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

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Her usual T-shirt had been replaced by a fitted tunic of peacock-blue silk, shot through with emerald-green.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