The Marriage Match (Entangled Bliss) (Suddenly Smitten) Read online

  Hot bachelor seeks bride...

  Resort tycoon Trent Hawthorne is looking for a wife. His all-business, no-nonsense grandmother (and the matriarch of the small town of Maple Creek) has selected three potential brides--all beautiful and approved. Each “fantasy date” will take place in a lush Caribbean setting, filmed like a reality show to promote the Hawthorne family’s chain of resorts. All of Trent’s hopes for love combined with a clever marketing gimmick…what could possibly go wrong?

  As it turns out, all it takes is a kiss. A sizzling, sweet-as-sin kiss. But Cynthia Sawyer isn’t one of the bachelorettes, and she’s definitely not supposed to be making out with her boss’s sexy grandson. Not to mention it’s strictly against company policy. But Cynthia has her own reasons for hooking Trent up with a bride who isn’t her as soon as possible. And losing her heart is a price that she’s willing to pay…

  The Marriage Match

  a Suddenly Smitten novel

  Tracy March

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Tracy March. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/bliss

  Edited by Stacy Abrams

  Cover design by Jessica Cantor

  Cover art by Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-63375-167-1

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition January 2015

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Tracy March The Suddenly Smitten Series

  The Practice Proposal

  Tempted in the Tropics

  Girl Three

  A Shot of Red

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  Second Chance Ranch

  For Jess, my shining star.

  Chapter One

  The soles of Cynthia Sawyer’s shoes squeaked on the damp flagstone walkway that meandered through Hawthorne Manor’s formal gardens. Hazy rays of sun kissed the spring morning dew, glistening on the early-blooming flowers and foliage soon to blossom into a Southern Living–worthy wonderland. Perfect for tiny Maple Creek, Maryland’s annual garden party—the most exciting event of the season, especially for the quirky retirees. Last year, crazy old Mrs. Osworth got lost in the winding boxwood maze and called 911 to get “one of those strong young firemen” to come rescue her. She’d said she felt faint, and claimed she’d need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation the moment they showed up.

  Cynthia shook her head, an amused grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. It amazed her how much the townspeople looked forward to coming to Hawthorne Manor, as if the place were Buckingham Palace. But even Cynthia was guilty of perpetuating the aura, nicknaming its owner—and her boss, Fairleigh Hawthorne—the Queen. Being the personal assistant of the town’s matriarch had given Cynthia an insider’s view that had her a lot less starstruck by the Hawthornes than most people, who considered them Maple Creek’s royal family.

  “Cynthia!” The Queen’s voice rang out from beyond a bend in the walkway.

  For years Cynthia had tried to get the Queen to call her Cyn like most everyone else did, with no luck. She’d adopted the nickname as soon as she got to college, and immediately started a Goth rebellion against her strict upbringing. It had been no garden party being raised by her parents, a Methodist minister and an uptight librarian. Running away had seemed like her only way out as a teen. The third time had been the charm that landed her in an even stricter parochial boarding school. So Cyn had already developed the attitude to pull off the Goth thing in college without a lot of effort, and she had the looks, too. Fair skin, silky dark hair, aquamarine-blue eyes. All she’d needed was a black wardrobe and the blackest-black eye pencil, and she had the look down.

  That had been eight years ago. Cyn had recovered from her overblown angst a while back, but she was still trying to get her parents to accept her for the free-spirited person she’d become, versus the “proper young lady” they’d rather her be. She’d moved back to Maple Creek to work on finding middle ground with them, and to prove they could get along happily despite their differences. After several years—way longer than she’d expected—they still had their challenges.

  “Cynthia?” the Queen trilled again, never satisfied to wait more than a few seconds for a response. There was no hiding from her anywhere on the property, which didn’t bode well for Cyn, since she lived in a small restored outbuilding about a quarter mile from the main house. The Queen knew exactly when to expect her to cut through the garden on the days she worked—nearly down to the second.

  “I’m just up the path,” Cyn called to the Queen. She hurried along the flagstones, sending a pair of cardinals fluttering from a patch of daffodils and into a nearby weeping willow whose branches swayed lazily.

  Around the bend, the Queen sat in the center of an ornate wrought iron bench whose high swirls and elaborately curved arms reminded Cyn of a throne. She wore a velveteen warm-up suit like she did for all her morning walks. Today’s was navy blue and BeDazzled. Cyn squinted, preparing for the worst. If the sun caught it just right, the glare might blind her.

  “Lovely morning,” the Queen said as she slid to one end of the bench and patted the space next to her. “Have a seat.”

  Cyn joined her, tightly clutching the straps of her tote. Lovely mornings didn’t usually start with a face-to-face with the Queen. “Hi.” Cyn gave her a halfhearted smile.

  Mrs. Hawthorne’s lips turned up expectantly, like they did every time she had a scheme in mind and was eager to put it into action.

