Throttle: A Bad Boy Sports Romance by Teagan Kade

Author:Teagan Kade [Kade, Teagan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-05-17T22:00:00+00:00

DEDICATION

For Jason. No, I don’t do anal.

CHAPTER ONE

GRACE

“I’ve been waiting for over two hours. That’s not including the hour-and-a-half it took to get here.”

Bodyguard numero uno doesn’t seem terribly concerned about my predicament. Given what I’ve heard about the Prince being a handful, the last thing these guys need is a caffeined-up Yankee journalist chewing their ears off.

His face remains blank when he speaks. “His Royal Highness will be with you soon.”

I keep pushing. It’s the New York way. As my mother always says, you don’t make progress standing still. “Come on.” I hold out the letter signed by the Queen herself. “It says ‘full access, all areas’.”

Mr. Bodyguard exhales, looks down the dorm hall for rescue, but it’s almost eleven. Most legitimate Cambridge students are attending class, penning essays, playing bridge, contracting chlamydia… not sleeping off a hangover.

It’s funny. I thought this was the assignment of my dreams when Amanda handed it over, but now it’s all starting to make sense—no one else wanted it.

Prince Spencer of Westshire has fallen out of favor with the British public thanks to a string of ‘cock-ups’, as the Poms would say. They needed a puff piece, but it couldn’t be from a Brit journo. No, no, no. It had to be impartial, objective, but colorful, something to sway public opinion of the Prince from playboy to potential leader. They needed someone who could get the job done by blowing loudly through any objections thrown their way.

They needed an American.

They needed moi.

Bodyguard two signals to me, finger to his ear. “You can go in, Miss…”

“Everett,” I finish.

Bodyguard one steps aside, and I move to the door of the Prince’s dorm room, a single shuddering breath before I push it open and step inside. It closes behind me with a solid thump the way only truly ancient wood can.

The room is expansive, old, more gentlemen’s club than college cupboard. Hell, my dorm room back home was barely big enough for my bed. This room, with its lead-lined windows and wooden walls, could pass for Hogwarts.

My eyes are drawn immediately to the bed against the windows, toned buttocks on display, porcelain pale, the humps of Moby Dick rising. The prone figure they belong to is wrapped up in sheets, an arm hanging over the edge of the mattress, inky hair atop a head buried deep in pillows. Not exactly how I expected to be introduced to the man fifth in line to the throne. Correct that—boy.

I announce myself. “Uh-hmm.”

There’s a grunt from the Prince before he rolls over and—good lord have mercy—there’s his line and tackle completely on display, and yes, it would appear the rumors are true. ‘Big Ben’ is a god-damn anaconda.

Prince Spencer sits up, arms bulging, doesn’t even seem to notice his current state of undress. Rather, he reaches down and jiggles the outlaw appendage as if to check it somehow hasn’t fallen off during the night. Given the way he sleeps around, perhaps it’s good practice.

He smiles, that semi-slack, cheeky smirk

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