The Desert Prince

by Jennifer Lewis

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 daugh
ter.

  But the consequences might be unthinkable.

  Two

  A s 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. Sh
e 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…”