But he couldn’t let that happen. “I’ll pay triple your usual fee.”

Celia froze. “What?”

“It’s a big project and will take a long time.”

She bit her lip, obviously contemplating the dilemma of turning down more money than she’d probably ever made.

He heard her inhale. “I’ll need to travel back to the states regularly.”

“Come and go as you please. I’ll pay all your expenses.”

She wanted to refuse him, but he’d make it impossible.

Seeing her again had already fanned that unfortunate flame of desire she kindled in him. It had never truly gone out. This time he wouldn’t be done with her until it was extinguished—permanently.

A simple signature committed Celia to the uneasy partnership. A meeting with the architect and general contractor established they were all on the same page, and all systems were go by the time Celia headed back to Manhattan with her first check burning a large hole in her pocket.

She could fly back to visit Kira whenever she wanted. When this job was over she’d have enough money for a down payment on a house in Weston, near her parents. She could set down roots and have a real home base to share with her daughter.

She had thoroughly convinced herself that taking the job was a good idea—until Sunday lunch at her parents’ house in Connecticut.

“But Mom, you’re the one who said it was time for Kira to meet her father.” Celia heard her voice rising to a whine the way it used to when she was a teen and they wouldn’t lend her the car.

“I know, dear. But you met with her father. Did you tell him about Kira?”

Kira was napping in the upstairs bedroom she slept in when Celia was traveling.

“You know I didn’t.”

“Why not?” Her mother’s clear blue gaze had never seemed more like an inquisitor’s stare.

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “The time never felt right. It’s a big thing. I should have told him when I was pregnant. I’m beginning to wish I had, but everyone talked me out of it.”

Her mother nodded. “They had good reason to. He’d already told you there was no future between you. You know sharia law grants a father full legal custody of his children. He could have taken Kira from you and denied you the right to see her. He still could.”

Celia frowned. “I don’t think he’d do that.”

“You’ve got solid gut instincts. If you didn’t tell him, there was good reason for it.”

“Your mother’s right, dear,” said her father, pushing a brussels sprout onto his fork. His soft voice rarely offered anything but support and encouragement, but she could see that he, too, was apprehensive about her taking this job. “He seemed like a nice boy when you two were back in college, but that was a long time ago. You don’t know what he’s capable of. He’s rich and powerful.”

Celia snorted. “All the money in the world doesn’t turn him into a god. He was a little intimidating at first, but I was completely blunt about my ideas for the project and we came to an understanding.”

“Except about the fact that you bore his child.” Her mother stared intently at her white wineglass as she took a sip.

Celia bit her lip. “I do want to tell him.”

“Just be careful. Once you tell him, there’s no going back.”

“I know, I know, believe me. Still, she’s Salim’s daughter. He has a right to know about her. It’s cruel to both Salim and Kira to keep him in the dark about her existence. When the time is right, I’ll tell him.”

Fear curled in her stomach, along with the guilt that had been her constant companion since Kira’s birth.

“Salim, huh? I see you’re back on a first-name basis. Don’t you fall in love with him again, either.”

“I’d rather die.”

Upstairs, she crouched beside Kira’s “big girl bed.” Her daughter’s long, long lashes fluttered slightly, as dream images flashed across those huge brown eyes.

They looked so much like Salim’s.

Celia bit her knuckle. So many things about Kira reminded her of Salim. Celia’s own pale coloring had been shoved aside by genes demanding shiny dark hair and smooth olive skin. Kira had a throaty chuckle when something really amused her that sounded shockingly like Salim’s laugh.

Already she was fascinated with numbers, and with money and business, and she certainly didn’t get that from her mom. She’d even convinced her grandma to help her set up a lemonade—and lemon cupcake!—stand last summer, when she’d barely turned two. She’d fingered the shiny quarters with admiration and joy that made the family fall about, laughing.

Celia was sure Salim, who’d majored in business and run a consulting firm of sorts while still in college, would be amused and proud beyond words.

A soft, breathy sigh escaped from Kira’s parted lips. Finely carved lips that were unmistakably an inheritance from one person.

It was wrong to deprive her daughter of her father. If it was awkward to tell him now, it would be much worse when Kira wanted to find him ten or fifteen years from now. It wasn’t fair to keep them apart.

When Celia returned to Oman two weeks later, Salim was in Bahrain, opening a new hotel. Every day she expected his return with trembling anticipation, but the days stretched out into six weeks with no sign of him.

She could be offended by his neglect, but she decided to view it as a vote of confidence. Apparently, he trusted her completely and didn’t even want detailed updates of her plans.

The archaeological team was hard at work reassembling structures and artifacts at the site. She’d put together a team of landscape professionals and made herself an expert in the unique local flora and fauna.

Suddenly word came from on high that his majesty was due back in three days. The coffee grew stronger and meetings stretched late into the night. Admins and accountants scurried faster from office to office. Celia found herself pacing the luxurious landscape nurseries, examining everything from specimen palm trees to prostrate ground covers with an increasing sense of alarm.

She planned to tell him about Kira at the first possible opportunity. She couldn’t work for him and take his money while concealing something so vital. His loyal employees made it clear that he was a man of honor. He’d be angry, yes, but.

“He’s here!” His admin burst into the conference room where Celia was organizing a set of drawings. “He’s on his way up and he asked me to find you. I’ll tell him you’re in here.”

Sunlight shone brighter through the elegant arched windows, and the sea outside seemed to glitter with a sense of menace. Celia straightened her new pinstriped suit and patted her hair.

You can do this.

It was going to be awkward any time she told him. Disastrous, even, but she couldn’t work for him under false pretenses. The longer she waited the worse it would be when the news finally came out.

He had to know. Now.

“Celia.”

His deep voice resonated off the thick plaster walls and marble floors. Her breath stuck in her lungs as she turned to face him.

An unexpected smile lit his imperious features. He strode toward her and took hold of both her hands, then raised them to his mouth and kissed them. Shock rippled through her as his lips brushed her skin and sparked a shiver of sensation.

“Uh, hi,” she stammered. “I was just organizing the plans.”

“Ahmad tells me your designs are ingenious.”

She smiled. “No more so than his.” The architect was younger than her, but already accomplished and now apparently generous with praise. She made a mental note to thank him.

She made another mental note to rip her gaze from Salim’s broad shoulders. Unlike last time he wore the typical attire of pretty much every man on the Arabian Peninsula: a long white dishdasha that emphasized the elegance of his powerful physique.

She cleared her throat. “I have some sets of plans to go over with you before I order the plantings.”

