Her Desert Knight. Jennifer Lewis

out onto the road.

      “I do tend to throw myself into things.”

      “Until you grow bored with them.” She regretted the words as soon as she’d said them. It sounded like she was scolding him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

      “Except that you’re right.” He shone those fierce blue eyes on her. “I have been accused of having a short attention span. I prefer to think that there are just so many things to do that I can only devote so much time to each one.”

      No doubt he felt the same way about women. He could never pursue a proper relationship with her since she was a divorcée and wouldn’t meet his obviously demanding brothers’ criteria for wife material. On the other hand, he might have no qualms about having an affair with her. She had to be careful to resist his charms.

      They drove through a cultivated grove of date palms, then out of the city into the desert. She snuck furtive glances at him while he drove, taking in the sharp cut of his aristocratic features, and the sensual curve of his mouth. Resisting his charms might take some doing and she’d better take the resisting seriously since her heart was still in repair mode from her one and only serious relationship. The last thing she needed was to get it bruised or broken again by this man.

      She resolved to keep her eyes focused out the window. The desert landscape was hypnotically minimalist, with its subtle colors and bold blue sky. The fog-shrouded mountains rose up ahead of them, and the landscape changed dramatically as they drove up into the lush green oasis of plant and bird life that made Salalah a tourist destination during the annual rainy season. Right now it was June, dry and sunny, in between the spring rains and the summer downpours that got underway in July.

      Quasar kept the conversation rolling with no apparent effort. They chattered about the lifestyle differences between Oman and America, and the bond deepened between them as they agreed that it was hard to move from one country to the other without severe culture shock.

      “So you haven’t really lived in Oman at all.”

      “I haven’t lived here permanently since my mom died. My dad packed Elan and me off to boarding school overseas. I was young enough to adapt easily. I never really looked back.”

      “You didn’t miss your family.”

      “I didn’t miss my father. He was very strict and kind of mean. I guess I’m not the type to get hung up looking for Daddy’s approval. I made friends and moved on.”

      “And you’ve been moving on ever since.”

      He turned to her. “You think my nomadic lifestyle is the result of childhood psychological trauma?” He sounded serious, but she saw a twinkle in his eye.

      She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She wondered what depths lay beneath his cocky exterior. Was there a wounded little boy craving approval and love? “Where is home for you?”

      He shot her a glance with those piercing blue eyes. “Good question. Until recently it was L.A., but I just sold my condo there. Right now the only place I own is a house out in the desert here. I don’t know if I’d call it home since I just had it renovated, but I bought it as a place to put down some roots and reconnect with my heritage, so maybe I’m heading in the right direction.”

      “Or the wrong direction.” She laughed. “Do you really think Oman is your home now, or are you more comfortable in the United States? I feel more of a stranger here these days than I did in New Jersey. Moving around the world hasn’t made my life easier.”

      “How did you end up in America when your family is still here?”

      “My story’s not so different from yours. I was sent to live with my aunt in New Jersey when my mother died. The idea was that I would go to college there then come back and work in my father’s engineering firm while pursuing a suitable husband. I don’t think it occurred to my father that I could just switch majors and stay there.”

      “Did he mind?”

      “He went ballistic when I told him I wasn’t coming back to Oman. It took me a long time to pluck up the courage to admit that I’d majored in art history instead of engineering. Since I paid the bill myself with an inheritance from my mom he didn’t find out until it was too late.”

      She saw a smile tilt the edge of Quasar’s mouth. “So you’re a bit of a rebel.”

      “Only a very tiny bit.”

      “I wonder.” He gave her a mysterious look.

      She had been a rebel in choosing to chart her own course in life. The fact that she’d been blown right off it and ended up back here again made her wonder about her choices. She planned on sticking closer to the straight and narrow from now on. A degree in engineering certainly would present a lot more employment opportunities than her currently useless art history Ph.D.

      “We’re nearly there. It’s called Saliyah, after my sister-in-law Celia, who designed the grounds and ensnared the heart of my brother Salim.”

      “That’s so romantic.” They turned on to a side road in the desert. Spreading date palms cropped up to line the desolate road and cast lush shade over its dusty surface.

      She gasped at the sight of a large animal underneath a nearby tree. “Look, a camel.”

      Quasar laughed. “Salim’s always complaining about them. They eat his expensive landscaping. I figure he should just consider them part of the scenery and worth supporting. This place has been attracting a lot of visitors from overseas and they eat that stuff up.”

      The road led up to a high mud-brick wall with an elaborately carved arch. They entered and drove around a large circular fountain, where moving water sparkled like diamonds in the hot midday sun. Quasar helped her out of the car and it was whisked away by a valet while she blinked and adjusted to the bright light. They walked across a smooth courtyard of inlaid sandstone into a shady lobby that looked like the throne room of an ancient palace. Colorful mosaics covered the walls and lush seating arrangements were clustered around impressive botanical specimens. The guests were an interesting mix of glamorous Omanis and other Arabs, their traditional garb accented with Chanel sunglasses and Fendi handbags, and chic Europeans showing a lot of carefully suntanned skin. Waiters served coffee and dates, and the scent of rose petals filled the air.

      “Would you like some coffee, or do you want to get right to the good stuff?”

      She glanced about, feeling awkward and out of place. She didn’t belong here among these stylish and confident members of the international elite. “I’d like to see the museum.”

      “I suspected you would.” He shot her a smile that made her blood pump faster. “Follow me.” She walked across the elegant foyer, trying to keep her eyes from tracking the lithe roll of his hips in too obvious a manner.

      Sexual magnetism radiated from him like an exotic scent. Women’s eyes swiveled to him from all directions, and it was all she could do not to glare at them. As if he were even hers to be jealous about! She felt their critical gaze on her, too. No doubt they wondered what a fine specimen of manhood like Quasar was doing with a mousy nobody like her.

      Quasar led her out through a grand arch into a formal garden with a trickling fountain. Romantic-looking couples sat on upholstered sofas, chatting under the shade of the exotic plants. For an instant she imagined sitting there with him, just enjoying the afternoon. But he would hardly romance her in front of the employees at his brother’s hotel.

      Was he attracted to her? It was hard to imagine that someone like Quasar, whom almost any woman—including the wealthy, beautiful, famous and brilliant—would find desirable, would be interested in her. But if he weren’t, why did he invite her here?

      * * *

      Quasar waited for her to pass him when they reached the path to the museum, but she hesitated, uncertain. “This is it.” He gestured at the carved wood door, almost hidden by flowering bushes.

      Dani