The Desert Prince

by Jennifer Lewis

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

  C elia 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 t
ime 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 be low, 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.