And there’s another little something I’d like to mention …

How on earth was she going to do this?

No time like the present. She screwed her hands up into fists. Drew a deep breath down into her lungs. Lifted her shoulders.

“Salim, there’s something I …”

But the words dried on her tongue as another man entered the room. Almost a carbon copy of Salim, but with a stockier build. And this man wore Western clothing—jeans in fact.

“Celia, meet my brother, Elan.”

Salim studied her face as she shook hands with Elan. She seemed nervous about something. According to Ahmad’s daily reports her plans were brilliant: creative, stylish and ideally suited to the difficult environment.

So why did she look so … apprehensive?

Her eyes darted from Elan to himself. Her cheeks were pink and her lips appeared to quiver with unspoken words. The pulse hammering at her delicate throat suggested a heart beating fast beneath her high, proud breasts.

He cursed the thought as Elan’s words tugged him out of his reverie. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You have?” Celia’s voice was almost a squeak.

“What do you mean?” asked Salim. Surely he’d never mentioned his long-ago American girlfriend to his brother. They hadn’t even lived in the same country since Elan was sent away to boarding school at age eleven.

“Oh, yes. You were definitely the highlight of his college education,” he teased. “I suspect you may have rose-tinted the entire college experience for him. He certainly enjoyed it a lot more than I did.”

Salim’s ears burned at hearing himself discussed so casually. “That’s only because Elan is a man of action and not academics. I assure you my pleasure was entirely pedagogical.” He shot a dark glance at his brother.

Elan’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Yeah, sure.”

“Elan runs an oil services company in Nevada.” Salim looked at Celia. “He’s busy ripping up the landscape so that people like you can put it back together one day.”

Elan shrugged. “The world still runs on oil, whether we like it or not. And as my brother knows, conserving the environment is a passion of mine.”

Celia smiled. “That is refreshing.”

Salim suppressed a snort of disgust. A passion of mine? He didn’t remember his brother being such a flirtatious charmer. “Where are Sara and the children?”

“They’re on the beach.” Elan tucked his thumbs into his belt loops in another American gesture that made Salim realize how little he knew his own brother.

“Perhaps you should join them.”

Salim glanced at Celia. Sun shone through the windows and illuminated her golden hair, picking out highlights of copper and bronze. He wanted to be alone with her.

To discuss the plans, naturally.

“I think we should all join them.” Elan held out his arm, which Salim noticed with irritation was as thickly muscled as a dockworker’s. “Celia, come meet my wife. She’s never left the U.S. before so I think she’d be glad to hear a familiar accent.”

Salim studied Celia’s face as she absorbed the fact that his brother had married an American girl. A perfectly ordinary girl without an ounce of aristocratic blood. Elan bragged cheerfully about her impoverished background. A stark contrast to the type of woman tradition had expected him to marry.

But Elan was not the eldest son.

Celia pushed a hand through her silky hair. “Sure, I’d love to come to the beach.” She glanced nervously at Salim. “Unless you had other plans for me.”

An alternate plan formed in his mind. It involved unbuttoning her officious pinstriped suit and liberating her lithe, elegant body.

He drew in a breath and banished the image before it could heat his blood. “None whatsoever.”

She glanced down at her suit. “I’d better run to my room and change.”

“Good idea.” Elan smiled. “They’re camped out near the snack bar. We’ll meet you down there.”

Salim bridled at the reference to his elegant beach café as a “snack bar,” but he kept his mouth shut.

Elan was his guest and he’d resolved to end the long estrangement between the surviving members of their once-great family.

He may have failed in his mission to produce the son and heir his father demanded, but at least he could draw his scattered brothers back to their roots in Oman.

They were all he had left.

“Salim, I’m not leaving you here,” said Elan. “You’ll start working and that’ll be the last we see of you until dinner.”

Salim stiffened as his brother threaded his arm through his. Elan always had been affectionate. It was one of the reasons his father had sent him away to a spartan boarding school in England—to toughen him up.

It had worked, as he remembered from their guarded encounters afterward. And it had backfired badly. Salim recalled the forthright strength Elan had shown in refusing the bride their father had chosen and claiming he’d never set foot on their land again. A promise he’d kept until their father’s death.

Apparently, Sara had un-toughened him again.

Salim snuck a sideways glance at his brother. Same strong nose, determined jaw, flinty black eyes. Even their close-cropped hair was similar.

But Elan’s jeans and shirt were a striking contrast to Salim’s traditional dress. A difference that spoke of the chasm opened between them.

Salim traveled regularly, but could not imagine living abroad.

Or marrying an American girl.

Even one as desirable as Celia.




Three


Celia couldn’t stop laughing. A bright-eyed toddler was attempting to bury her feet in the sand, and the combination of sun and splashing seawater made her feel downright giddy.

Sailboats scudded on the sapphire horizon and, behind her, the elegant white buildings of the hotel reflected the magical afternoon sun.

Salim sat on the fine sand a few feet from her, his long white garment crisp and elegant in stark contrast to everyone else’s swimsuits. He showered lavish praise on his young nephew Ben’s elaborate sand castle, and smiled indulgently when nine-month-old Hannah tugged at the hem of his robe and sprinkled sand on his feet.

Unlike his brother Elan, he showed no inclination to run in the surf with them under his arm.

Elan’s wife, Sara, was athletic, outspoken and almost as blond as Celia herself.

Hah. So much for the Al Mansur men being pledged from birth to marry a handpicked local bride. She couldn’t help gloating a little, under the circumstances.

How different things might have been if Salim hadn’t broken off their long-ago romance to marry the bride his father chose.

“I hear you’re one of the top landscape architects in the world today.” Sara’s comment pulled Celia out of her reflection.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve just had the good fortune to be offered some interesting projects.”

“She’s too modest,” Salim cut in. “Her innovative approach has earned her an excellent reputation. I wouldn’t have hired her otherwise.”

“I’m impressed that you hired a woman,” said Sara, looking straight at Salim. “Elan’s told me the country is very traditional. I wasn’t sure I’d see women in positions of influence.”

“I wouldn’t cheat my business of the skills and talents of half the population.” Salim shifted position. “I’ve raised some eyebrows with my hiring practices over the years, but no one’s laughing at the results.”

“That’s good to hear.” Sara smiled. “Though I’ve noticed that even a man who believes in equality in the boardroom can be quite the knuckle-dragger when it comes to his private life.” She shot a mischievous look at her husband. “Elan took a while to catch onto the idea of the emancipated woman.”

