Marry Me Tonight

By Marisa Carroll

Keep Your Love For Eternity

For generations, couples have been coming to Eternity, Massachusetts, to exchange wedding vows. Legend has it that those married in Eternity's chapel are destined for a lifetime of happiness. And the townsfolk are more than willing to help keep the legend intact.
Eternity where dreams can come true.

Bronwyn Powell is an expert on weddings. For years she's helped couples plan their big day–taking care of all the details and ironing out last–minute problems. She's held the hands of countless brides–and quite a few grooms–when wedding jitters threatened to overcome them.

Now it's time to plan her own. Everybody in Eternity knows that Bronwyn and Ryan Mears–the prospective groom–belong together. But only Bronwyn knows why she can't set the date.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Sep 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781488723438

Marisa Carroll

The writing team of Marisa Carroll came about when one half, Carol Wagner, parted company with her first writing partner, an old high school friend, after publishing two books. Carol saw the writing on the wall - the line they were writing for was on life support - her friend didn't. Enter the second half of the duo: her sister, Marian Franz. The combination has lasted for 28 books, 26 of them for Harlequin's various lines. Ideas come from one or both. Carol does most of the writing. Marian does the research, all of the editing and proofreading, and ruthless weeding out of run-on sentences.The partnership isn't always smooth sailing, but like most long-term relationships, even those among non-siblings, the sisters have learned to put petty differences aside for the greater good of the book. They've established a goal of 50 published books, a kind of Golden Anniversary for the partnership. And they intend to stick to it, no matter how many arguments it takes.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

‘IT’S SNOWING AGAIN.’ Bronwyn Powell turned away from the window in the small cubbyhole she called her office. ‘It’s February twentieth and it’s snowed thirteen days this month.’

‘But the weekend was lovely. And Valentine Day couldn’t have been nicer,’ her sister-in-law, Jacqui Bertrand Powell, said from her seat on the other side of Bronwyn’s desk.

‘Thank goodness.’ Bronwyn folded her arms under her breasts to ward off the chill of the drafty room. ‘More snow would have been a disaster. Eleven weddings scheduled in three days. That’s Weddings, Inc.’s all-time record.’

‘And all of them perfect, thanks to you.’

‘That’s what I’m paid for, isn’t it?’ Bronwyn couldn’t filter the restless dissatisfaction she’d been feeling over the past few months out of her voice. She turned back to the window so that she didn’t have to see the concerned frown that etched a small line between Jacqui’s eyebrows. She’d seen that same frown on the faces of her friends and relatives too often lately. They didn’t know how to react to her moodiness, and frankly neither did she.

‘Bronwyn, I...’ Jacqui began, then her voice trailed off helplessly.

It was late afternoon and the lowering sky made it seem even later. Bronwyn could see Jacqui’s face reflected in the window glass, saw her frown again and then look down at the roundness of her stomach as though seeking inspiration from her unborn child. Bronwyn closed her eyes against a brief pain she refused to name or even recognize.

‘I’m sorry,’ Bronwyn said after a moment. ‘I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m as happy as anybody that Weddings, Inc. is such a success.’ And it was a phenomenal success. In the less than two years since the Eternity, Massachusetts, business community had organized the co-op and she’d agreed to become its managing director, they had planned and executed well over a hundred weddings, ranging from intimate weekend elopements to extravagant affairs costing tens of thousands of dollars.

She just hadn’t expected the job to take over her life.

‘You’re working too hard,’ said Jacqui.

Bronwyn looked over her shoulder. Her sister-in-law was still frowning. The co-op had been Jacqui’s idea. Bronwyn knew if she confessed she was beginning to feel the strain, Jacqui would try to take up the slack. And her sister-in-law had more than enough responsibilities of her own.

Bronwyn had no one but herself to worry about.

Which, of course, was not entirely the truth. She had her mother, her brothers and their families, her friends and Jacqui’s baby on the way. Over and over again she told herself her life was good and full and happy. But it didn’t help. Not anymore.

‘You’re overtired, Bronwyn. Are you coming down with flu or something?’

‘I’m fine. It must be the weather,’ Bronwyn said dismissively. She didn’t want to talk about herself. ‘Actually the chapel bookings are very light for the next couple of weeks.’

