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Her Desert Knight
Jennifer Lewis
All it takes to reawaken Dani’s sensuality is one superhot sheikh in this story from USA TODAY bestselling author Jennifer Lewis! Daniyah Hassan paid the price for leaving home and defying her father. Now the divorcée is back in Oman, nursing her wounds and fending off an arranged marriage. Enter maverick investor Quasar Al Mansur: though Dani’s sworn off men, she instantly melts in his heat. Quasar’s always had his pick of starlets and socialites, but Dani’s beauty and vulnerability tempt him beyond reason. Even after he discovers she’s off-limits, Quasar will never let their decades-old family feud stop him from getting what he wants….


His lips met hers in a rush like the eagle falling on its prey.
Far from diving for cover, Dani’s mouth rose to his and melded with it. Sensation crashed over her. She was dimly aware of their natural surroundings, the wind in the trees, animals scurrying nearby, and of his hands resting warmly at her waist, but her whole being focused on the kiss and the powerful and intense effect it created in her body. Heat flooded her core, spreading out to her limbs, squeezing the breath from her lungs as she gave herself over to the sensation.
She’d never experienced a kiss like this. Chemistry, was it? Or was it that she’d never kissed a man as gorgeous and dashing as Quasar? Either way the effect was overwhelming.
She had no idea how long they kissed, but when they finally pulled apart and she opened her eyes, she found herself blinking against now-unaccustomed daylight. “Oh, dear.” The words spilled out.
Quasar gave an amused frown. “Oh, dear? That’s not the effect I intended.”
Her Desert Knight
Jennifer Lewis

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JENNIFER LEWIS has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. She would love to hear from readers at jen@jenlewis.com (mailto:jen@jenlewis.com). Visit her website at www.jenlewis.com (http://www.jenlewis.com).
For my sister Annabel
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: (#ulink_a2bd07cc-2f22-5bab-a56b-f989eaf235fe)
Many thanks to the readers who asked me for more stories about the Al Mansur brothers and fired my imagination to write them. Also thanks to my agent Andrea and the many people who read and improved those stories, especially my editors Demetria Lucas (book one), Diana Ventimiglia (book two), Charles Griemsman (book three).
Contents
Cover (#ue443e91e-5e3b-5b14-bd12-eaf68409c34b)
Introduction (#u81b6cc56-29df-5817-8e8e-4fc23a829156)
Title Page (#ua2e8225b-25b9-5c2e-9d05-030c1894f099)
About the Author (#u3376e2fb-2e77-5aab-aeb8-aabb608a56d4)
Dedication (#ub4a0d283-5597-5378-a70a-33e0903d86e9)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS (#u7a58d616-fa30-5f74-8995-95f88b2210f7)
One (#u957c4117-4b6e-5067-b988-c8964b1b460d)
Two (#u65b816ab-e3d0-526e-91b3-d7c29e0eb30e)
Three (#u70e8487d-0a3a-512c-af41-d9c6bcc5e51f)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#ulink_ac96d9ea-1cdb-5d19-b484-316bed8e707e)
Going to her favorite bookshop in Salalah was like stepping back into a chapter of Arabian Nights. To get there, Dani had to walk through the local souk, past the piles of carrots and cabbages, the crates of dates and figs, winding her way through knots of old men wearing their long dishdashas and turbans just as they must have done a thousand years ago.
Then there was the store itself. The double doorway of time-scarred wood was studded with big metal rivets, like the entrance to a castle. Only a small section opened, and she had to step over the bottom part of the door into the smoky darkness of the shop. The smoke was incense, eternally smoldering away in an antique brass burner that hung in one corner, mingled with pipe smoke from the elderly store owner’s long, carved pipe. He sat in the corner, poring over the pages of a thick, leather-bound tome, as if he maintained the shop purely for his own reading pleasure. It was entirely possible that the store was a front of some kind, since there rarely seemed to be any customers, but that didn’t diminish Dani’s enjoyment of its calming atmosphere.
The books were piled on the floor like the oranges in the stalls outside. Fiction, poetry, treatises on maritime navigation, advice on the training of the camel: all were in Arabic and nearly all were at least fifty years old and bound in leather, darkened by the passage of many greasy fingers over their smooth, welcoming surfaces. She’d found several gems here, and always entered the shop with a prickle of anticipation, like someone setting out on a journey where anything could happen.
Today, as she stepped over the threshold and filled her lungs with the fragrant air, she noticed an unfamiliar visitor in the picturesque gloom of the interior. The light from one tiny, high window cast its diffuse glow over the tall, broad-shouldered figure of a young man.
Dani stiffened. She didn’t like the idea of a man in her djinn-enchanted realm of magic books. She didn’t like men anywhere at all, lately, but she gave the shop owner a pass as he was quiet and kind and gave her big discounts.
She resolved to slip past the stranger on her way to the stack she’d started to investigate yesterday: a new pile of well-thumbed poetry books the shop owner had purchased at a bazaar in Muscat. She’d almost bought one yesterday, and she’d resolved overnight that today she wasn’t leaving without it.
The interloper was incongruously dressed in Western clothing—jeans and a white shirt, to be exact—with expensive-looking leather loafers on his feet. She eyed him suspiciously as she walked past, then regretted it when he glanced up. Dark blue eyes ringed by jet-black lashes peered right into hers. He surveyed her down the length of an aristocratic nose, and the hint of a smile tugged at his wide, arrogant-looking mouth. A younger, stupider Dani might have thought he was “cute,” but she was not so foolish now. She braced herself in case he had the nerve to speak to her.
But he didn’t. Slightly deflated, and kicking herself for thinking that anyone would want to speak to her at all, she headed for her familiar pile of books. Only to discover that the one she wanted was missing. She checked the stack twice. Then the piles on either side of it. In the dim, smoky atmosphere, it wasn’t easy to read the faded spines, the gold-leaf embossing worn off by countless eager hands. Maybe she’d missed it.
Or maybe he was reading it.
She glanced over her shoulder, then jerked her head back when she discovered that the strange man was staring right at her. Alarm shot through her. Had he been watching her the whole time? Or had he just turned around at the exact same moment she had? She was annoyed to find her heart pounding beneath the navy fabric of her traditional garb.
“Are you looking for this book?” His low, velvety male voice made her jump, and she cursed herself for being so on edge.
He held out the book she’d been searching for. A 1930s edition of Majnun Layla by Persian poet Nizami Ganjavi, with a faded green leather binding and elaborate gold tooling.