“Really?” Celia couldn’t disguise her fascination.

“It’s true,” said Elan ruefully. “I was all in favor of women in the workplace, until it came to my own wife.”

“And this after I’d already worked with him for several months. Somehow, once the ring was on my finger I was expected to lie around eating bonbons all day.”

Elan shrugged. “I guess I still had all those old-fashioned traditions etched somewhere in my brain, even though I’d rejected them a long time ago. Almost losing Sara made me wake up.”

“Lucky thing he came to his senses. I’d have missed him.” Sara winked. “And we wouldn’t have Hannah.” She looked fondly at the baby, who sat on Elan’s knee sucking on a sandy finger.

Elan stretched. “We Al Mansur men come with some baggage, but trust me, we’re worth the trouble.” He shot a glance at his brother.

Celia’s eyes darted from one man to the next. Had his comment been intended for her?

Surely Salim hadn’t told his brother about their long-ago relationship? With his hints about the past, he seemed to be trying to start something.

Salim sat, straight backed on the sand, brows lowered. Obviously the whole discussion made him uncomfortable.

As well it might.

Her breathing grew shallow. Elan had no idea of the bombshell she was about to lob at Salim.

“Salim,” Elan flicked a bug from his baby daughter’s arm. “Did I tell you Sara and I are eating out with one of my clients tonight? I hope you weren’t counting on us for dinner.”

Salim frowned. “I thought you wanted to eat that giant fish you caught this morning in the harbor. You should enjoy it while it’s still fresh.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot all about Old Yellow.” He glanced up at Celia, a twinkle in his eye. “It’s a yellowfin tuna. Maybe you two could share it?”

Celia gulped.

What was Salim’s brother up to?

A cautious glance at Salim revealed his brow lowered in distaste.

“Goodness, I wouldn’t dream of imposing,” she blurted, anxious to dispel the tension. “I’m sure Salim is busy since he’s been away so long. A lot has happened at the site.”

“Yes, I need to visit it this afternoon.” Salim’s face was expressionless. “Perhaps you could accompany me and fill me in on the details.”

“Absolutely. I’d be glad to.” She met his poker face with one of her own.

Was that a grin of triumph spreading across Elan’s rather arrogant features?

He’d be grinning out of the other side of his mouth if he knew the truth about her. He had no idea he was trying to set his brother up with a woman who kept his own child a secret from him.

She bit her lip as dread crept through her.

The excursion would present a perfect opportunity to tell Salim about Kira.

Now that they were working together, every day she didn’t tell him made the secret weigh heavier. It was time to bite the proverbial bullet—or dagger, in this case—and face the consequences.

Salim chose a chauffeured car to drive Celia and himself to the site so there could be no suspicion of impropriety. His brother’s bizarre hints made it sound as if he actually expected him to form a relationship with Celia.

Where would he get such an idea?

His unfortunate reunion liaison with Celia was entirely secret. He hadn’t told a soul, and never would. He had no intentions toward her now, except to extinguish all thoughts of her from his heart and mind.

Celia stepped out of the car, her faded jeans giving away far too much information about her shapely legs. He glanced at his driver, but the man had tactfully averted his eyes.

“Guide me through the site as if it were built,” he commanded. He cleared his throat as she walked past, determined not to be distracted by the tasteless and provocative way her pale pink T-shirt draped over her rather pert breasts.

Really, a mature woman should dress more modestly in a business situation.

It was entirely her fault that images of her snuck into his dreams and hung around his brain, ready to spear him with unexpected and unwelcome sensations.

It was annoying that his body responded so predictably to such simple and obvious stimuli.

She wore construction boots, too. Was there no limit to her desire to flaunt the expectations of feminine dress?

The boots were practical though, he couldn’t argue with that. They picked their way across the rocky site until they reached an area where carved stone and mud-brick walls rose out of the soil.

“This will be the main entrance.” Celia spread her arms, which had acquired a slight tan. “The road will be paved with stones to match those found at the site, and the drive lined with native plants like simr that need little water and provide nectar for honeybees. The original site appears to have been fortified, so the design incorporates a low wall and a wide, wooden gate, which will remain open.”

“Unless invaders attack.”

She glanced at him, surprised. A smile flickered across her shell-pink lips. “Always best to be prepared.”

She strode ahead, long limbs covering the uneven ground with ease. “This open space will be the reception area of the hotel, and we’ve conceived it as the “marketplace.” The various desks will be arranged like luxurious market stalls, and will in fact have handcrafted, traditional objects available for purchase.”

The vision she conjured formed in Salim’s mind. “A marketplace. I like it. We must have food available here, too. Coffee and dates.”

“Date palms, bananas and coconut palms will be planted throughout the property. Of course they’re not native, and will require irrigation, but it’s likely they would have been grown here.”

“Has the aquifer been tapped yet?”

“Come this way.” Her mysterious smile intrigued him. He quickened his pace to keep up with her enthusiastic stride.

She paused at a circular section of wall, partially excavated from the surrounding ground. “The old well. And look inside.”

Salim leaned over the edge of the wall. He inhaled deeply as the unmistakable, indescribable scent of pure, fresh water tickled his nostrils. It glittered below, just visible in the shadowed depths of the well. “Beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” Excitement sparkled in her eyes. “I can imagine people sitting around this well a thousand years ago.”

“People probably sat around this well three thousand years ago. Maybe even ten thousand years.”

“Your ancestors.” She peered into the depths.

Salim stiffened. The ancestors he’d let down by failing to sire an heir. But once he purged Celia from his mind he’d take a new wife and accomplish that, too.

“Perhaps they’re all around us right now, invisible.” Her soft voice drifted in the warm air.

“Ghosts?” His skin prickled.

“Or something like that. Can’t you feel all the energy here?” She lifted her shoulders as if sensation trickled down her spine. The movement brought her pink T-shirt tight over her round breasts and drew his eye to where the nipple peaked beneath the soft fabric.

Heat flashed through him and a long-lost memory surfaced: Celia naked in his bed, sleepy-eyed and smiling.

Salim cursed the tricks of his brain. What would his ancestors think of that little vision? “The guest quarters?”

“This way.” She walked on, aglow with confidence she’d enjoyed even back in college. “They’re arranged along the patterns of the ancient streets. They were thoroughly excavated and all artifacts removed for study. As you can see, we’ve started rebuilding using the existing remains as the foundation where possible. It’s moving to see the lost city rise from the sands again.”