‘What do you plan to do with your free time?’

Bronwyn laughed and shook her head. ‘What free time? Aunt Constance has several crates of things Andy Westerson’s family bequeathed to the Powell museum to catalog and store.’

Jacqui snorted, shifting her weight in the hard wooden chair, searching for a more comfortable position. ‘Andy Westerson’s family wouldn’t let anything go from his estate that was worth a nickel. It’s probably stuff they didn’t know what to do with after cleaning out the attic and basement.’

Bronwyn shrugged. ‘You know Aunt Constance. She loves this place so much she won’t turn down anything anyone wants to donate.’ Bronwyn let her gaze wander past the open doorway to the main display room and beyond, to the old chapel that sat on the family estate. With its reputation for guaranteeing a happy marriage to all those who exchanged their vows beneath its roof, the chapel had become Eternity’s biggest attraction—and the focus of Bronwyn’s own life.

‘The Westerson things can wait,’ Jacqui said with a wave of her hand. ‘What about your teaching schedule?’

Jacqui was a dear friend, as well as her sister-in-law, but she wasn’t usually this interested in Bronwyn’s activities. She was just as busy herself with a husband, three children, her travel agency and a baby on the way. ‘Midterms are over. We’re studying the Impressionists, and spring break is coming up.’

‘Good,’ Jacqui said, nodding. ‘That’s excellent.’

‘What’s going on, Jacqui?’

‘That means you’re free to take a few days off.’

Bronwyn thought of how much work it would take to free up a few days. ‘Possibly,’ she said, watching her sister-in-law’s frown change to a smile.

‘Great. Then I’ve got an offer you can’t refuse.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Jacqui’s good humor was infectious. Bronwyn smiled in spite of a fatigue as heavy as the wet blanket of snow outside.

‘We’re going to the Caribbean. You and me.’

‘What?’

‘To St. Gregory.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘Not many people have,’ Jacqui said, warming to her subject. ‘It’s a beautiful little island in the eastern Caribbean. White sand beaches, a fabulous new hotel and casino that wants to make itself known to the world. Which is how I got invited, by the way. All expenses paid for me and an associate. Nothing to do for five days but lie on the beach and drink piña coladas. Or fruit punch in my case,’ she said, giving her stomach a pat.

‘Sounds great,’ Bronwyn admitted. ‘But what about Brent and the kids?’

‘Brent’s offered to baby-sit,’ Jacqui said. ‘Isn’t he wonderful?’

‘Well, yes. But I’ve always known my baby brother was wonderful.’ Bronwyn had been thrilled when Brent married Jacqui. His willingness to take on a woman with three children from two former marriages was typical of his generous loving spirit.

‘It’s all set. The plane tickets are on my desk.’

‘But, Jacqui...’ Bronwyn began to protest but her heart wasn’t in it. White sand beaches. Palm trees. Clear blue water.

And no snow.

‘No buts. We’re going, and that’s that. We’re leaving the day after tomorrow.’

‘The day after tomorrow? I can’t possibly be ready by then.’ But she betrayed her longing for just such a break in routine with her next words. ‘I haven’t got a thing to wear.’

‘In that case we’re wasting valuable time,’ Jacqui said as she stood up and reached for her purse. ‘The kids will be home from school in less than two hours, and we’ve got some serious shopping to do.’

CHAPTER ONE

‘I CAN’T BELIEVE IT, Mr. Mears. You build roller coasters for a living and you never ride them?’

‘I’m afraid so. And please, call me Ryan.’ He could laugh about it now, but a dozen years earlier, when he’d hoped to be picked as a civilian astronaut for the planned NASA space station, his condition—a serious inner-ear problem—hadn’t been funny at all. The disappointment, and major restructuring of his life’s work, had been hell. And it had proved to be the last straw as far as his marriage was concerned.

Ryan was a little surprised at himself. He wasn’t in the habit of divulging personal information to people he knew, let alone virtual strangers. Maybe he’d done it because he found one of these women the most intriguing he’d laid eyes on in a very long time.

