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“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.