Salim nodded. Maybe that was why his flesh tingled with unfamiliar sensation. Whole lives had unfolded here, only to disappear again into the dust.

“I’ve chosen plants that were indigenous at the time, or that could have been brought here by traders. Nothing from the Americas.”

“Except yourself.”

“Luckily I won’t be a permanent feature.” She kept her face turned from him.

“I’m sure you’d be a delightful addition, should you decide to install yourself.” The words seemed to slip from his tongue. They both knew he didn’t mean them.

Didn’t they?

He saw her shoulders tighten. “I don’t think I’d match the décor.”

“I imagine that a desert oasis of this kind attracted travelers and merchants from all over the world. Perhaps even tall, blonde princesses from afar.”

“I don’t think anyone would accuse me of being a princess.”

“If I recall correctly, you can be a little headstrong and demanding.” He’d loved her effortless self-assurance and the way she always expected the world to come to its senses and see things her way.

“Oh, I still am.” She flashed a smile. “That’s how I get things done, especially with a crew of fifty to supervise. I’m impressed with the workers, by the way. They really are a diverse group. I have men from India, Africa, Saudi Arabia. They all have different skills and talents. You weren’t kidding about this place attracting people from everywhere.”

He shrugged. “People go where the work is.”

Like her. He’d made it impossible for her to refuse this job. Not because he couldn’t stand the thought of being rejected by her. Because she was the best person for the job.

And because he had unfinished business with her.

Celia marched forward, her construction boots striking the soil with determination. “Each guest will have their own house, arranged along the original streets and built in the traditional style. Each guest house will have a courtyard with a recirculating fountain.”

“Perfect.”

“I admit I’m nervous about how quickly we’re forging ahead.” She shoved a lock of hair off her face. “I know the archaeologists have been thorough, but there could well be more stuff down there.”

“Then let it remain. This oasis probably has several layers of civilizations, each built on top of its predecessor. I wish for the tradition to continue, not for a lost way of life to be preserved in amber.”

She smiled. “I think it’s exciting that you’re not afraid to embrace change and bring the oasis back to life. As you can see we’re reusing a lot of the original building materials.” She beckoned with her fingers. “The pool area is this way.”

Salim let his gaze follow her for a moment before he started to walk. Her graceful stride revealed the power contained within her slim body. He knew all too well the energy and affectionate enthusiasm she was capable of.

Not that he’d fully appreciated it at the time. Perhaps he’d thought all women were such bewitching creatures in the intimacy of a bedroom.

Their regrettable meeting four years ago only reminded him too vividly of all he’d missed in the intervening years.

“An open body of water would have been pretty unlikely in the old settlement, so we racked our brains about whether to go for a natural free-form shape, or a more traditional rectangular form like a courtyard fountain. Right now we’re thinking that a perfectly round pool would be an interesting combination of the two. Formal in its geometry, yet soft and natural in its outline so people can gather around it like a natural lake.”

She marched briskly around its imagined shores. “It will be zero entry on one side so that small children can splash in the shallow water and the other side will have a gentle waterfall to circulate the water and provide filtration.”

The setting sun made the rocky sand glow like candlelit amber. The workers had vanished for the day, leaving their excavator baking in the sun, and the oasis hung suspended in time. Celia stood on the shores of her imaginary lake, golden hair burnished by the rich light.

Salim cursed the ripple of thick sensation that surged through his body.

He was in control here.

It irked him that Celia could be so cool and businesslike.

He’d brought her here in the first place to remind him that she was just an ordinary woman, not the goddess of his fevered imagination.

Unfortunately, spending time with her had further unearthed the past he hoped to bury. Surely he wasn’t the only one suddenly pricked by shards of memory?

“We must leave before it gets dark.” His gruff tone seemed to startle her out of deep reverie. “You will have dinner with me.”

* * *

Celia hovered in front of the mirror for a second.

Yes, it was her. She still had that little freckle next to her nose. Otherwise she might not have been so sure.

Her hair lay coiled about her neck in shimmering gold ringlets, arranged in her room by one of the hotel’s hairdressers.

Her usual T-shirt had been replaced by a fitted tunic of peacock-blue silk, shot through with emerald-green.

She looked quite silly, but she hadn’t wanted to be rude. She was now fit to be seen in the hotel’s most exclusive dining room—at least according to the friendly staff member who’d bedecked her. Apparently, she and Salim were going to eat Elan’s yellowfin tuna there, under the prying eyes of the hotel’s wealthiest and snootiest guests.

Fun.

Especially since she still hadn’t told Salim about Kira.

It seemed wrong to interrupt their work at the lost city with the news. The driver had invaded their privacy all the way back to the hotel. Now she had to smile and fake her way through a formal dinner, with the secret throbbing inside her like Edgar Allan Poe’s telltale heart.

Her shoulders shook a little under the peacock silk covering. The dress was modest, Omani style, with embroidered gold trim at the neckline and cuffs, and matching pants underneath. The thick bangles on her wrists looked disturbingly like pure twenty-four-carat gold.

Naturally, she’d return them right after dinner.

She jumped when the phone on the bedside table beeped. She shuffled across the floor in her gold-and-blue slippers and snatched up the receiver.

“I’m on my way to your room.” Salim’s bold tones sent a surge of adrenaline to her embroidered toes.

“Great. I’m all ready.”

She plastered on her best fake smile.

Maybe tonight would present the perfect time to tell him.

Kira was the center of her universe. She spoke to her every day on the phone, sometimes several times. Twice now Kira had wondered aloud where her “Dada” was. She’d noticed that other kids in day care had one, and she didn’t.

Celia was painfully reminded that two people who were father and daughter weren’t even aware of each other’s existence. The entire future of their relationship, possibly the whole direction of the rest of their lives, lay on her shoulders.

The door flung open and Salim stood framed in the soft glow from the hallway. His strong features had an expression of strange intensity, which deepened as he stared at her.

“Where did you get those clothes?”

“Aliyah brought them for me. From the gift shop. She said you’d …”

“I told her to find you whatever you needed. I didn’t tell her to dress you up like an Omani.” He himself had changed into Western clothes. A white shirt open at the collar and crisp dark pants.

Celia laughed, mostly out of nerves. “Kind of funny, isn’t it? I look Omani and you look American.”

Salim’s gaze swept over her, heating her skin under the elaborate dress. A frown furrowed his forehead.

He hated it.

Her bangles jangled as she reached up to brush an imagined hair from her rapidly heating face. “If you think I should change I’m sure I can find something in my closet.”

“No. You’re fine. Let’s eat.”