“You speak English.” The first words out of her mouth took her by surprise. She’d intended to say yes, but her brain short-circuited. She hadn’t heard anyone speak English since she’d come back here from New Jersey three months ago. She’d begun to wonder if she’d ever use her hard-won language skills again.
He frowned and smiled at the same time. “Yes. I didn’t even realize I was speaking English. I guess I’ve spent too much time in the States lately. Or maybe my gut instinct told me you speak it, too.”
“I lived in the U.S. for a few years myself.” She felt flustered. His movie-star looks were disconcerting, but she tried not to judge a book by its cover. She cleared her throat. “And yes, I mean, that is the book I was looking for.”
“What a shame. I was about to buy it.” He still spoke in English. His features and coloring looked Omani, but his Western clothing and ocean-colored gaze gave him a hint of exoticism. “You were here first.” She shrugged, and tried to look as if she didn’t care.
“I think not. If you knew it was here and were looking for it, clearly you were here first.” Amusement danced in his unusual blue eyes. “Have you read it?”
“Oh, yes. It’s a classic. I’ve read it several times.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s a tragic love story.” How could he not know that? Maybe he didn’t even read Arabic. He had a strange accent. British, maybe.
“Sometimes I think all love stories are tragic. Does anyone really live happily ever after?”
“I don’t know. My own experience hasn’t been very encouraging.” As soon as she spoke she was shocked at herself. She’d resolved to keep her private torments secret.
“Mine, either.” He smiled slightly. “Maybe that’s why we like to read a tragic love story where everyone dies in the end, so our own disastrous efforts seem less awful by comparison.” The light in his eyes was kind, not mocking. “Did you come back here to get away from someone?”
“I did.” She swallowed. “My husband—ex-husband. I hope I never see him again.” She probably shouldn’t reveal so much to a total stranger. Divorce was rare and rather scandalous in Oman.
“Me, too.” His warm smile relaxed her. “I live in the States myself but I come to Oman whenever I need to step off the carousel and feel some firm ground beneath my feet. It’s always reassuring how little has changed here while I’ve been gone.”
“I found that alarming when I first came back. If it wasn’t for the cars and cell phones we could still be in the Dark Ages. My dad and brothers don’t like me leaving the house without a male relative to escort me. What a joke! After I lived in America for nearly nine years.”
He smiled. “The culture shock can be jarring. I’ve been living in L.A. for the last four years. It’s nice to meet someone else who’s in the same predicament. Would you like to go down the road for a coffee?”
She froze. A man asking you out for coffee was a proposition. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not? Do you think your father and brothers would disapprove?”
“I’m sure they would.” Her heart pounded beneath her conservative dress. Some mad reckless part of her wanted to go with him and drink that coffee. Luckily she managed to wrestle the urge under control.
“Let me at least buy you this book.” He turned and headed for the shop owner. She’d forgotten all about him, ensconced in his own world in the farthest corner of the store. He showed no sign of having heard their conversation.
She wanted to protest and insist on buying the book herself, but by the time she pulled herself together the store owner was already wrapping it in brown paper and it would have been awkward. She didn’t want to make a fuss.
“Thank you.” She accepted the package with a pinched smile. “Perhaps I should buy you a coffee to thank you for your generous present.” The book wasn’t cheap. And if she were paying, it wasn’t a date, right? She was twenty-seven years old. Hardly a blushing girl. She could share a coffee with a fellow English speaker to pass a dull afternoon. Her pulse accelerated as she waited for his response, torn between hoping he’d say yes, and praying that he’d say no.
“That would be very kind of you.” His gaze wasn’t very wolfish. He couldn’t help being so handsome. Women probably misinterpreted his perfectly ordinary gestures of friendliness out of wishful thinking. She wasn’t so foolish.
They stepped out into the fierce afternoon sun and walked down a long block to a row of modern shops, including a fairly new café. It had hip westernized décor, which was strangely reassuring and made her feel less like she was about to commit a massive social faux pas.
He pulled out her chair and she settled herself into it, arranging her traditional dress. Then she realized that she didn’t even know his name. She glanced about, wanting to make sure no one could overhear her. The attendant was gathering menus by the bar, far enough away to be out of earshot. “I’m Daniyah....” She hesitated, her ex-husband’s last name—McKay—on the tip of her tongue. She suddenly decided not to use it anymore. But using her father’s last name, Hassan, which she’d given up when she married against his will, didn’t feel right either. “But you can call me Dani.”
“Quasar.” He didn’t say his surname, either. Maybe it was better that way. They were casual acquaintances, nothing more. And he was even more fearfully good-looking in real daylight, with a strong jaw and tousled hair that added to his rakish appearance.
She glanced away quickly. Her blood heated just looking at this man. “I’ll have a coffee with milk.”
He ordered, in expert Arabic, without looking at the menu. “Me, too. Though I suppose we should be drinking it black, with some dates, now that we’re back in Oman.”
She laughed. There was something about the way he said it that made her feel like his coconspirator. “It’s terrible. I find myself longing for a burrito or a foot-long sub.”
“Are you going back to America soon?”
His question took her by surprise. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what I’m doing.” It was a relief to be honest. Maybe because he was a stranger, she felt she could let down her mask a little. “I came here in a hurry and now I seem to be becalmed.”
“Becalmed?” He tilted his head and surveyed her with those striking gray-blue eyes.
“It’s an old-fashioned term for a ship that’s stuck out at sea because there’s no wind to fill her sails.” Maybe Quasar was the wind she’d been waiting for? This afternoon was already the most excitement she’d had since her arrival three months ago.
“So you need a bracing gust to set you on your way again.”
“Something like that.” She let the gleam in his eyes light a little spark of...something in her chest. The way he looked at her suggested that he found her attractive. Was that even possible? People used to tell her she was pretty, but her ex made her feel like the ugliest loser in the world. Right now she felt odd and frumpy in the loose dress and pants she’d worn to look modest and tasteful, but Quasar didn’t even seem to notice it. He related to her as easily as if she were in her familiar jeans and T-shirt. “Why are you here?” she asked.
“Visiting my brother and his family. And trying to reconnect with my culture. I don’t want to stay away too long and have my roots shrivel away.” His wry grin was disarming. Just looking at him, seeing the way his white shirt and jeans showed off a powerful physique, was stirring feelings she’d almost forgotten existed.
“If you want to reconnect with your roots, you should wear a dishdasha.” She could barely picture him in the long, white traditional garment, with its knotted sash and ornamental dagger at the waist.
