The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition: The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition. Jennifer Lewis
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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.
Every now and then she thought she saw a shadow of it, but maybe she was just imagining things.
Something had died in her, too, the day he’d told her their relationship was over—because he’d married another woman. Just like that, over Christmas break, while she was sitting at home penning dreamy letters and looking forward to seeing him again.
“How come you never married again?” The question formed in her mind and emerged from her mouth at the same time.
She regretted it instantly, and waited for his brow to lower. But it didn’t.
He picked up his glass and held it, clear liquid sparkling in the candlelight for a moment. “I never met anyone …”
“As wonderful as me?” She spoke it on a laugh, sure he’d respond with a jab.
But now he frowned. Stared at her with those impenetrable onyx eyes. “We did have something, you and I.”
Her belly contracted. “I thought so, at the time.” Her voice had gone strangely quiet, like the life force had been sucked out of her.
“The marriage wasn’t my idea, you know.” He put down his glass and wove his fingers together. “My father sprang the whole thing on me without warning.”
“You could have said no.”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t.” That odd look in his eyes again. A flash of … something. “Not then, anyway. I was still the eldest son, the dutiful one, my father’s heir.”
“So you had to do what he said, regardless of what you wanted.” She frowned as a strange thought occurred to her. “Perhaps your marriage was doomed from the start because of the abrupt way you were forced into it.”
“You mean, because I hadn’t gotten over you?” Again, a gleam in those normally lightless depths.
What was she thinking? She’d never seen anyone so totally over her as the man who’d told her there would be no further contact between them—ever.
She waved her hand, dismissive. “Oh, I’m just rambling. As you said, you always knew your father would pick your bride, so it wasn’t a surprise to you.”
“You’re right, though.” His voice had an edge to it, almost as if his own thoughts took him by surprise. “I wasn’t over you. I had to end our … relationship …” The word seemed to stick in his throat. “The way one snaps the shoot off a growing plant. Maybe it stunted the way I grew after that. I couldn’t be the husband my wife needed.”
He leaned forward, frowning as he stared into her eyes with breath-stealing intensity. “Because I couldn’t forget you.”
Four
Celia almost fell off her chair. Except she couldn’t move at all, because the blood drained from her body, leaving her brain empty, sputtering.
“I’ve shocked you.” Salim sat back in his chair. “With the wisdom of hindsight I can now admit I couldn’t love my wife. Maybe we could have grown into it slowly, as many people do, but she couldn’t stand that I wasn’t. romantic.”
He inhaled deeply, chest rising beneath his shirt. “How could I be, when my heart still belonged to someone else?”
Two steaming plates of grilled yellowfin tuna materialized in front of them. Celia blinked at hers.
“Come on, eat. The past is the past and there’s nothing we can do about it.” Salim picked up a fork and speared his fish.
Celia managed to pick up her knife and fork and slice a piece of the tender flesh. She struggled for a way to turn his stunning revelation back into a normal conversation. “Does that happen a lot here, where arranged marriages are common? You know, people having romantic relationships with someone they can’t marry, then having to go marry someone else?”
“Sure.” Salim nodded and chewed. “All the time. But it’s usually restricted to a quiet flirtation at a coffee shop, or in the poetry section of a bookstore, not the full-on, sleeping together kind of arrangement we had. That’s simply not possible here.”
“Do you think that’s better?” She kept her eyes carefully on her plate.
“It certainly would have been in my case. I might have been a happily married father of four by now.”
“You could still marry again.” She spoke casually, as if to reassure him that she didn’t care one way or the other.
“I intend to.”
Celia’s eyes widened. Salim simply took a bite of fish.
Why had he invited her to dinner and brought up the past? Her breathing was shallow. What did he want from her?
“The thing is—” he lifted his glass “—I’m honor-bound to continue the family name. I don’t have a choice but to marry again.”
“You’d marry