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

“There’s a complex of buildings under the sand here. Maybe even a whole city.”

Salim’s gruff voice couldn’t hide his enthusiasm.

“The famous lost city of the desert?” A rush of excitement danced over Celia’s skin. She glanced up and realized that similar excavations surrounded them. Low walls emerged from the dusty terrain, tracing the ancient contours of buildings.

Ancient roads revealed themselves in the sand around them, cobbles worn smooth by time and the passage of many feet.

“We’re on the frankincense trade route from the coast. There were caravan routes throughout the area, leading north into the Empty Quarter, to Saudi Arabia and beyond. Cities sprang up around oases where the merchants would stop to water their camels.”

“But there’s no water here.” She glanced around, searching for the clichéd shimmering lake surrounded by palm trees.

“There was once.” He kicked at a clod of rocky dirt with his black leather shoe. “It’s still here, buried under the ground. The remains of an aquifer.”

Celia stared at the arid soil. “There’s enough water left to irrigate?”

“More than enough.”

Something in his voice jerked her gaze to his. Was it her imagination or did triumph dance in his eyes? Anticipation, anyway.

It echoed like butterflies in her tummy.

“There’s enough water to supply the hotel and staff housing. The excavations stretch over a five-hundred-foot area. I plan to reconstruct some of the buildings so visitors can see how people lived and worked back then.”

“And perhaps you could leave some in a state of semi-excavation, so visitors could see how you found them. It’s startling to see such perfectly made blocks emerging out of the sand.”

He looked at her, thoughtful. “Yes. Let people see how the past lay hidden here for so many centuries.”

His vision for this desolate wasteland animated his features and made his eyes shine. He looked heart-achingly handsome, the sun burnishing his tanned features.

He peeled off his jacket and threw it down on a half-buried wall. Celia tore her gaze from the sight of his broad back straining against his thin white shirt.

Her faithless eyes tracked him as he strode, bold and athletic, across the rugged terrain. “Come here.”

Celia scrambled over the rocky ground in her one pair of “smart” shoes. She certainly wouldn’t be dressed like this if she’d known they were coming to the site.

“This is where the excavation started.” He pointed to a wide, shallow pit, where layers of dirt had been brushed away to reveal the remains of several wide walls. “I hired a student to collect data about our family history. He became fascinated with this land and told me satellite imagery suggested signs of an ancient crossroads here. I hired an archeological team to excavate, and his suspicion was proven correct.”

“What a find. Are you sure a hotel is the best use for the site? Perhaps archaeologists would like to study it in greater detail.”

Salim’s brow clouded. “I wish to bring this place back to life, not preserve it as a mummified corpse to be picked over by vultures.”

“Of course,” she stammered, chastened. She knew virtually nothing about his background. His home and family was a tacitly off-limits subject when they were in college.

She had found out why.

“I wish for people to travel here with a sense of purpose and anticipation. I want to share the history of our country and its people with anyone who cares to visit, not a few rarified academics.” His dark eyes shone. “I hope people will come from other countries to visit.”

He frowned and shoved a hand through his hair. She tore her eyes from the sudden clenching of his thick biceps when he looked back at her. “Perhaps you know that Oman’s oil supply is limited. In a decade or two it’ll be gone. It’s my goal—personal and professional—to develop tourism as a well of riches for our future.”

His zeal rose in the hot desert air like the frankincense that must have once perfumed it. Celia’s chest swelled.

For a split second she saw a glimpse of the warm and excitable boy she’d once been so in love with.

She nodded. “The Salalah coastline is spectacular. The ocean is such an intense shade of blue. And those mountains … I’d never have imagined something like that here in the desert.”

“Exactly. For every person who knows and appreciates the beauty of our country, there are untold millions who know nothing about it—yet.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “I intend to change that.”

Celia wiped another bead of sweat off her lip. Salim’s mischievous smile was having a very unsettling effect on her.

He’s dangerous, and don’t you forget it. He’d already broken her heart twice.

And now there was another heart at stake, far more precious than her own.

“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.