He raised a brow. “Do you think I’d look better in one?” He was flirting.
She shrugged. “No. I’m only wearing this because I don’t want to scandalize my family. I’ve done that enough already.”
Curiosity flared in his gaze, as she’d predicted. “You don’t look like the type to cause a scandal.”
“Then I guess my disguise is working. I’m trying to fit in and fly under the radar.”
“You’re too beautiful to ever do that.” He spoke softly, so the waiter couldn’t hear him, but his words shocked her. She blinked at his bold flattery.
“Even traditional clothing allows your face to show,” he said. “You’d have to hide that to go unnoticed.”
“Or just never leave the house, which is what my father would prefer. He has no idea I’m out here right now. He thinks I’m at home writing poetry in my childhood bedroom. I’m twenty-seven and divorced, for crying out loud, and I have to sneak around like a naughty teenager.”
Quasar laughed and looked as if he were going to say something, but just then the waiter brought their coffees. Dani watched Quasar’s sensual mouth as he sipped his drink and she cursed the shimmer of heat that flared under her voluminous clothing.
“I think you are ready for that breeze to catch your sails,” he said at last.
“I don’t know what I’m ready for, to be totally honest. My divorce just became final.”
He lifted his coffee cup. “Congratulations.”
She giggled. “That sounds so wrong, but it does feel like something to celebrate.”
“We all make mistakes. I’m thirty-one and I’ve never been married. That has to be a mistake of some kind. At least that’s what my two happily married brothers keep insisting.”
“They think you should find someone and settle down?”
“Absolutely. In fact I’m not sure they’ll let me leave Oman until I’m legally wed.”
She laughed. Since his brothers would not be likely to encourage him to marry a divorcée, this put them on a “friends only” footing that was rather reassuring. She could admire him without worrying that anything could come of it. But sadness trickled through her at the realization that she was damaged goods, and safely off-limits. “How do you feel about the idea?”
“Petrified.” He looked rueful. “If I was cut out for marriage, I’d probably have plunged into it by now.”
“You just haven’t met the right person yet.”
“That’s what they keep telling me.”
“It’s better to wait for the right person than to have to extricate yourself after you’ve chosen the wrong one.” He must have no shortage of women trailing after him. In fact two girls had sat down at a table near them and she could see them glancing over and whispering to each other.
Then again, maybe they were whispering about her. She didn’t know how much had gotten out about her...situation. When she’d first arrived she assumed that no one would remember her or care what she’d been doing, but she’d forgotten what a small town Salalah could be, at least when it came to gossip.
She stiffened, and sipped her coffee. “What kind of business are you in?”
“Any kind of business that grabs my attention.” His gaze stayed riveted on her face. The way he stared at her was disconcerting. She wasn’t used to it. “I love to jump into a new field and be one of the first to stake out unknown territory.”
“You make it sound like mountain climbing.”
“Sometimes it is. Three-dimensional printing technology was my most recent fascination. Printers that can render a solid object. It’s going to revolutionize manufacturing. Just imagine, you could design and print out a new pair of shoes right in your own home.”
“That sounds fun.”
“The technology is even being used to print human tissue for operations like skin grafts.”
“Very cool.”
“That’s what I thought, so I invested in a start-up and helped them develop the technology. I just sold my share.”
“Why? It sounds like a fascinating industry.”
“I was ready to move on. Try something new.”
“You’re restless.”
“Always.”
So that’s why he wasn’t married. He got bored easily, then moved on to someone new and more exciting.
“What do you do?” He leaned close enough that she imagined she could smell his scent. But she couldn’t. The aroma of coffee was too strong. Why was she thinking about the way he smelled? She must be attracted to him. That would explain the quickening of her pulse and the way she was growing warm all over.
This was breaking news. She didn’t think she’d ever be attracted to a man again. At least that part of her was still alive, not that it was likely to do her much good.
His eyes glittered with amusement and for a frightening second she wondered if he could read her mind. “Is your occupation a secret? Do you work for the CIA?”
Her face heated. She’d been so busy noticing her brain’s reaction to him that she’d forgotten he asked a question. “I’m an art historian, and most recently worked at Princeton. The ancient Near East is my area of expertise.”
“Am I right in guessing that Oman counts as the Near East?”
She nodded. “It’s a large area, and was the seat of many great civilizations.”
“Mesopotamia, Sumer, the ziggurats at Ur-Nammu.” Tiny smile lines formed at the corners of his wide, sensual mouth.
“Most people think of ancient Egypt.”
“Do I sound like a show-off?”
“A little.” She fought a smile. His arrogance and confidence had an effortless quality that was oddly appealing. “But I won’t hold it against you.”
“Thanks. You should see the museum my brother’s put together. He built a hotel on the site of an old Silk Road city.”
“That sounds like an art historian’s nightmare.”
“You’d like it! There wasn’t much left, just a few stumps of walls out in the middle of an old oil field, and he’s recreated it as a luxury retreat, preserving as much as possible of the original.”
“Your whole family sounds rather unusual.”
He laughed. “Maybe we are. We all march to our own beat. The archaeologists who excavated the site found some pottery and small figurines. You might find them interesting.”
“I’m sure I would. Do you know what era they’re from?”
“No clue. Maybe we can visit the place together. It’s only a short drive outside Salalah. We could go tomorrow.”
She froze. There was no way she could go for a drive anywhere with a total stranger. Even a seemingly handsome, charming and educated one. She didn’t really know anything about him. For all she knew, he could be making everything up. And besides, her father and brothers would forbid it. “I can’t.”
“Maybe another time, then. Let me give you my phone number.”
She glanced at the two girls at the nearby table. Their dark eyes were still darting to her and her companion. They’d be sure to notice. But what harm could come of it if she never called him?
Her heart pounded while she watched him write the number in an assured hand on the back of the blue paper napkin. “I’m staying at my brother’s hotel here in Salalah. It’s right on the beach. Where do you live?”
She swallowed. This was getting dangerously personal. “Not far.” No one knew she was here, which was by design. “I really should be getting back.” She shoved the napkin into her pocket.
“I’ll walk you home.”
“Oh, no. There’s no need. You stay here and relax.” She put down some cash to pay for the coffee. He thrust it back to her with a shocked expression, and she decided—once again—to avoid a scene by accepting his hospitality. “Thanks for the coffee.” He rose when she did and for a split second she had an insane thought he might try to kiss her. Her whole body braced as adrenaline rushed through her. Then he thrust out his hand and she shook it. “And thanks for the book.”