He hesitated in the doorway then thrust his arm out for her to take.

Her stomach leaped as she slipped her arm in his. His thick muscle held rigid, unyielding, like he was steeling himself against something.

Celia drew a deep breath down into her lungs and tried not to trip over her embroidered slippers.

“Your work at the site,” said Salim gruffly. “I’m very pleased with it.”

“I’m amazed at how well it’s coming together. Your team are magicians. I tell them what I want and they wave their magic wands overnight and make it happen.”

“I’ve built and opened a lot of hotels.”

She struggled to keep up as he strode along the hotel corridor, polished marble shimmering under their feet and lights glimmering in arched alcoves along the walls.

“Do you have a favorite, or is each new one the best and brightest?”

Salim frowned and his stride hesitated. “They’re like children to me. I value each one for different reasons.”

Celia faltered, tripping over her own feet as terror froze her blood at the word children.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m not used to wearing such a long dress,” she stammered. “I spend too much time in jeans.”

“You look different dressed up.” His dark gaze flickered over her face and body, leaving a trail of heat like a comet’s tail.

Celia swallowed. “I guess almost anything is an improvement.” She tried to walk gracefully, as the blue silk swished about her calves.

“I suppose that depends on the eye of the beholder.”

Heat snapped between them, heating her arm where it lay inside his. Her skin tingled and she could feel her face, flushed like a schoolgirl on her first date.

It’s not a date.

Why did it feel like one?

The hallway led into the hotel’s main lobby, a well-lit atrium framed on all sides by the curved white arches characteristic of Omani architecture. Inlaid floor tiles glittered at their feet and hotel staff moved silently about, working their magic.

Celia’s arm tingled inside Salim’s as he guided her toward the restaurant. Her hand rested on his wrist, which she noticed was dusted with fine black hairs. His hand was broad and strong, more so than she remembered, but no surprise given all those hands had accomplished in the last decade.

She kept expecting him to withdraw his arm and push her politely away as they entered the restaurant, but he kept a firm hold as he nodded to his maitre d’ and led her to the table.

Of course he probably behaved this way with business partners all the time. He was simply being polite. Nothing to get worked up about.

He pulled back her chair and she lowered herself into her seat as gracefully as possible. Glances darted to her from around the room, and she hoped it wasn’t because she looked foolish in her getup. At least Aliyah hadn’t suggested she wear a traditional gold headdress.

Salim frowned again. “You look beautiful.”

His unexpected compliment left her speechless. It seemed at odds with his harsh demeanor. Almost like he was mad at her for looking nice.

“Thanks, I think.” She grasped her water glass and took a sip. “You’re not so hard on the eyes, yourself.”

She wasn’t sure whether Salim looked more breathtaking in Western clothes or in the traditional dishdasha. The truth was, it didn’t matter what he wore. His strong features and proud bearing made any getup look downright majestic.

His stern expression only enhanced the handsome lines of his face. But he wasn’t the boy she’d once loved. Something was different, changed forever.

What was it? A playfulness she remembered. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

Every now and then she thought she saw a shadow of it, but maybe she was just imagining things.

Something had died in her, too, the day he’d told her their relationship was over—because he’d married another woman. Just like that, over Christmas break, while she was sitting at home penning dreamy letters and looking forward to seeing him again.

“How come you never married again?” The question formed in her mind and emerged from her mouth at the same time.

She regretted it instantly, and waited for his brow to lower. But it didn’t.

He picked up his glass and held it, clear liquid sparkling in the candlelight for a moment. “I never met anyone …”

“As wonderful as me?” She spoke it on a laugh, sure he’d respond with a jab.

But now he frowned. Stared at her with those impenetrable onyx eyes. “We did have something, you and I.”

Her belly contracted. “I thought so, at the time.” Her voice had gone strangely quiet, like the life force had been sucked out of her.

“The marriage wasn’t my idea, you know.” He put down his glass and wove his fingers together. “My father sprang the whole thing on me without warning.”

“You could have said no.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t.” That odd look in his eyes again. A flash of … something. “Not then, anyway. I was still the eldest son, the dutiful one, my father’s heir.”

“So you had to do what he said, regardless of what you wanted.” She frowned as a strange thought occurred to her. “Perhaps your marriage was doomed from the start because of the abrupt way you were forced into it.”

“You mean, because I hadn’t gotten over you?” Again, a gleam in those normally lightless depths.

What was she thinking? She’d never seen anyone so totally over her as the man who’d told her there would be no further contact between them—ever.

She waved her hand, dismissive. “Oh, I’m just rambling. As you said, you always knew your father would pick your bride, so it wasn’t a surprise to you.”

“You’re right, though.” His voice had an edge to it, almost as if his own thoughts took him by surprise. “I wasn’t over you. I had to end our … relationship …” The word seemed to stick in his throat. “The way one snaps the shoot off a growing plant. Maybe it stunted the way I grew after that. I couldn’t be the husband my wife needed.”

He leaned forward, frowning as he stared into her eyes with breath-stealing intensity. “Because I couldn’t forget you.”




Four


Celia almost fell off her chair. Except she couldn’t move at all, because the blood drained from her body, leaving her brain empty, sputtering.

“I’ve shocked you.” Salim sat back in his chair. “With the wisdom of hindsight I can now admit I couldn’t love my wife. Maybe we could have grown into it slowly, as many people do, but she couldn’t stand that I wasn’t. romantic.”

He inhaled deeply, chest rising beneath his shirt. “How could I be, when my heart still belonged to someone else?”

Two steaming plates of grilled yellowfin tuna materialized in front of them. Celia blinked at hers.

“Come on, eat. The past is the past and there’s nothing we can do about it.” Salim picked up a fork and speared his fish.

Celia managed to pick up her knife and fork and slice a piece of the tender flesh. She struggled for a way to turn his stunning revelation back into a normal conversation. “Does that happen a lot here, where arranged marriages are common? You know, people having romantic relationships with someone they can’t marry, then having to go marry someone else?”

“Sure.” Salim nodded and chewed. “All the time. But it’s usually restricted to a quiet flirtation at a coffee shop, or in the poetry section of a bookstore, not the full-on, sleeping together kind of arrangement we had. That’s simply not possible here.”

“Do you think that’s better?” She kept her eyes carefully on her plate.

“It certainly would have been in my case. I might have been a happily married father of four by now.”

“You could still marry again.” She spoke casually, as if to reassure him that she didn’t care one way or the other.

“I intend to.”

Celia’s eyes widened. Salim simply took a bite of fish.

