Prince on the Beach
An Older Man Younger Woman, BBW, Interracial, Steamy, Sweet Romance
Tracey Carter
Prince on the Beach 2020 by Tracey Carter
All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Blurb
Note to Readers
1. Kayla
2. Sebastian
3. Kayla
4. Sebastian
5. Kayla
6. Kayla
Thank You for Reading
Up Next
Insta Love Island Series
Note to Readers
About the Author
What will it take for a Prince to nab this innocent college grad?
Kayla worked her ass off all through Yale and now it was time for her reward. An all-expense paid trip to the famous Pole Island courtesy of the parents. She is there for rest and relaxation before jumping into job hunting, not having island flings with hot older men. So why does her heart beat triple time whenever this surfing silver fox walks by?
Sebastian is a prince. That is usually enough to get him into any girl’s pants, but Kayla is an enigma who isn’t impressed by his title. She doesn’t even believe him! But that’s fine. Sebastian wants to do more than bed this brainy beauty, he wants to crown her as his very own princess.
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1
Kayla
I watch the land grow closer and my airplane descends. I know it is probably not something a twenty-two-year-old woman should admit, but this was the first time I have ever left the country. I’d never even left my state before I left my home of Boston to go to Yale to do a double major in Ethics, Politics and Economics and Global Affairs. Yeah, it seems a bit redundant to study both, but my goal in life is to leave the world better than when I came into it.
So, while my classmates were playing beer pong and jetting off to Sandro Pei or wherever, I was studying my ass off to graduate summa cum laude. I was this close to making Valedictorian, but a B in health class freshman year ruined that for me.
All that to say when my parents offered me a graduation gift of a trip to Pole Island in the Bahamas, I jumped at it. The gleaming white sands of the beach beacon for me and I already know as soon as I get off this plane and shower the flight off of me, I am going to slather on some sunscreen and lay on that soft-looking sand. Maybe, for the first time in four years, I can actually relax.
Being the nerd that I am, when my parents gifted me with the trip, I quickly started researching everything I could about the area. Based on the pictures of the blindingly white sand and the too strong cocktails the island was famous for, I knew this was going to be a trip for the memory books. No one knows for sure why it is called Pole Island, but the rumors are too entertaining. I spent a whole evening looking at what different tourists say they were told:
“The Polish used to own the island, so it was nicknamed Pol Island, and turned into Pole Island.”
“Every man there I encountered had the longest manhood I’d ever seen. After taking a ride on a few of them, let’s just say I know why they call it Pole Island.”
“It used to be covered entirely in a lush green rain forest, but colonizers stripped the resources until only leafless, dead trees shot up from the ground, like poles.”
The stories went from mundane to truly outrageous. I wonder if I will learn the truth, or better yet, get my own rumor as a souvenir.
A quick touch down of the plane, a taxi ride to the hotel, and a hot shower to wash traveling off of me and I am finally able to start my vacation. I lay my beach towel out on the burning hot sand. People like to pretend Black folks don’t need sunscreen, but my roommate was a biology major and she warned me about all the things that can happen to people out in the sun too long, no matter what their skin tone is. Melanoma doesn’t care. So, I am sure to slather on a thick layer of sunscreen before I slide on my sunglasses and lay down with the first fiction book I have read for fun in years.
My mind is too used to focusing on work to make an easy switch to reading just for relaxation. Within minutes, I am putting the book down and looking out at the water. Watching the waves and the people playing out there shouldn’t be more engrossing than my book, but it is. It is like watching a microcosm of society. The various types of people interacting with each other in this specific place, where otherwise they may never have met. It warms the sociological place in my heart.
Now, I will admit, Yale had a lot of good looking guys on campus. But between concentrating on my work, the boys there being more boys than men, and them being entirely too preppy for my tastes, I never even went out on a date with any of them. It did help me keep my promise to myself that I will keep my virginity until I found a man worthy enough to give it up for. Those boys at school were not the ones.
But on this beach? There are a bunch of MEN. Men laying on the beach catching a tan, men playing volleyball, men swimming, men surfing. I feel like my brain will overload from the amount of honest to god manly men out here.
They are all very nice to look at, but none of them grabs me by the root of my hair and forces me to look and pay attention until this delicious silver fox walks out of the water. He has a surfboard under one arm, so it doesn’t take a genius to tell what he was doing out in the water. It also doesn’t take a genius to tell how hot he is. And really, what I mean is HAWT.