“Call me. I’d like to go see the artifacts with you.”
She picked up her new book, then turned and walked out of the café as fast as she could. Most likely the tension and excitement was all in her head—and her body—but she couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was exhilarating and she felt more alive than she had in months. Years, even. And all because of a man she had no business even talking to.
She walked home quickly. Her dad wouldn’t get home for a while but she wanted to arrive before her brothers came back from their respective schools. Her younger brother, Khalid, usually came straight home to do his homework, but her older brother, Jalil, often stayed late in the technical college library to pore over the designs for his latest engineering project. She liked to make them a snack before they returned, but today she wouldn’t have time. In fact she barely had time to put her new book in her bedroom and shove the napkin with Quasar’s number into a drawer before the front door opened and Khalid crashed in and flung his book bag down in the hallway before heading into the kitchen.
“I took a nap,” she fibbed, as her brother’s eyes scanned the empty kitchen counters. Maybe they were growing too dependent on her. She didn’t plan to be here forever.
“A nap? In the middle of the day? You’re going soft.”
What would he say if she revealed that she’d let a strange man buy her a book—and a coffee? He’d probably question her sanity.
She read her new book for a while before she heard her father’s distinctive rap on the door. Even though the door was open he liked someone to let him in. She pulled back the latch, forcing a bright smile. “Hello, Father.” She kissed his cheek. As usual he brushed it off as if she were a fly. “How was your day?”
“Same as usual.” His gruff voice and glum expression rarely softened. “Too many fools in this business. Always looking for new cheaper ways to do things that have worked just fine for decades.” An engineer, he was often irritated by new technologies and methods. He asked her brother about his schoolwork, as usual. He never asked her about her day, which was a plus today since she couldn’t have said anything truthful about it.
“Help Faizal prepare an excellent supper tonight, dear.” Faizal was the cook who came over to make dinner every night. Her father fixed his beady gaze on her. “A friend of mine will be joining us.” He looked her up and down in a way that made her stomach muscles clench.
“That’s great. Is he a friend from work?”
“Not from the firm, no. He’s a supplier. Rivets and nuts.” He squinted at her for a moment. “Wear a color that suits your complexion more.”
She glanced down at the navy blue she’d worn all day. “Why?”
“That blue is rather draining on you. Something brighter would be more attractive.”
Dani stood speechless. This was the first time her father had expressed an opinion on her clothes. Was he planning to set her up with his friend? She wanted to ask but didn’t dare.
She’d assumed he saw her as such a social pariah that it wouldn’t be worth the bother of trying to marry her off again. Maybe he’d grown tired of having her under his roof and hoped to find someone who would take her off his hands. She hurried to her room, wondering if she could find an even less flattering color to wear.
Quasar hadn’t thought she looked washed out in the blue. The way he’d looked at her had made her feel as if she’d been glowing like a spring flower. His daring gaze made her feel desirable—and it made her feel desire. The memory of it made her blood hum.
Alone in her room she let herself dream about him for a moment. What would it be like to accompany him to his brother’s hotel/museum or whatever it was? People had said her ex-husband was good-looking—she’d thought so herself until she grew to understand his true character—but he had nothing on Quasar’s dramatic features and playful charm.
Of course, the man she’d just met was undoubtedly used to women drooling over him. He was probably shocked that she refused his suggestion that they meet again. If she were in America, without traditional rules to consider, would she have said yes?
No. She had to be honest. She wouldn’t have accepted an invitation from a strange man who gave every impression of being a playboy dilettante of the worst kind. Let him go charm someone else into making a fool of herself with him. Dani Hassan wasn’t making any more mistakes in the man department.
Changing into a dark forest-green dress with silver edging, she went back to the kitchen to help the cook prepare a traditional chicken dish with rice and vegetables. She wasn’t sure how the elderly Faizal felt about her assistance—Dani suspected he’d just as soon she butt out and leave him to his business—but joining him in the kitchen gave her an activity to look forward to, when there was precious little to do around the house all day.
She arranged the meal in the dining room, on the carpeted floor, Omani style, with more attention to detail than usual—artfully folded napkins, the prettier glasses—and waited with grim curiosity for her father’s “friend” to arrive. When he finally did, she hung back and waited in her room with headphones on, pretending to listen to music, until her brothers had been introduced and one of them was sent for her. The sight of her prospective beau made her heart sink.
“Daniyah, I’m delighted to introduce you to Mr. Samir Al Kabisi.” He was at least sixty, with thinning gray hair combed over a freckled scalp and a bulbous nose like a misshapen potato. His eyes were yellowish and his teeth crooked as he spoke the traditional greeting.
He didn’t extend his hand, so she bowed her head and attempted a smile. Did her dad seriously consider this man a potential partner for her? He must have a very low opinion of her worth.
On the other hand, maybe she had too high an opinion of herself. She didn’t know this man at all. He could be perfectly nice and here she was judging him entirely on his looks—or lack of them. Wouldn’t a kind and sensible man with a homely appearance be better than a gorgeous and dashing jerk?
She’d prefer the company of a good book.
“Do come in and have some coffee.” She kept her smile fixed while she served the fragrant hot drink in the ornate brass urn they kept for visitors. Her father engaged their guest in riveting conversation about the nuts and rivets industry, and he responded with brief comments in the rasp of a heavy smoker.
Dani wished she could go hide in her room. They stumbled through dinner with innocuous conversation about the city and a recent burst of new construction. After dinner her father leaned forward and pinned her with his gaze. “Mr. Al Kabisi was widowed seven years ago.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Uh-oh. Seemed like her father was finally getting to the point.
“He’s mourned his wife for many years but I’ve persuaded him that perhaps it is time to set the shroud of grief aside.”
Dani swallowed.
“Boys, come out into the garden with me for a few minutes.” Her brothers looked perplexed for a moment, especially Khalid, who probably wanted to go play with his Xbox, but they got with the program and followed her dad out of the room.
Alone in the room with this man more than twice her age, Dani had no idea what to say. He stood and cleared his throat. “I see no shame in a woman divorcing a man who is cruel to her.”
Her heart clenched. He must know her humiliating story. “That’s kind of you.” Now what was she supposed to say? She did see considerable shame in marrying a man old enough to be her father, whom she had less than nothing in common with, out of desperation. And she had no intention of doing so.
