The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition: The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition. Jennifer Lewis
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one day.”
Elan shrugged. “The world still runs on oil, whether we like it or not. And as my brother knows, conserving the environment is a passion of mine.”
Celia smiled. “That is refreshing.”
Salim suppressed a snort of disgust. A passion of mine? He didn’t remember his brother being such a flirtatious charmer. “Where are Sara and the children?”
“They’re on the beach.” Elan tucked his thumbs into his belt loops in another American gesture that made Salim realize how little he knew his own brother.
“Perhaps you should join them.”
Salim glanced at Celia. Sun shone through the windows and illuminated her golden hair, picking out highlights of copper and bronze. He wanted to be alone with her.
To discuss the plans, naturally.
“I think we should all join them.” Elan held out his arm, which Salim noticed with irritation was as thickly muscled as a dockworker’s. “Celia, come meet my wife. She’s never left the U.S. before so I think she’d be glad to hear a familiar accent.”
Salim studied Celia’s face as she absorbed the fact that his brother had married an American girl. A perfectly ordinary girl without an ounce of aristocratic blood. Elan bragged cheerfully about her impoverished background. A stark contrast to the type of woman tradition had expected him to marry.
But Elan was not the eldest son.
Celia pushed a hand through her silky hair. “Sure, I’d love to come to the beach.” She glanced nervously at Salim. “Unless you had other plans for me.”
An alternate plan formed in his mind. It involved unbuttoning her officious pinstriped suit and liberating her lithe, elegant body.
He drew in a breath and banished the image before it could heat his blood. “None whatsoever.”
She glanced down at her suit. “I’d better run to my room and change.”
“Good idea.” Elan smiled. “They’re camped out near the snack bar. We’ll meet you down there.”
Salim bridled at the reference to his elegant beach café as a “snack bar,” but he kept his mouth shut.
Elan was his guest and he’d resolved to end the long estrangement between the surviving members of their once-great family.
He may have failed in his mission to produce the son and heir his father demanded, but at least he could draw his scattered brothers back to their roots in Oman.
They were all he had left.
“Salim, I’m not leaving you here,” said Elan. “You’ll start working and that’ll be the last we see of you until dinner.”
Salim stiffened as his brother threaded his arm through his. Elan always had been affectionate. It was one of the reasons his father had sent him away to a spartan boarding school in England—to toughen him up.
It had worked, as he remembered from their guarded encounters afterward. And it had backfired badly. Salim recalled the forthright strength Elan had shown in refusing the bride their father had chosen and claiming he’d never set foot on their land again. A promise he’d kept until their father’s death.
Apparently, Sara had un-toughened him again.
Salim snuck a sideways glance at his brother. Same strong nose, determined jaw, flinty black eyes. Even their close-cropped hair was similar.
But Elan’s jeans and shirt were a striking contrast to Salim’s traditional dress. A difference that spoke of the chasm opened between them.
Salim traveled regularly, but could not imagine living abroad.
Or marrying an American girl.
Even one as desirable as Celia.
Three
Celia couldn’t stop laughing. A bright-eyed toddler was attempting to bury her feet in the sand, and the combination of sun and splashing seawater made her feel downright giddy.
Sailboats scudded on the sapphire horizon and, behind her, the elegant white buildings of the hotel reflected the magical afternoon sun.
Salim sat on the fine sand a few feet from her, his long white garment crisp and elegant in stark contrast to everyone else’s swimsuits. He showered lavish praise on his young nephew Ben’s elaborate sand castle, and smiled indulgently when nine-month-old Hannah tugged at the hem of his robe and sprinkled sand on his feet.
Unlike his brother Elan, he showed no inclination to run in the surf with them under his arm.
Elan’s wife, Sara, was athletic, outspoken and almost as blond as Celia herself.
Hah. So much for the Al Mansur men being pledged from birth to marry a handpicked local bride. She couldn’t help gloating a little, under the circumstances.
How different things might have been if Salim hadn’t broken off their long-ago romance to marry the bride his father chose.
“I hear you’re one of the top landscape architects in the world today.” Sara’s comment pulled Celia out of her reflection.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve just had the good fortune to be offered some interesting projects.”
“She’s too modest,” Salim cut in. “Her innovative approach has earned her an excellent reputation. I wouldn’t have hired her otherwise.”
“I’m impressed that you hired a woman,” said Sara, looking straight at Salim. “Elan’s told me the country is very traditional. I wasn’t sure I’d see women in positions of influence.”
“I wouldn’t cheat my business of the skills and talents of half the population.” Salim shifted position. “I’ve raised some eyebrows with my hiring practices over the years, but no one’s laughing at the results.”
“That’s good to hear.” Sara smiled. “Though I’ve noticed that even a man who believes in equality in the boardroom can be quite the knuckle-dragger when it comes to his private life.” She shot a mischievous look at her husband. “Elan took a while to catch onto the idea of the emancipated woman.”
“Really?” Celia couldn’t disguise her fascination.
“It’s true,” said Elan ruefully. “I was all in favor of women in the workplace, until it came to my own wife.”
“And this after I’d already worked with him for several months. Somehow, once the ring was on my finger I was expected to lie around eating bonbons all day.”
Elan shrugged. “I guess I still had all those old-fashioned traditions etched somewhere in my brain, even though I’d rejected them a long time ago. Almost losing Sara made me wake up.”
“Lucky thing he came to his senses. I’d have missed him.” Sara winked. “And we wouldn’t have Hannah.” She looked fondly at the baby, who sat on Elan’s knee sucking on a sandy finger.
Elan stretched. “We Al Mansur men come with some baggage, but trust me, we’re worth the trouble.” He shot a glance at his brother.
Celia’s eyes darted from one man to the next. Had his comment been intended for her?
Surely Salim hadn’t told his brother about their long-ago relationship? With his hints about the past, he seemed to be trying to start something.
Salim sat, straight backed on the sand, brows lowered. Obviously the whole discussion made him uncomfortable.
As well it might.
Her breathing grew shallow. Elan had no idea of the bombshell she was about to lob at Salim.
“Salim,” Elan flicked a bug from his baby daughter’s arm. “Did I tell you Sara and I are eating out with one