The water dripping down his chiseled chest sparkles under the bright sunlight, making him look like he is glowing. His salt and pepper hair is slicked back from the water and makes him look like an even hotter George Clooney. The thing that really has my eyes bugging out and my legs rubbing together to give myself a little friction and scratch a very particular itch is that he is obviously European.
It’s not specifically him being European that has me all hot and bothered, but you know how European men are way more comfortable in their bodies than American men and wear those skimpy little speedos? Let’s just say that his speedo is struggling to hold everything in.
My face reddens at the sight of him striding up the beach, full of confidence. Just by looks and the aura he throws off, I am halfway ready to throw away my promise to myself, open my legs, and beg him to ravish me like the heroine in some trashy romance novel.
That’s probably exactly why I am feeling this way. I tear my eyes away from the god of a man carrying his surfboard up the beach and glare at the romance novel I’d abandoned to people watch.
“This is all your fault. Getting me all horny with your too steamy sex scenes.”
I quickly gather up my things. My stomach is growling and I think I have spent more than enough time ogling men on the beach. Even though I’d taken a shower after landing, I have sand in places I don’t want to think about just from laying down, so I take a quick shower again and throw on a cute sundress before hea
ding down to the concierge desk.
The sun is setting, but the temperature barely gets any cooler. It’s not unexpected for summer in the Bahamas, which is why I packed mostly shorts and dresses. What is just as much a part of island culture as the weather is the food. I am determined to taste the actual cuisine native to Pole Island, rather than the sanitized version they are probably feeding tourists.
I slide up to the desk and give the young man, probably not much older than me, at the computer a bright smile. “Hey, sorry to interrupt you, but I need to know, what is the best local food spot. The kind of place you and your friends would go to. Somewhere I can get real food.”
The man returns my smile and in the smoothest accent, tells me about some dive bar a lot of the locals go to after working at the hotel. It is close enough that a cab drive would only be a few minutes, but off the beaten path enough that it is a hidden gem from tourists.
I thank him profusely and head out to the circular drive where several cabs are waiting to take hotel patrons anywhere we may need to go. I get into the closest one and ask to be taken to The Salt Lick.
The driver looks back at me in surprise, but doesn’t say anything beyond a “Yes, ma’am” and takes me to the bar. The concierge was right when he said it would be a quick ride. It didn’t even last five minutes, but part of the trek was turning down a bumpy dirt road with large trees lining the way. With the sun rapidly setting, it is no way I would want to walk down at night. Who knew what kinds of animals lurked in the underbrush? I shudder at the idea of a lizard darting out into my path if I were walking.
The Salt Lick is a barely standing wooden building that is little more than a shack. But there is lively music and laugher spilling out into the twilight air and my nose has already latched onto something that smells delicious.
Walking into the place, my eyes immediately find the very person that drove me away from the beach this afternoon. I don’t know if it is his animal magnetism that makes my eyes instantly drawn to him or the fact that he is the only white person in the bar. Even so, he looks far more comfortable here than I feel.
Silver Fox sits at the bar, surrounded by locals, telling what looks like an outrageous story, based on how wild his arm gestures are. The group around him bursts into ruckus laughter as I sit in a chair on the opposite side of the bar.
2
Sebastian
Was this girl following me or has the heavens smiled down on me to grant me amazing waves and a beautiful woman all in the same day?
The old me (as in a month ago me) would have immediately gone over and chatted her up with every intention of having her in my bed before final call. Every instinct in me wants to go up to her, but my mother has decided to put her foot down and at forty-five, it was time for me to be more serious.
Now, why would a man of forty-five blindly obey his mother? Well the truth a simple one, when your mother is Queen, you do as she says. That's right, I'm a Prince. I think when people think of princes they usually think of a Disney movie version that is young and handsome and ignore princes like England's Prince Charles. However, I don't really fall into either category. More along the middle, not a young Prince Charming, but neither like an old Prince Charles. I'm older but still handsome. At least that's what all the ladies will have me think.
Since I am getting older, my mother thinks it's time for me to start taking on more responsibilities with the crown, less surfing trips and galivanting around the world. I am willing to do as she says, despite her demanding nature. She's not getting any younger and, eventually, I will be king and it will be expected of me to have settled down by then. Part of which would include me finding a bride. I know that's what my mother has in store for me when I get back from this trip. She said as much.
This trip is supposed to be my last hoorah. One last chance to sow my wild oaks before I return home and she presents me with some high born, vapid woman to marry. I was on a tightrope for this trip. I am to get the last of my wild ways out of my system, but not do anything that would catch the attention of the paparazzi. I had some bad run-ins with them when I was younger, but nothing recently. Okay, I had more than a few run-ins and my mother never let me live it down despite not having an incident in multiple decades.