“I own my own business and my house. My three sons live and work in Muscat with their families, so I am all alone here. My income is—”
A desperate need to interrupt his sales pitch overcame her and she rose to her feet. “You’re very kind but I really don’t think—”
He rose, too, with considerable difficulty since they were sitting on the floor. His eyes bulged. “I am still potent.” His fetid breath stung her nostrils. “So have no fear that you will be neglected.”
Her dinner churned in her stomach. “I’m not ready to marry again. It’s too soon. I’m still...recovering.” She’d be in permanent recovery if this were the kind of prospect available to her.
At that exact moment she resolved to throw caution to the wind and take Quasar up on his invitation.
Two (#ulink_6c10cea4-0594-55ca-bd7d-b0ce9aa63317)
Quasar emerged from the warm water of the pool with chlorine-blurred eyes. Sun shone on the sandstone surfaces of the elegant hotel buildings, and a light breeze ruffled the rows of majestic palm trees.
“Your phone’s ringing,” Celia, his brother Salim’s wife, called from beside the pool, where she was relaxing with Sara, the wife of his brother Elan. They’d just eaten a leisurely poolside breakfast and were planning a day of relaxation on the nearby beach. Quasar was soaking wet and bouncing his three-year-old niece, Hannah, on his shoulders. “I doubt it’s anything important. I’m taking a break from business.”
“Throw me!” Little Hannah could yell surprisingly loud for such a small human.
“I can’t. You can’t swim.” She’d watched him tossing her cousin and was desperate to join in the fun. He ducked down and almost dunked her, then rose up fast, making her scream.
“You’re so good with kids. You should have some.” Sara sipped her nonalcoholic cocktail. She was pregnant with her third child.
“Nonsense. I just need to spend more time with you guys. I think this is the first time we’ve all been together since Salim’s wedding. I’m not going to let that happen again.”
Salim and Celia lived in Salalah, with their children Kira and Basia. This hotel was the headquarters for his chain of luxurious resorts throughout the region. Elan and Sara lived in Nevada, where they ran their thriving fuel exploration business while raising Hannah and their son, Ben. Quasar was usually jetting around cooking up projects and it was rare for them all to make the time to relax. For the last decade he’d been so busy starting businesses and partying hard that he hadn’t had time to get bored. Now he was beginning to think he’d missed out on something. Something big.
He didn’t even have a permanent address right now. He’d sold his L.A. penthouse for a profit too good to refuse, and his worldly goods were in a storage unit near Hollywood. He’d recently bought a farmhouse in the hills near Salalah, but it had needed months of renovation so he’d barely spent any time there.
“It’s ringing again.” Celia peered at his phone, which sat on the table next to her. “Same number. Want me to get it for you?”
“Okay.”
She picked up his phone. “Quasar’s phone. Celia speaking.” Then she frowned. “They hung up.” She lifted a brow. “I hope I didn’t scare off one of your girlfriends.”
He swung his niece around until she shrieked loud enough to pierce his eardrums. “I don’t have any girlfriends.” Then he froze.
Dani.
What if she’d decided to call him, and now a woman answered his phone? “Let’s go dry you off, kid.” He carried his niece to the steps and climbed out, dripping onto the sandstone tiles. He dried his hands on his towel and snatched up his phone.
Celia leaned toward Sara. “I think he does have a girlfriend or two that he’s worried about.”
He didn’t recognize the number, but it looked local. He called it, and listened while it rang.
“Hello?” a shy, thin voice answered.
“This is Quasar. You just called my phone.” He didn’t want to say her name in case it wasn’t her. He’d made that mistake before.
“Hi. It’s Dani.” She hesitated, possibly wondering about the woman who’d answered his phone.
“I’m so glad you called.” He walked along the edge of the pool, away from his sisters-in-law. He could feel their eyes on him. “I was hoping you would. That was my sister-in-law Celia who answered.”
“Oh.” She sounded relieved. “I’d like to go see the museum pieces with you, if you’re still interested.”
“Absolutely. Is this afternoon good?” He didn’t want to wait and take a chance that she’d change her mind.
“Okay.”
“Excellent. If you give me your address, I’ll come pick you up.”
She told him that she preferred to meet him outside the vegetable stalls at the end of the street with the café. Apparently she didn’t want him coming to her house. And she had to be home by four, at the latest. It was all starting to sound intriguingly cloak-and-dagger.
“Sure, I’ll be there at noon.” His blood pumped a little faster at the prospect of seeing her again. He wondered if she’d wear the elegant traditional attire she’d had on yesterday, or something more Western. He was curious about her figure. He could already tell she was slim, but he had no idea about the cut of her hips, the shape of her legs, or the curve of her bosom. There was something to be said for that kind of mystery.
Still, he promised himself that he wasn’t going to make even the slightest hint of a move on her unless she showed signs of strong interest. He was a guest here in Oman and although he didn’t remember too much about the local customs, he knew that toying with a woman’s affections was a total no-no.
Unfortunately that didn’t dampen his enthusiasm one bit.
“Did I hear you say that you’re meeting someone this afternoon?” Sara asked. She was smoothing sunblock on her arm. “I thought we were doing a barbecue on the beach.”
“Something came up.” He tried not to reveal his excitement.
His willowy sister-in-law Celia tilted her head. “Is she very beautiful?”
“How do you know it’s not a dull business meeting?” He rubbed himself with the towel.
“The look in your eyes.” She smiled, but raised one of her slender brows, too. “Those dangerous blue eyes where a woman is likely to drown in passion.”
“I suspect most women are better swimmers than you think.” He swatted six-year-old Ben with a towel as he ran by. “And as it happens I’m taking her to see the restored oasis that you created.” Celia had first come to Oman as the landscape designer for the project. “She’s a historian specializing in this region so I think she’ll be interested in the artifacts you found.”
“I bet she will. Something tells me you don’t want to turn this into a family expedition where we all meet her.”
He smiled. “Not yet. I only just met her myself. I don’t want to scare her off.”
“Very sensible. Though maybe she should be a little scared. The press coverage from your latest shenanigans hasn’t even died down yet. Laura was creating a stir on Twitter this morning talking about her broken heart.”
Ouch. Meeting Dani had shoved his most recent girlfriend out of his mind. Unfortunately she was still in a lot of other people’s minds since she was a well-known actress with a talent for self-promotion. “I promise I didn’t really break her heart. She broke it all by herself. She’s one of those people who are in love with an impossible ideal of love. I don’t think anyone could make her happy.”