Why had he invited her to dinner and brought up the past? Her breathing was shallow. What did he want from her?

“The thing is—” he lifted his glass “—I’m honor-bound to continue the family name. I don’t have a choice but to marry again.”

“You’d marry just to have a child?” Celia worked hard to keep her voice even.

He nodded, his dark gaze unwavering.

You already have a child.

If there was a perfect moment to tell him, this was it. She glanced around. Several tables were within easy earshot, and Salim’s staff hovered all around.

No way could she drop a bomb like that here. She had no idea how he’d react.

“You think me old-fashioned.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “But the failure of my marriage is my one big regret. I spend my days building a hotel empire, but if I died tomorrow, there’d be no one to hand it to.”

“Hardly a big worry.” She concentrated on her food, afraid to show him the panic in her eyes. “I’m sure you have a long life ahead of you. You’ll have the heir you hope for.”

She frowned. Would he consider a girl—illegitimate and American born—to be his heir? Probably not.

“Your confidence in me is inspiring. But then it always was.” His soft gaze made her belly shiver. “Shame I didn’t live up to it.”

The confession—his admittance of guilt—touched her deeply. She had a sudden, typically feminine urge to smooth any ruffled feathers and reassure him. “What nonsense. You’re one of the most successful men on the planet.”

“You did say I’d succeed in business. I wasn’t at all sure. I didn’t speak English nearly as well as my brothers since I was educated at home while they went to school abroad. I wasn’t comfortable around strangers.” He rested his elbows on the table and studied her face. “But I grew very comfortable with you.”

His voice lowered with what might be mistaken for a hint of suggestion.

She racked her brain for something to diffuse the tension thickening in the air. “I’ll take some of the credit for improving your English. We used to stay up half the night talking.”

“We had a lot to talk about.” A hint of suggestion flickered across his striking features.

“True. I’d never met someone who read the entire New York Times from cover to cover every day. That’s a lot of material.”

“And you showed me that there’s more to life than what you can read in the papers.” A smile lit his eyes. “Do you remember the time you took me to the circus?”

She laughed. “How could I forget? You said the camels reminded you of home.”

Salim’s eyes narrowed. “They did. And when I was with you I forgot my home. I didn’t think about where I came from. I was busy discovering new worlds and exploring them with you.”

Celia blushed. “We were both virgins. Funny, isn’t it?”

“Not really. I don’t suppose that was as outrageous as we were led to believe. It did mean the first time was special for both of us.”

His soft voice and tender words pulled at old chords of emotion. “Very special. And funny, too, considering that we’d approached it like explorers, armed with an illustrated Kama Sutra and a list of suitable positions.”

Salim chuckled. “We did have a tendency to over intellectualize everything.”

“We thought we were so darn smart, and that we could understand everything if we just thought about it and talked about it long enough.”

“So true!” A smile tugged at his bold, sensual mouth. “No topic was off-limits.”

“Well, except that you were going to take off and marry someone else.”

The words fell from her lips, the accusation she’d never been bold enough to make. She was so shocked and hurt, at first. When they met again she was so surprised and delighted by their renewed connection that she didn’t want to bring up the painful past.

Salim frowned. “You’re right. I did avoid the subject of my future. I didn’t like to think about it myself.” His gaze drifted over her face, to her neck, which flushed under his attention. “And why would I, when it meant losing you?”

They hadn’t talked much about his family at all. She’d assumed he didn’t want to be reminded of the home that was so far away he only saw it once or twice a year.

He’d spent several weekends at her mom and dad’s house and stayed with them once over spring break. Her parents had thought him sweet and funny. Being professors they were used to international students, many of whom stayed and settled in the States. They didn’t think anything of her boyfriend being from another country.

It hadn’t occurred to any of them that he had an entirely different life mapped out for him, thousands of miles away.

One that didn’t, and never would, include Celia.

Salim’s penetrating gaze locked onto hers. The flush rose over her face, and she let out a quick breath. “It might have been easier if I was prepared.”

“How do you prepare to end a relationship?” He frowned. “I couldn’t prepare for it myself.”

“At least you knew it was coming.”

Salim closed his eyes for a split second. When he opened them they were dark as a starless night. “It wasn’t easy for me.”

He leaned forward, holding her attention with laser intensity. “That was, and remains, the worst day of my entire life.”

“Mine, too.” The words rushed from her mouth before she could stop them.

He’d seemed so cold and distant, like he didn’t care. Like he’d changed into a different person overnight. One who’d never cared for her at all, let alone loved her.

She wasn’t sure she’d ever recover from such a brutal rejection of all her affections. Such a firm and thorough crushing of all her hopes and dreams.

Maybe she hadn’t recovered? She’d dated again, but never for long. She’d never married.

Now, suddenly everything was different.

He’d missed her.

He’d never forgotten her.

Memories of her, and their relationship, had ruined his marriage.

Shock—and something else—unfurled deep inside her.

Was this why he cut off their renewed affair four years ago? Because it had meant more to him than he was willing to admit?

Questions raced around Celia’s mind. Questions about a Salim who’d been hidden from her.

A Salim who’d missed her and who still loved her and who might.

“Let’s go.” Salim swept up from the table without waiting for her reaction.

Celia rose, accidentally clattering her knife against her plate and almost knocking over her chair. Her heart pounded beneath her elegant silk dress and her pulse skittered beneath her bangles as she took his arm and swept out of the room on a tide of fierce and unexpected emotion.

Guests glanced up at them, curious, but she couldn’t summon even a polite smile to greet them. She couldn’t do anything except manage—just barely—to put one foot in front of the other.

They flew across the sparkling atrium and out through a dark arch toward the beach. Salim marched with such speed and concentration that no one even dared approach him, let alone speak. It was all Celia could do to keep up in her rustling dress and delicate slippers.

They stepped through the archway and walked down some steps to the sand. Warm evening air brushed her face like a breath. They hadn’t even left the pool of light flooding from the atrium when Salim turned, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with furious passion.

Celia melted into his kiss, rushed into it, her whole body cleaving to his, pressing against him from head to toe. Her hands fisted into his shirt and her nipples hardened against his powerful chest.

Salim’s urgent fingers roamed into her elaborate hairstyle as he pulled her face to his and kissed her with breathless abandon.

“Oh, Celia,” he murmured, when their lips finally parted for a second. “I tried to push you out of my mind.” His words rang with pain, and tailed off as he crushed his mouth over hers again, a groan of relief shuddering through him.