  Please, no. Cyn had enough on her plate with planning the garden party, working part time at Sweet Bee’s Bakery, and all the other daily responsibilities required to please the Queen.

  “Just a month to go before the big party.” The Queen smiled, her apple cheeks bunching above the corners of her mouth. The sun brightened her beauty-parlor-styled silver hair. “I can’t wait.” Her blue eyes shimmered. Fairleigh Hawthorne loved being the center of attention, and the garden party guaranteed her a full day of it.

  “I imagine,” Cyn said. All the Queen had to do was show
up. Cyn and the rest of the staff at Hawthorne Manor had to worry about the rest. No pressure there, considering how exacting the Queen was about every detail down to the volume of the bumblebees’ buzzing.

  “It’s going to be especially nice this year with young Dr. Anderson playing classical guitar.” The Queen hummed several bars of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March.

  Cyn gave her a sidelong glance. “I’m not sure that’s on the list of pieces we’ve asked him to play.” It was a garden party, after all, not a wedding.

  “Of course not. I was just thinking about Trent.”

  Cyn narrowed her eyes. Had she missed some breaking news about the Queen’s grandson—Maple Creek’s golden boy? Last she’d heard he was severely single and eager to find a wife, which amazed Cyn because he’d never been short on girlfriends. Poor guy. Must be tough finding the right woman when you’re a smoking-hot, superrich resort tycoon.

  “He’s coming home from Saint Lucia this weekend and staying until after the party,” the Queen said. “We’re working on the new marketing campaign for the resorts.”

  Cyn cringed. That would mean more work in addition to planning the party, which had become full-time with the Queen adding must-haves daily. Now there’d also be meetings with ad agencies, PR people, and who knew who else—mostly at Hawthorne Manor. The Queen had bequeathed her title of CEO of Hawthorne Resorts to Trent, but she still had a hands-on role in the operation. Trent was only thirty and still learning. Despite his MBA and on-site experience, his grandmother seemed eager to continue teaching him how things were done—her way.

  Two gray squirrels scampered over the flagstones and darted beneath a huge azalea. Cyn imagined herself skittering around like that every day from now until after the garden party. “Sounds like we’re going to be busy.” She scooted to the edge of the bench, gripping it on either side of her legs, the iron warm against her palms. She was sure to hear about the details later, so she wasn’t about to ask for them now. All she wanted was to escape before the Queen added yet another column of items to her perpetual to-do list.

  “Well, I’d better get go—”

  The Queen clutched Cyn’s upper arm. “There’s one more thing.”

  Just one?

  “There’ll be several houseguests coming for the weekends while Trent is here,” the Queen said.

  Cyn had no idea what that had to do with her. The Queen needed to take that up with Henry, the butler, and the rest of the house staff. Cyn nodded slowly, hoping that would dawn on her. But the Queen never had mental slips. At seventy, she was still scary sharp.

  “They’ll be three young ladies—friends of the family. One each weekend,” the Queen said. “I’m hoping Trent will marry one of them.”

  What? Cyn cocked her head and narrowed her gaze on the Queen. “Did I miss something between ‘houseguest’ and ‘bride’?”

  A breeze caught the wind chimes that hung beneath a nearby pergola, and they trilled a high-pitched tune.

  “That’s where you come in.” The Queen shot a sly look at Cyn, whose stomach sank.

  “I do?”

  “Trent is looking for a wife, and we’re going to match him up with one.”

  We? Cyn winced. This sounded like a bad reality TV show waiting to happen.

  “I’ve vetted the three young ladies, sent the invitations, and gotten their responses.” The Queen proudly tipped up her nose. “All of them are eager to get to know Trent better, and hoping for the same outcome we are.”

  Cyn was dying to know how those invitations read.

  Dear Eligible Female Friend-of-the-Family, Looking for a husband?

  “This sounds like The Bachelor,” Cyn said.

  “Precisely, but much more refined. Trent doesn’t have much time for a social life on the islands.” A shadow passed over the Queen’s face. “He certainly can’t get involved with anyone who works for us, especially after everything that happened with Bruce Dunham.”

  Cyn nodded, recalling what a foul mood the Queen had been in for months while the sexual harassment case brought by a Hawthorne Resorts employee against their chief financial officer had played out. Mr. Dunham had been acquitted, but the Queen wasn’t eager for a repeat. The case had called the company’s sterling reputation into question, racked up some exorbitant legal fees, and put the resorts in jeopardy. Regardless of the risk and the policy against it, Cyn couldn’t imagine the Queen being pleased with Trent’s dating an employee. Not many of them had the pedigree she required.

  “He’ll be pleased we’ve found several appropriate girls that I’m sure will interest him,” the Queen said.