“In love with love?” Celia laughed.
Sara wandered over and sat down next to Celia on one of the elegant cushioned chaises that surrounded the pool. The shade of a nearby palm tree kept the sun off her face as she settled in. “Who’s in love?”
“Everyone’s in love with Quasar. It’s very trying for him.”
Sara shrugged and pulled off her T-shirt to reveal a turquoise bikini. “Not me. I’m still in love with Elan.”
Quasar draped his towel over the back of a chair and flexed his shoulders until they cracked. “And so you should be. He’s much more reliable than me.” His stolid, workaholic brother had hired Sara as his secretary and was suitably appalled when he fell in love with her.
“Nor me. I still love Salim.” Celia said it while looking at her husband, his oldest brother, who, incongruously dressed in a dark gray pinstripe suit, had just walked up to her and kissed her on the cheek.
Quasar watched in mock amazement. “We can tell. I never would have thought I’d see the mighty Salim indulge in public displays of affection.”
“The right woman can transform any one of us. Most likely when we least expect it.” Salim spoke with the quiet assurance of a prophet, his arms draped around his beautiful wife’s neck. “Even you.”
Quasar laughed. “Don’t be so sure.”
“He has a date this afternoon,” Celia said into her husband’s ear.
Salim straightened up. “Tell me she’s kidding.”
“It’s nothing to worry about. We both spoke English so we struck up a conversation.”
“Where?” Salim’s dark, penetrating eyes narrowed. Quasar drew himself taller under their accusing stare.
“A local bookshop.”
Salim stared at him while Elan jogged up, looking muscular and athletic as usual. “Quasar is the only man I know who can go out to buy a book and come back with a woman. Even in Oman.”
“I hardly came back with her in my pocket. She was interesting, that’s all. I have no intention of indulging in anything but conversation with her.”
Elan laughed. “I’m sure you’ve said that before.”
“Have a little faith in me.” Quasar grabbed Kira, Salim and Celia’s oldest, around the waist and swung her up onto his shoulders. “Kira has faith in me, don’t you?”
“What’s faith?” Kira lisped both words, looking confused.
“When you believe in something without having actual proof.”
Kira stared at him for a moment. “Like a fairy.”
“Yes. Like a fairy.”
Kira pushed her lip out. “I don’t believe in fairies.”
Quasar couldn’t help laughing as he set her down. “Thanks for nothing.”
Salim crossed his arms, looking sensible and invincible as ever in his suit. “Well said, Kira. An Al Mansur prefers some empirical evidence.” His stern features softened. “Would you like to come help Daddy in the office? I have some papers that need coloring in.”
“Yes please!”
Quasar stared after Salim and Kira, shaking his head, as his über-serious older brother walked off, hand in hand with the little girl he hadn’t even known existed until she was two.
“I’ve never seen Salim so happy. Nor you, Elan.”
“We’ve shared our secrets, brother. It’s all about finding the right woman.”
“And managing not to fire her or drive her away.” Sara winked.
Quasar thought for a moment. “There’s a theme here. You and Celia were both working for my brothers. Maybe I need to hire someone,” he teased.
Sara cocked her head. “And get her pregnant by mistake. Don’t forget that happened to both of us, as well.”
“At least that’s one thing I can’t be accused of.”
“Yet,” said Celia, smoothing sunblock onto her long legs with a wry smile. “Be careful. Obviously Al Mansur men are very potent.”
“Like I said, we’re just going to talk. She’s an Omani. There’s no question of us getting naked without elaborate negotiations involving goats and camels.”
“That’s a relief, then.” Celia leaned toward him and whispered. “Still, take a condom with you.”
“Sister, you shock me.”
She patted his arm. “Just speaking from experience.”
* * *
Dani arrived at the fruit-and-vegetable market a full ten minutes before noon. She didn’t want to take a chance of getting held up and missing their meeting. She busied herself looking over the stalls full of fragrant limes, garlic and bright piles of carrots. Young children darted around their mother’s legs, making a game of tagging each other with their blue plastic shopping bags. She was trying to look busy testing the freshness of oranges at a citrus stall when something told her to look up.
Her gaze fell on Quasar, striding along the dusty street, chin high, gaze fixed intently on her. Dressed in white linen pants and shirt, he looked as cool and fresh as a tall glass of water.
She braced herself, hoping he wouldn’t draw attention to them by calling out her name. She put down the orange and walked to meet him, keeping her gaze averted.
Luckily he was discreet. “Good afternoon,” he said quietly. Her eyes wandered to his lips, and imagined them kissing her hello. Which mercifully didn’t happen.
“Good afternoon. Almost afternoon. We’re both early.” Her heart fluttered with excitement, which was silly since she barely knew this man. The sun had kissed his skin a shade darker since yesterday, making his incongruous blue eyes shine even brighter. Even white teeth glittered in his wolfish smile. He looked like trouble. If she had any sense she’d make up an excuse and run for home right now.
But she didn’t.
“My car is parked around the corner.” He seemed as if he were about to thread his arm through hers, or put his hand at her waist, but he hesitated, aware of the conservative local customs. The unmade gesture ratcheted up the tension between them. Her body hummed with both the desire to be touched and the fear of it. She walked beside him self-consciously as he led her to a silver Mercedes, already covered in a fine film of inevitable dust, and opened the passenger door for her. “I’m so glad you’re coming out to the resort. I haven’t been there since my brother Salim’s wedding.”
“I bet it was spectacular.”
“Oh, it was. Salim doesn’t do anything by halves.”
“I bet you don’t, either.” She snuck a glance at his bold profile as he pulled 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 peered at the door with a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. Today she wore a traditional Omani getup in a rose shade that brought out the roses in her cheeks and lips. He hadn’t noticed yesterday what a mobile and sensual mouth she had. “It’s almost as if they didn’t want people to discover the treasures inside.”
“Maybe they don’t. I suspect they’re more interested in selling them expensive massages.” He smiled. “Let’s see if it’s open.”
He tried the handle. She played with her headscarf, almost nervous. What was she afraid of? Being alone with him in a cool, darkened room filled with antiques?
Hmm. If she knew his reputation she’d do well to be afraid. But she couldn’t know anything about him. They hadn’t exchanged last names.
He tried the brass handle and the door creaked open, sending a rush of air-conditioned air toward them.
The room was dimly lit, with spotlights shining down on a few key pieces, mostly ornately carved silver.