Tears sprang to Celia’s eyes. Fierce emotion threatened to overwhelm her. “Me, too,” she breathed into his ear, while he layered hot kisses along her neck.

She’d fallen so easily into his arms four years ago, despite how he’d hurt her. She couldn’t help it. The connection between them was too strong to resist.

He grabbed her hand. “Come with me.” He led her down to the beach, where she pulled off her hard-to-run-in slippers and let the cool sand welcome her toes. “My private apartment.” He gestured to a small peninsula jutting out into the ocean’s gentle waves. An elegant white building with typical Omani crenelations along the roofline—like a medieval castle in miniature—perched just over the rippling surf. Light illuminated a narrow arched window.

He ran so fast she could barely keep up.

Celia didn’t protest. She couldn’t even think, let alone talk.

He pushed open a carved door and ushered her inside. A lamp glowed in a corner, illuminating a simple, masculine space with bare white walls and a smooth stone floor. An ornate silver coffeepot glowed on a shelf, the only decoration besides the high arched windows shaded by carved wood screens.

Celia drank in the details, maybe because she’d been starved of information about Salim for so long. She’d wondered where he lived, and how, without her all this time.

He led her through a polished door in the far wall into what was obviously his bedroom.

A large white bed filled the center of the octagonal room. Tall windows punctuated each wall, providing slivers of ocean view where the moon danced over shimmering black water. Otherwise the space was ascetic as a monk’s cell.

The space of a man who lived alone, with no woman in his life.

Salim closed the door behind her and slid his arms around her, muscles shuddering with urgency. His fingers roved over her back through the thin silk of her dress. He kissed her again and again, until her fingers plucked at his shirt buttons in thoughtless desperation.

“I missed you,” his breath was hot on her neck. “Seeing you again four years ago only made it worse. I’ve craved you, wished for you.”

Salim’s blood hummed with tension so thick he felt he might explode.

He never forgot her. Not for want of trying. He’d done everything he could think of to expunge her from his body and soul.

He’d poured himself into his work, spent his time building an empire and filling it with people as passionate as himself.

But he never forgot Celia.

He’d had to try all over again after their fateful meeting in Manhattan. The very last person he’d thought to see there, she almost knocked him flat with her beauty and poise. He’d been helpless in the glow of her smile, and the warm greeting she’d offered, letting him know the past was gone and forgotten.

And he’d been forced to start over from scratch, trying to forget her again.

“It feels like heaven being here with you.”

His words echoed off the walls, painfully true, as he touched her. She was so perfect, so precious, so totally unchanged, like time had captured her in amber and saved her for him, despite all his mistakes.

He lifted her diaphanous dress over her head in a swift movement and groaned at the sight of her breasts in their simple white bra.

Celia’s hands gripped his upper arms with force as he lowered his mouth to her breasts, giving in to whatever primal forces drove him. He didn’t fight the instincts he’d tried so hard to crush out of existence.

His lips brushed the cotton, tasting the shape of her thickened nipples through the soft fabric. Sensation kicked through him, firing his muscles and making his heart pound.

He unhooked her bra and slid her panties down her slender, muscled legs.

Celia laughed, a magical sound that filled his ears and echoed in his chest.

Laughter had been missing from his life for far too long. He’d tried so hard to do the right thing, to be the dutiful son and the upstanding businessman, when what he really wanted was … Celia.

Her hands tugged at his shirt and he realized that she’d undone all the buttons and was trying to remove it. Laughing again, he helped her, shrugging out of it and struggling with the fly of his pants.

Her face glowed in the soft moonlight, eyes closed and an expression of joy lighting her lovely features.

“You’re perfect.”

He said the words aloud right as he felt them, holding nothing back. Freed of his clothes, he pressed his skin to hers, enjoying the sweet, soft warmth of her in his arms.

His arousal was intense, agonizing, and if they didn’t make love right now, he wasn’t sure what would happen. He did still have the presence of mind to don a condom. The last thing he wanted was for her to get pregnant.

He lowered her gently onto the bed, where a shaft of moonlight danced over the sheets and her soft skin.

Celia let out a little cry as he entered her. He opened his eyes, worried that he’d hurt her. Her face soothed his fears. A smile lit her features and her golden lashes fluttered as she writhed under him, clutching him closer.

Salim moved gingerly inside her—easing into a rhythm, then pulling back—wringing every second of sweet pleasure from the closeness he’d craved for so long. He ran his hands over her skin, pressed his fingers into her back and through the silk of her hair.

Years ago he might have rushed, eager to take his pleasure like a child with a bowl of candy. Back then, there was always more candy, maybe even sweeter, waiting for him tomorrow.

Now he was wiser and knew that life’s sweetest moments must be savored, for that single perfect moment would never come again.

Her cheek, hot against his, felt so familiar. Her body, moving under him in quickening rhythm, was different and more delicious than ever. Her breasts seemed fuller and her belly softer. Her hips had more of a curve to them, as they lifted to meet his. Celia’s slim, girlish body had ripened and filled out into delightful feminine perfection. He could swear her body had changed even since he’d last seen her.

“Your curves are fuller,” he breathed.

Her breath caught for a second.

“It’s a compliment,” he reassured her. He’d forgotten Americans praised slimness above all else. “You become more lovely with each passing year.”

“Or your sight gets dimmer with each year,” she teased.

He released a ragged sigh as her long fingers dragged a trail of passion along his back.

“I’m not using my sight.” He caressed her soft and seductive backside with his fingers. Pleasure rippled through him. “Even if I was blind, my other senses wouldn’t lie to me.”

He opened his eyes as if to reassure himself that the madness of his desire for Celia hadn’t deprived him of his senses. In the dim light of the lamp he saw her delicate features, glowing gold, her lips parted in breathy moans.

He slowed the rhythm, layering kisses along her collarbone until her eyes opened. In the semidarkness they were blue as the night-dark sea outside.

A smile tilted her sensual mouth. “You’ve filled out, too. All muscle.” She squeezed his bicep between her long fingers. “It seems cruel that you should get even more handsome as you get older.”

“I could say the same for you, but I’d rather enjoy your beauty.” He kissed her cheeks and her mouth, slow and gentle, relishing each brush of their skin. Her scent was intoxicating, like wild honey discovered just where you least expect it, filling the senses to the point of madness.

Madness. This must be madness. Wasn’t he trying to cure himself of Celia?

Their tryst was having the very opposite effect.

A flare of anger—mixed inexorably with pure lust—flashed through him.

How did this woman have so much power over him?

