The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition: The Desert Prince / The Playboy's Proposition. Jennifer Lewis

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.

      “This way, everyone,” he called, aiming for cheerful confidence. “Celia could tell you how the city rose up out of the desert, stone by stone. She’s seen a lot more of the process than I have.”

      “It’s been truly amazing.” Celia marched boldly ahead. “I was nervous that a lot of construction would destroy the site, but Salim’s crew really know what they’re doing. They were so careful to preserve the past.”

      “Salim’s very big on the past.” Elan shot a narrow-eyed glance at his brother.

      “Speaking of which.” Salim said as he paused in front of a two-story building of white stucco, shaded with native date palms.

      Elan turned and frowned. He blinked up at the pale walls, ornamented with a strip of painted diamonds. “It looks like … our house. Where we grew up.”

      “It is.” Salim paused, watching his brother’s face. “Come inside.”

      He led them through the shady arched doorway, into the cool interior. “I know you don’t have the happiest of memories from here, but that house is gone now, and for some reason I wanted to recreate it here.”

      Elan’s mouth hung open as he surveyed the stone floor, the smooth stuccoed walls, all exactly like the home they’d shared long ago. “Wow,” Elan said softly as he blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “This takes me back.”

      “We were happy in that house once.”

      Elan frowned. “When we were all together. Before father sent me and Quasar as far away as possible and screwed up all our lives.”

      Salim swallowed. Their father’s action had abruptly ended their happy childhoods. With his fun-loving and energetic brothers banished to distant boarding schools, Salim lived a lonely and cloistered existence. His mother had died soon after, leaving him alone with the harsh father who never had a kind word for him.

      So what? He’d survived. And prospered.

      Elan cocked his head. “You’ve recreated our home, and now you’ve brought me back to it.” His eyes twinkled. “If Quasar was here, we’d be a family again. Of sorts.”

      “We are a family.” Salim spoke gruffly. He was determined the Al Mansurs would face the future together. “Quasar will come one day.” Their wild younger brother was hard to keep up with. One day he’d settle down.

      Or at least Salim hoped so.

      Sara gazed up at the high ceilings, ringed with a simple painted frieze. “It’s beautiful. Simple and elegant. I’m sure you’ll recreate a happier version of the past here.”

      “I’m not nearly that ambitious.” Salim crossed his arms, trying to ignore the rush of emotion in his chest. “It was a typical Omani building that seemed suitable for the site.”

      “Sometimes you have to confront the past in order to move forward,” Elan said slowly, glancing around the familiar—yet unfamiliar—space. Salim’s stomach clenched at his words. “I avoided the past like a dog that hunted me. I just ran faster to get away from it. Put as much distance between me and … home … as I could. I locked all that hurt and disappointment away, and vowed to never feel anything like it