She walked right past those to some dull-colored pots displayed on a shelf against the far wall. “These are ancient,” she breathed, and she rushed forward to examine the closest one. “Two thousand years old at least. Back when this area was a pit stop along the Silk Road.”
The same color as the mud-brick walls, the pottery didn’t look that exciting to Quasar. Still, Dani’s exuberance was contagious.
“Everything here was found buried beneath the sand at the site. Celia says the oasis was in use for thousands of years.”
“Camel trains would come through Salalah before making the long trek up through the desert toward Jerusalem.” Dani wheeled around, and headed for a display case filled with silver jewelry. “Look at these pieces. They’re exquisite.”
He examined the big heavy silver bracelets and necklaces that were large enough to strangle a camel. “I bet they’re heavy.”
“I bet they’re not.” She smiled at him. “Some of them are hollow. You could store prayers in them for protection. Look at the carving on this one. It must have taken the craftsman weeks to make all those intricate designs.” She sighed. “We’re too busy these days to make anything so beautiful.”
“How come you don’t wear jewelry if you admire it so much?” He noticed for the first time that her ears were pierced, but unadorned by earrings.
“You don’t wear jewelry when you’re trying to disappear.” She flashed him a wry smile. “The ladies wearing these pieces wanted everyone to notice them.”
“And to gossip about how rich their daddies or husbands were, I suspect.”
“Absolutely.” She grinned. “I bet they enjoyed it, though.”
She moved over to a display of colorful clothing. “These aren’t antique.”
“Nope. Celia thought it would be a good idea to include them to celebrate our traditional clothing. Hardly anyone wears such bright colors these days.”
“They wanted to stand out against the dusty backdrop of the desert, like magnificent exotic birds. Maybe I should start wearing stuff like this myself?” She lifted a brow.
He laughed. “I can’t picture you in something that loud.”
“Me, either.” She sighed. “Truth be told, I prefer to disappear into the scenery. I suppose I always have.”
“Even before you were married?” He burned with curiosity to know more about her marriage, but didn’t want to jump the gun and scare her off by asking too much.
She nodded. “I guess I’m a wallflower at heart.”
“You could never hide against a wall, even though your dress today is a similar color to this rosy clay.” He picked up the end of her scarf and felt the soft fabric between thumb and finger. Desire stirred in him as he imagined lifting more of the fabric to discover what lay beneath.
Her breath quickened and he thought he saw her pupils dilate a little. The attraction between them was definitely mutual. She turned from him and hurried over to a shelf with a display of big brass serving platters. To him they looked like something he could buy in the souk this afternoon if he wanted. She seemed riveted by one of them, though. He moved right behind her, so he could almost feel the heat of her body in the cool air. She peered at the largest dish. “What a pretty scene. It looks like the Dhofar mountains. It’s quite unusual to depict something representational in the post-Islamic era—”
She turned to him, that glorious mouth still talking, and he fought an almost unbearable urge to kiss her.
He managed not to, though. Desire raced through him like fire along a line of gasoline and he tried hard to fight it back. You just met her. You don’t know her.
Heck, that had never stopped him before. The best way to get to know a girl was to become intimate right away. Let the chemistry mingle and see what kind of explosions happened.
Not this girl, though. Dani had been hurt, and he didn’t know the details. She was recovering from a bad marriage and the last thing she needed was to be seduced by a roving stranger who was only in town for a couple of weeks.
Well, he didn’t know how long he’d be here, but it wouldn’t be long. He was just visiting family and trying to figure out what to do next.
And all he wanted to do right now was kiss Dani.
Mercifully she’d moved away, and was examining a series of khanjar daggers hanging on the wall. Most of the sheaths were ornately carved silver, but she was bent over the least elaborate one. “This must be camel leather and camel bone. I suppose this is what they all looked like many centuries ago, when people carried them for use, not for ornamentation.”
Keep your dagger sheathed, he commanded himself.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I told my brother I wouldn’t indulge in anything but conversation with you today. And I was just thinking that you’re making it very difficult.” He was nothing if not honest.
She looked startled for a moment, then regained her composure. “Why did you tell your brother that?”
“He’s worried about me embarking on an unsuitable romance. He doesn’t trust my judgment.”
“You’d better keep your distance. As an Omani he’s not going to approve of me since I’m divorced, so you can go ahead and think of me as off-limits.”
“What if that just makes me want you more?”
“Then you’re incorrigible.”
“You wouldn’t be the first to call me that. Actually you might. That’s a pretty unusual word. Impossible is a more popular choice.”
A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth. “An impossible man is the very last thing I need, so I think we can mutually agree to be platonic.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“I think I just did.” She smiled and walked quietly over to a display of large, ornate coffeepots.
Dani wasn’t playing hard to get. She was hard to get. In fact kissing her might take the same amount of effort required to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. On the other hand, it might well be worth it, and he did enjoy a challenge.
Three (#ulink_8f585760-d14a-558d-bc05-784711c5dea9)
How could a simple glance get her excited? Especially from someone who was an obvious playboy. He wouldn’t be this confident and flirtatious if he weren’t. He was exactly the kind of man she needed to stay away from. She shouldn’t be here at all. And when she looked at her watch, she realized she’d be lucky if she got back home in time. “I really do have to get back to Salalah now.” They’d been browsing in the museum for nearly two hours. She’d endured many exciting brushes against him as he leaned over a new oil jar or polished brass mirror to get a closer look. His scent filled her senses like an intoxicating drug. It was lucky he hadn’t made a move on her as she wasn’t at all sure how she’d react.
Like a junkie, probably.
“Of course. Let’s go.” He pushed the door open from behind her. “I have to admit that I thought of this stuff as a bunch of old junk last time I was here, but seeing the pieces through your eyes brings them back to life.”
Seeing herself through his eyes was bringing her back to life. When Quasar looked at her she almost felt as if he could see right through her billowing traditional attire to her body beneath. Her skin hummed with awareness of his interest in her. The desire racing along her veins shocked her, when she’d been so sure she’d never feel it again.
“I’d love to learn more about the history of the site.” She tried to distract herself from the mysterious sensations tingling in her blood. To focus on the unusual townlike layout of the resort, with its central oasis and native plantings.
“You need to talk to my sister-in-law—Celia. I know she did some research in order to plan the landscaping.”
Dani swallowed. She couldn’t imagine that he’d really introduce her to his family. They’d be bound to disapprove of her.
Quasar led her past the bubbling fountain and back through the spacious, open hotel lobby.
“What a lovely place.”
