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

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.