The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition: The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition

“He’s a genius,” proclaimed Elan proudly.

Salim nodded. “He’ll be the next Leonardo da Vinci.” He stroked the boy’s soft cheek. “You’ll put the Al Mansur name on the map, won’t you?”

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself,” said Elan.

Salim snorted. “A few hotels, nothing more. I hope to make this area a popular tourist destination. It’s good for our economy and provides work for the people.”

“It’s a lot more than that,” Sara gushed as she walked forward, wide-eyed. “This is incredible. It’s a whole city out in the middle of the desert.”

Warmth surged inside him. “I can’t take all the credit. The city was always here—we just found it and dusted it off again.”

“It’s breathtaking. Look at the artistry.” A ribbon of painted frieze ran along the wall of a building next to them, and turned the corner onto another crisp, cobbled street.

“My architect hired talented craftsmen. It’s been a joy to bring so much talent together in one place.”

“Speaking of which, there’s Celia. Goodness, look at those beautiful trees. What kind of bush is that?”

“I have no idea. Celia knows far more about Omani plants than I do at this point.” Her knowledge and expertise floored him. And the pleasure she took in her work made it a joy to behold.

Salim’s heart ached with trepidation as they approached. What a night they’d spent together. A taste of heaven in the one pair of arms he could never resist.

He cursed his own weakness.

His torment was worsened by the sight of those faded jeans she wore. They hugged her long, strong legs and cupped her firm backside. She was reaching up to prune a branch as they approached, and her pale yellow T-shirt lifted to reveal a sliver of slim waist.

Arousal flashed through him, heating his blood and bruising his ego.

Had he no self-control around this woman?

“Hello, Celia.” He managed the gruff greeting with a poker face. “Hard at work, as usual.”

He didn’t want the others to know about their tryst last night. Elan might tease him mercilessly, or worse, try to make more of it than it was.

She turned. Her face glowed with exertion, and he could swear her cheeks grew pinker at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”

Her blue eyes glowed with excitement that only fanned his desire.

“What kind of question is that?” He tried to act casual. “It’s my newest resort, not to mention the home of my ancestors.” He attempted a smile. “This is where I should be.”

He tried to keep his eyes on her face, to ignore the way her thin cotton T-shirt draped over her chest.

She pushed a strand of damp hair off her face, and dusted off her jeans as the others approached, apparently self-conscious. “What do you think of the lost city?”

“I’m thinking it’s very happy to have been found again,” Sara said with a grin. She held little Hannah in her arms, and the baby reached out for a dangling branch. “It’s so beautiful. And rather mystical, too. If I rub on that pot over there, will a genie pop out?” She gestured to a tall reproduction oil jar beside a nearby doorway.

“No, but I’m hoping the vine I planted in it yesterday will pop out soon if it gets watered often enough.”

“It’s hot, Mommy,” whined Ben. “Can we go inside?”

“Won’t help, I’m afraid,” said Celia. “They’re not turning on the air-conditioning until next week.”

“Ben, you must learn to enjoy the heat.” Salim set him down and ruffled his hair. “We Omanis don’t need artificially cooled air to live our lives.” He’d make sure his own son didn’t grow up too dependent on modern conveniences. There was a lot to be said for living according to tradition. He’d worn a long, white dishdasha today, perhaps to remind himself of his place in the world.

He averted his eyes as Celia leaned forward to offer Ben a cool Thermos, revealing a flash of cleavage. If she had on traditional Omani attire, such mutually embarrassing moments would be avoided.

Then again, she was wearing traditional Omani attire last night, and look what happened.

Apparently there was no helping him.

“I love the heat,” Sara exclaimed. “It took me a while to get used to it when I moved to Nevada to work for Elan, but now I can’t imagine living somewhere that never gets hot.”

“Maybe I’ll convince the two of you to move back to Oman.” Salim let slip the words that had danced in his mind ever since they arrived.

“That would take a lot of convincing. I’m not sure my employees would be too thrilled.” Elan chuckled. “But I can see Celia’s taken to the place already. I heard her speaking flawless Arabic yesterday.”

Salim frowned. Was Elan trying to paint Celia as his perfect mate again? Couldn’t he see that only did more harm than good?

“My Arabic is hardly flawless.” Celia flushed a shade darker. She snuck a glance at Salim, who pretended not to notice. “I know just enough to make myself understood.”

“Yours is probably better than mine,” Elan said with a smile. “I’ve lived in the U.S. so long I’ve forgotten a lot.”

“It’s coming back, though,” said Sara. “You did a fantastic job haggling over that rug for the dining room yesterday.”

“Raw instinct. I’m sure you’d have gotten it for even less if you tried.” Elan looked at Celia. “Sara’s a demon negotiator. I think that’s how she really won my heart. We Al Mansur men like our women made of pretty stern stuff.”

Elan looked approvingly at Celia’s work attire. Salim felt a twinge of annoyance—surely not jealousy?

Salim realized his brow had furrowed into a frown. He cleared his throat. Celia fidgeted, no doubt uncomfortable with this discussion of what kind of woman Al Mansur men needed.

“Would you like me to show you the plantings?” Celia’s voice was a little squeaky. “The shrubs are sarh. They’re native to the region and can go long periods between watering.” She darted forward to stop Ben from plucking one of the berries. “They’re not poisonous, but they might have been sprayed with something at the nursery.” She looked at Sara. “I always check that plantings are nontoxic if they’re in an area where children may find them.”

“That’s very thoughtful.” Sara made a silly face at Ben, who grinned in response, then glanced up at Celia. “I’d almost suspect you of being a mother yourself.”

Celia stood openmouthed. Salim could swear her skin turned pale. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and breathless. “Just being practical. My clients hate lawsuits.”

She didn’t glance up at him, the client. “She’s right. I hate lawsuits. Such a time waster and so … unfriendly.” He smiled. “I’m about to give Elan and Sara and the kids a tour of our found-again lost city. Will you join us?”

“Uh, sure.” Celia glanced around, as if looking for an excuse not to.

He couldn’t blame her. It was awkward trying to act normal after the night of heady passion they’d shared.

If he could turn back the clock and undo their sweaty, embarrassingly emotional tryst, he would.

What kind of idiot thought that sleeping with a woman he craved would help him get over her?

He’d plunged the arrow of longing even deeper into his flesh. He doubted even a knife could cut it free now.

He couldn’t begin to imagine how Celia felt. Didn’t dare even let his mind wander in that direction.