  There was that we again, and Cyn had done little beyond feeling flabbergasted that The Bachelor was about to play out at Hawthorne Manor. “You should call in Chris Harrison and his production crew, and start the cameras rolling. It would be killer publicity for the resorts.”

  The Queen scowled. “I said more refined.”

  Cyn remembered a time when a scowl like that would’ve sent her cowering under the bench, but she’d gotten used to it after two years of seeing them regularly.

  “But I think you’re onto something with that idea.”

  Cyn blinked several times. She might be onto something, but she was beginning to worry that the Queen was actually on something. Could she possibly be serious? Cyn had just filed her taxes two days ago, right on the deadline, so this couldn’t be an April Fool’s prank.

  “Maybe this could be our new marketing campaign,” the Queen said. “Fall in Love With Hawthorne Resorts. We could do a bio piece on Trent and the resorts, document his journey to find love, send him and the girls to the resorts on fantasy dates, and finish things up with the wedding at Caldera—our crown jewel. We’d air it on the Travel Channel and break it up into teasers for commercials.”

  Cyn would pay to see the look on her own face. Her eyebrows had to be up into her hairline right about now. Had the Queen just said “fantasy dates” and Trent’s “journey to find love”? She even knew The Bachelor lingo.

  “You think Trent would be up for that idea?” Cyn worked to keep the skepticism out of her voice. She didn’t know him well enough to guess, even though they’d both grown up in Maple Creek. Trent had gone to public schools. Cyn’s parents had kept her in a homeschool co-op until they’d sent her to boarding school. He’d been gone for years—to college, grad school, and off to the resorts—and was rarely seen in town. Cyn had taken time off and made herself scarce on the few occasions he’d been back to Hawthorne Manor since she’d worked there. She’d been happy to let Trent entertain his grandmother for a change.

  The Queen straightened her back. “I don’t see why not. He wants to get married, and he wants a good marketing campaign for the resorts. It’s a win-win proposition for all of us.”

  Cyn didn’t see how she’d be winning anything except more headaches. Maybe a few less if they went with the plan to send him to the resorts for dates.

  “Trent’s certainly better-looking than any of those TV bachelors,” the Queen said. “Smarter, too. He’s just the type of clientele we’re hoping to attract.”

  Cyn agreed. Cameras loved Trent Hawthorne. He’d always turned heads, but never more than now, considering the recent pictures she’d seen. Some people mistook him for military, the way he confidently carried himself and kept his blond hair short. The guy was a good six two, tan, broad-shouldered, and buff. He’d fogged up more than a few camera lenses with his pouty lips and sultry hazel-eyed stare. No doubt those “young ladies” the Queen had recruited were eager to get to know him better. The whole thing seemed a little forced to Cyn, but who was she to argue? She hoped it worked. When the Queen was happy, everyone caught a break.

  Cyn lifted her face to the sun and bolstered herself with a deep breath. “So how am I supposed to be involved in this?” She figured she’d go ahead and ask the dreaded question. No sense sitting there waiting for the day lilies to bloom.

  “Whether we decide it’s lights and cameras or not,” the
Queen said, “I want you to be in charge of all the details—greeting our guests, introducing them to Trent, planning dates and travel when it comes time for that. You’ll need to get with Trent to make sure he has a say in how things go.”

  Cyn stifled a groan and gripped the bench tighter, regretting that she hadn’t made her getaway earlier. “With all due respect, that seems way beyond the boundaries of my job description.”

  Cyn’s heart jumped into her throat. Had she said that out loud? Nothing wise ever came out of her mouth after “with all due respect.” When would she learn? The Queen had a no-tolerance policy for insubordination. Considering the limited opportunities in Maple Creek, Cyn needed to keep her job. She’d better apologize—fast. “I—”

  “You’re right,” the Queen said before another syllable made it past Cyn’s lips.

  Cyn struggled to keep her eyes from bugging out like those of the frogs that lived by the pond glimmering in the distance, croaking off-key serenades on rainy summer nights. But she couldn’t keep a quirk of a smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  The Queen nodded. “But there’s something above and beyond in it for you.”

  Uh-oh. Now they were really headed down a crooked rabbit hole. What could possibly be in it for her?

  “You’ll need to make sure the garden party is grander than ever,” the Queen said, “and that Trent has a positive experience with our young ladies. My expectations are high.”

  Cyn met the Queen’s gaze. “How high, exactly?”

  “I want him to propose—the sooner, the better—especially since we’re going to use the story of his romance as our marketing campaign.”

  Cyn slid back on the bench and settled. She wasn’t going anywhere now that things were getting juicy. “I thought that was just an idea.”

  “A brilliant one, of course. No advertising agency is going to pitch us anything better. It’s perfect pop culture marketing. Hawthorne Resorts are upscale hip, and everyone who’s anyone is going to want to go to one—or all of them. We’ll kill the competition with a campaign like that.”