Almost as if she heard his unspoken question, Celia angled one of her long legs over his, and deftly flipped their positions until she was on top.

Triumph flared in her eyes as she took him deep.

Salim moaned as pleasure cascaded through him. He’d always adored her sexual confidence—which they’d found and nurtured together—and the way she loved to take charge.

Her nipples hovered over him in the dim light, darker and fuller than he remembered, tempting his thumbs to strum their peaks. Celia sighed as he stroked her breasts, and she moved in a hypnotic rhythm, like a belly dancer, drawing him deeper and deeper.

She was taking him into a world where none of his senses functioned properly. A strange yet familiar place where his nerves were alive and tingling with pleasure so intense it felt like pain.

Celia bent and kissed him on the mouth, bold and beautiful, claiming him.

He kissed back, unable to stop himself. Lust and mischief soon had them clawing and nipping at each other. He was tempted to suck hard enough to brand her with the mark of his desire.

But he didn’t. He was a gentleman, even in this moment of unbearable and delicious torture.

With a movement faster than her own, he grabbed hold of her thighs and maneuvered them both into a sitting position. Legs wrapped around each other, they sat face to face, with him still buried deep—and active—inside her.

She laughed. He’d picked one of the familiar positions from ancient India they’d studied and enjoyed all those years ago.

“It’s a classic,” he murmured, enjoying the face-to-face contact the position allowed. He kissed her on the mouth hard, then pulled back.

“It always slows things right down, doesn’t it?” She looked at him through narrowed eyes. Her tongue flicked over her lips, tantalizing.

“Sometimes it’s good to slow things down.”

“When you’re about to lose control?”

“I never lose control,” he growled.

“Now that’s an outright lie.” Celia leaned forward, and brushed his chest with the aroused tips of her nipples.

“Okay,” he rasped. “Only sometimes.”

“Like when you’re with me.” She brushed her thumb over the curve of his mouth, daring him to argue.

“When I’m with you,” he echoed. He seized her, flipping them again until he was on top, and sinking deeper into her hot and enticing depths.

Celia let out a long, shivering sigh and clutched him close.

Her muscles contracted around him when her climax seized her. In an instant he lost control.

He let out a tortured groan and clutched her to him while sensation rocked him like an earthquake. Colors and patterns burst in front of his eyes, and he clung to Celia as his whole world shook and shuddered and threatened to crumble.

He didn’t want to let Celia go.

And that in itself was a big problem.

* * *

If Celia could stay right here, in Salim’s warm, strong arms, she’d be fine. She was sure of it.

She could hear the sea outside the window, waves lapping against the soft white sand. The tide going in, or out, whichever it was, just as it did every day and night since the beginning of time.

If only she could stop the clock and hold them both here in this magical place where nothing else mattered but that they were together. But already, prying fingers of light crept around the blinds, ready to tug her back into real life.

She sat up with a start. Was it seven o’clock yet? She’d pledged to call Kira every day at 7:00 a.m. Salalah time, which was four in the afternoon in Connecticut, soon after Kira got home from daycare.

Salim stirred and his eyes opened a crack. His dark gaze sent a lightning bolt of guilt to her core.

She still hadn’t told him.

And now she’d slept with him.

“I’ve got to go.” She slid to the side of the bed, afraid he’d stretch out a muscled arm and pull her back into his embrace.

Salim lay sprawled on the pillows, broad chest bared, his seductive trail of black hair leading beneath the white sheet that barely covered his hips. “So soon? I think you should sleep in today. I’ll talk to the boss.” His mouth tilted into a sly smile.

A curl of fresh, hot desire unfolded in Celia’s stomach. Which only deepened her sense of guilt. How could she do this to Kira, let alone Salim? Did she have no self-control at all?

Apparently not, at least as far as Salim was concerned.

She tugged her gaze from his dark, sleepy eyes and tousled hair and cleared her throat. “I wish I could, but I have a meeting at the job site. I don’t want to mess up other people’s plans.”

“You’re very devoted to your work.” His low, seductive voice seemed to suggest that was a bad thing. He shifted onto his side, giving her an eyeful of his sculpted chest and hard biceps.

“Isn’t that why you hired me?”

Something glittered in his dark eyes. “Not really.”

Celia’s belly tightened. Had he truly brought her here because he wanted … her?

He wouldn’t have done that if he knew she’d concealed his own daughter from him.

Adrenaline propelled her from the bed. “I’ve got to get moving.” She bit her lip at the sight of her crumpled blue finery. “I’m going to look pretty silly sprinting across the hotel complex in this.”

“I’ll call and have some of your clothes brought here.” Salim stretched again, bronzed muscle pressing against the soft mattress.

“Are you crazy? Then everyone will know.”

He shrugged. Maybe he did this sort of thing all the time.

Celia drew in a long, fortifying breath. “No thanks, I’ll take my chances. It’s still early. I’ll sneak around past the tennis courts.”

Salim laughed. “You have no need to ‘sneak.’ You’re not married, and neither am I. We have nothing to be ashamed of.”

She gulped. “I’m sure that’s true in an ideal world, but in this one I still need to be able to give instructions to the landscapers without them all falling around laughing because they’re picturing me in bed with the boss.”

He tilted his head back and surveyed her through narrowed eyes. “It’s a pretty picture.”

Her nipples stung with unwelcome arousal. In fact, her whole body still hummed with the memory of his touch. She needed to get out of here … now.

She shrugged into the blue dress and stepped into the sequined slippers.

“Come, kiss me before you go.” He lay stretched on the bed like a sultan, sheets wound around his sturdy thighs. Celia’s stomach flip-flopped.

She climbed onto the bed and leaned down to brush her lips to his. Salim captured her in his arms and claimed her mouth with a forceful kiss.

Desire surged through Celia, powerful and invincible. Her skin heated and her limbs trembled with arousal as she kissed him back. A low groan rose from Salim’s chest, calling to a dark, sensual part of her that only he’d ever awakened.

Then the thought of Kira—possibly waiting by the phone—cracked in her mind like a whip.

She pulled her mouth from his with considerable effort. “I have to go.”

“Shame.” He lolled back into the fine sheets, propping muscled arms behind his head. “Since the project’s going so smoothly I’m afraid I may lose you before we have time to become properly reacquainted. I find myself wanting to hinder your progress.”

His words were a splash of icy water on Celia’s lust heated skin. He spoke so easily of “losing her.” No doubt if she didn’t get lost by herself, he’d give her a neat shove out of his life again.

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


Salim’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 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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