“Very profitable, too, apparently. It got recommended in Condé Nast Traveler almost as soon as it opened and it’s been booked solid ever since.”
“Tourism will be good for the Omani economy. It’s important to diversify. The oil won’t last forever.”
“Too true. I should probably be paying more attention to business opportunities while I’m here. Usually that’s foremost on my mind, but I seem to be a little distracted.” His flashing glance made something ripple inside her.
A valet had Quasar’s car ready before they even reached the main entrance. Quasar opened the door for her himself, a thoughtful gesture that touched her. She told him about her Ph.D. thesis as they sped back across the desert.
“Persian painting, huh? Aren’t some of those erotic?”
“Absolutely. Some were even intended as instruction in the art of lovemaking.”
“Have you tried following the instructions?”
She laughed. “No. That would not have been my ex-husband’s style at all. He didn’t like being told what to do.” Sex with Gordon had been very wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. At first she’d enjoyed it anyway for the sheer physical pleasure and the emotional connection she thought she’d felt. Later it had become just another wearing encounter with him that she wanted to avoid.
“I wonder if it’s worth attempting.”
“If what is?” She’d got lost in unhappy memories about her marriage, staring through the windshield at the bare, brown desert.
“Following the advice in the erotic paintings.” He shot a dangerous glance that made her stomach quiver.
“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” She lifted a brow.
“Is that an invitation?” She saw that smile tug at his mouth.
“Not even slightly.” Her body begged to differ. In fact he had quite literally brought her dormant libido back to life. She didn’t think she’d ever be attracted to a man again after the depressing downward spiral of her only serious relationship. For two years now she’d felt nothing, until Quasar had looked at her in that bookshop. As they talked, she’d sensed her body literally switching back on, like an electrical circuit that had been disconnected for a while and was now plugged back in so current could flow through it. Right now it was flowing to all kinds of nooks and crannies she’d all but forgotten.
She watched his long, elegant fingers resting on the wheel, and wondered what they’d feel like on her skin. Good thing she was too sensible to find out. Her reputation was already in tatters and she certainly wasn’t going to rush headlong into another unsuitable relationship. A glance at the dashboard clock made her nervous. “Will we really be back by four?”
She felt the car surge forward as he accelerated. “If it can be done, I’ll do it.”
“Let me guess, that’s your personal motto.”
He flashed those slate-blue eyes at her. “You’re not so far wrong. Lately I’ve been thinking it might be time for me to slow down, though. There may be some things I can leave undone.”
Like seducing me. “You plan to become more selective as you mature.”
“Exactly. At this point I think I should focus on only the very best.”
“Business opportunities?”
He took his eyes off the road again and kept them on hers for far too long. After an agonizing interval that heated her blood almost to the boiling point, she glanced nervously out the windshield, half afraid they’d driven right off the narrow strip of tarmac.
“Among other things.” When he finally looked back at the long, empty road—not a moment too soon—her heart was pounding and her lips parted. The effect he had on her was a little frightening.
“But how do you know something is the very best until you try it?” She wanted to fill the air with conversation. Right now the thoughts in her brain and the sensations in her body were making her very uncomfortable.
“I have a lifetime of experience. Enough to be something of a connoisseur.” He spoke softly, and glanced at her quickly this time. Just long enough to convince her that he was completely serious.
She believed him. The desert swept past, and they climbed into the lush mountains again. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “I can’t believe how beautiful it is up here. This is the first time I’ve come to the mountains in years. My dad and brothers have no interest in nature.”
“Let’s come back tomorrow.” He said it casually, and didn’t even look at her. “I’ll bring some binoculars and we can look for birds.”
No. Just say no. You can’t do this. Going out with a strange man a second time—or would it be the third, if she counted that cup of coffee?—would confirm that they were having some kind of...relationship. She wouldn’t call it an affair since there was nothing sensual or romantic about it, except in her mind.
Her mouth wouldn’t form the simple rejection. If she said no she’d probably never see Quasar again. That would be very sensible but the prospect was too depressing to contemplate. There’d be nothing but dull days at home, cooking the same familiar dinners, tidying her bare room, broken up with occasional walks to the bookshop and the fruit stalls. Possibly a frighteningly unattractive suitor would take pity on her from time to time. Since she didn’t have any kind of promising escape plan, who knew how long that might go on for? “Okay.”
He turned to her with an expression of surprise.
“You thought I’d say no.”
“I did.”
She loved that he didn’t lie. “Apparently I’m more reckless than you thought.”
“I like that in a woman.” His wicked grin hinted at trouble to come. And strangely enough, she was starting to look forward to it.
* * *
The next morning she dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Considering she’d worn little else for all her years in the United States, it was odd how daring it felt to don them. When she returned, her father had told her she should wear conservative clothing and conduct herself like an Omani woman, and—grateful for the chance to stay here—she’d obeyed. They were only clothes, right? She quickly adapted to covering her arms and legs, and her hair—the way she’d been taught as a child.
But dressing in Western clothing again was liberating and felt right. She did don a cover-up and headscarf before Quasar showed up, but she shed them in the car with relief and enjoyed Quasar’s admiring gaze on her body-hugging jeans and T-shirt.
Driving up into the lush green mountains with a handsome man, Dani felt a sense that anything was possible, something she hadn’t experienced since her college days. They parked and walked along a wooded trail as thick with leaves and scents and life as any trail in the New Jersey woodlands. It amazed her that during this season, paradise existed right here in her arid homeland. In a way it proved that anything was possible—anywhere—with a little rain and mist to break up the relentless heat and sun that scorched most of Oman into a virtual wasteland.
“A steppe eagle.” Quasar stopped and grabbed her arm. He pointed high in a tree where a magnificent bird looked posed, as if it sat on an ancient Egyptian frieze. “It’s seen something.”
The bird stayed frozen for a few moments, then dropped like a rock toward land, before swooping up on broad, flapping wings with some small creature in its mouth.
“It caught its prey. What a magnificent sight.” Dani peered after it as it perched on a branch nearby. “Though I can’t help but feel bad for the animal that’s about to be eaten.”
“Eat or be eaten.” Quasar’s grip on her arm had softened into a sort of caress. “It’s the way of the world.”
His touch heated her skin. She was usually the one being eaten. “Do you really believe that? Isn’t there any middle ground?”
He looked amused. “I suppose so. I haven’t explored it myself.”
“Since I can’t imagine you being eaten, then I assume you’re used to being the one doing the devouring.”

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