This girl in front of me is mighty tempting. I should feel safe enough speaking to her since this bar is frequented only by locals. I'm only allowed here because I've been coming to the island for so long people know me and I am always more than happy to cover everyone’s tabs. With her beautiful brown skin, I would have mistaken her for a local if not for the fact that I'd never seen her before today and I’d seen her relaxing on the beach earlier today. She’d caught my eye then and it seems like fate that she is here too. She is a beauty to behold. The island is known for the most beautiful women in the world. That’s why they call it Pole Island, the women here will make any man’s pole stand. The universe must want me to shoot my shot.
Fuck it. I'm gonna talk to her.
I walk over with confidence dripping off of me. In my experience, women like a confident man. I slide onto the barstool next to her and wave Raul, my favorite bartender, over.
“Slippery Pole Plunge for me and another of whatever the lady is having, my good man.”
I smile down at her, but she looks at me warily. “And if I didn’t want another drink?”
I chuckle. “Then I’d drink it. There isn’t a single drink that Raul makes that isn’t delicious. Hi, I’m Sebastian.”
“Hello, Sebastian. I am enjoying being alone.”
“Enjoying being alone? That is an interesting name there. Mind if I call you Joy for short?”
Her stern look cracks at that and she looks mad that she smiled at my joke. Progress.
“Kayla.”
“Oh, not Joy? Fine. I can call you Kayla, you fickle girl.”
She rolls her eyes at me but I catch the corner of her mouth twitch again in reluctant amusement. See, I am damned charming. Prince Charming.
“What brings you to Pole Island?” I ask.
“Post-graduation vacation. You?” I am actually mildly surprised that she answered the question and she left it open to continue the conversation.
“I’m here for a surf trip. I am going to have to take a larger role in the family business when I get back home, so this is probably the last trip I get to take in a while.” The slight lie rolls easily off of my tongue. Most of the islanders know who I am, but they are so used to me, they don’t care anymore. I don’t tell others who I am. My country is small enough that if you are not from our region you may have never even heard of the country, let alone recognize the crown prince on site.
Kayla looks me up and down, eyes lingering on my black and grey hair and that I am obviously older than her. I can see the judgment in her sparkling brown eyes and pursed lips, but she doesn’t say anything about it.
“I was thinking of taking a surf class in the morning. Maybe I’ll see you on the waves.”
Here is my opening. “How about this, we have dinner here, a nightcap in my hotel room, breakfast together, then I can teach you how to surf.” There is enough insinuation in my voice that I am sure she will understand what I am getting at.
Kayla’s eyes widen, then narrows. “Or, a better idea, I have my dinner alone, you go back over to your friends, and I get to forget you managed to morph from a funny gentleman into a lecherous old man right in front of my eyes.”
I’m taken aback. I thought my line was pretty smooth, but Kayla seems to the type of woman that swoons at garbage like that. So not only is she beautiful, she is smart.
I get up to leave her alone, giving my apologies. I hope I see her around on the beach soon, because I like this one.
3
Kayla
I am still trying to push last night’s encounter with Sebastian out of my head. Why did he have to come to my seat? It was so pleasant having the memory of his hot body in my mind, but he had to go and ruin it by opening his stupid mouth. I was wr
ong about him being a man, he was a boy just like all the boys back at Yale, no matter his age.
No. I refuse to continue to think about him. I march down the beach determined not to give him any more of my headspace. I am here to relax and stressing over a dumb guy is below me.
A couple of hours later, my surfing lesson is going pretty well. He leads me through several aspects of surfing before he ever lets me dip a single toe into the water. By the time he lets me swim out with the board I am renting, I am itching to put what I have learned into applicable practice. I’m a fast learner and I know I can do this.
Everything is going swimmingly, pun completely intended, when I decide on my own to swim out to a wave bigger than the ones I’ve been practicing on. I have been doing so well with these waves and surfing and it is in my nature to challenge myself any time things feel like they are getting even a little bit easier.
I’m an idiot. I know. Being in the ocean is not the smartest place to push things to the limit. My teacher told me to practice on the waves while he ran out to the hut that houses the shop that gave lessons to check on something with his boss.
With him gone and how easily I am getting used to these waves, I decide to go for it. I paddle further out into the water, where the bigger waves are happening. It is barely a minute later when I see a wave start to pick up. I go through the motions I am supposed to and before I know it, I am standing on my surfboard and riding this wicked wave.
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