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

“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.

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.