‘Okay, Ryan. You may call me Jacqui.’ The smiling pregnant woman lifted her hand to her mouth. ‘How rude of me. We never introduced ourselves. I’m Jacqui Powell.’ She held out her hand.

She smiled easily, Ryan noted. She was a happy, confident, fulfilled woman and it showed. He wondered briefly what her husband was like. What kind of man did you have to be to make a woman happy? Make her want to bear your child?

He’d probably never know. He was a first-class loser as a husband and father, as his ex-wife had told him often enough over the years. Ryan grasped Jacqui’s hand—warm and solid—putting the familiar bitter litany of failure out of his mind. ‘Pleased to meet you, Jacqui Powell.’

‘And this is my sister-in-law, Bronwyn Powell.’ He turned to the woman whose cool blond beauty had played havoc with his concentration these past three nights. His heart sped up, beating a sharp tattoo inside his chest.

Bronwyn. The name brought to mind green moors and cold gray mists and long-ago times in faraway lands. She was wearing a silky off-the-shoulder flowered dress that swirled and clung to her breasts and belly and hips with her every movement. Her hair was piled on top of her head, held by two combs that sparkled in the lights of the crystal chandeliers overhead. Her skin was creamy white, with a scattering of freckles and a blush of sunburn on her cheeks and nose.

‘Bronwyn.’ He said her name aloud, testing the sound of it. ‘It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ He held out his hand. She hesitated, and he thought for a moment she would refuse to touch him, and wondered why.

Was it possible she had read his mind? Did his bitterness, the failures and lost dreams in his life, show on his face and make her wary of getting too close? Or was it only that she didn’t feel the attraction that had hit him like a fist in the gut the moment he’d set eyes on her?

When she leaned forward and placed her hand in his, he knew.

The jolt went through him like a current through copper wire. He almost jerked his hand away, would have, if he hadn’t realized she’d felt the same connection. It wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Her green eyes opened wide for a moment and then she pulled her hand from his.

She picked up the glass of champagne the waiter had placed before her and took a sip. She swallowed too quickly, coughed and set the glass down with enough force to cause it to ring like a bell on the glass tabletop, then steadied it with fingers that trembled slightly.

‘How do you know so much about roulette wheels, Mr. Mears?’ Bronwyn asked, her voice not quite steady, just like her hands.

‘Call me Ryan,’ he said, determined to hear her say his name.

She nodded as if accepting his challenge. ‘Ryan.’ Her voice was low and melodic and ran like honey over his nerve endings. He knew he wouldn’t soon forget the sound.

‘Numbers are a hobby of mine,’ he said gruffly to counteract the siren pull of her voice.

‘You mean you have a system to beat the game?’ Bronwyn tilted her head very slightly, listening for his answer above the sound of the hotel combo playing in the lounge behind them. ‘They told us at the gaming lessons I took that it was impossible to develop a system to beat a roulette wheel.’

‘They were right. It can’t be done. Roulette is a great game, and people all over the world have been trying systems for years, but no one I’ve heard of yet has broken the bank.’

‘The odds are all in the casino’s favor, I understand that. But it doesn’t explain how you recognized the wheel was defective,’ Bronwyn persisted.

‘Too many numbers came up too often. After a while I started to notice a pattern.’ He shrugged it off. Having a photographic memory, an affinity for numbers and an IQ that made him a certified genius were things he usually kept to himself. Outside the rarefied atmosphere of NASA, and university math and physics departments, they were more of a liability than an asset.

‘Could you break the bank?’ Bronwyn asked. Her voice was gently teasing, only half-serious. She’d seemed to regain her composure and settled back in her chair, watching the bubbles rise in her glass from beneath long dark lashes that shadowed her fascinating green eyes.

‘No,’ he said, a reluctant smile working its way to the surface. He didn’t often spend time talking to women. He didn’t come across many of them in his business, and his social life was nil. But this night and this woman were different, out of the ordinary, and he intended to make the most of the opportunity he’d been given. ‘You saw what happened when we tried. Like I said, roulette wheels are a sure thing for the management. When someone begins to win too steadily it sends up red flags all over the place. Even for a novice croupier like the one we had.’ He gestured over his shoulder to the table they’d just left. ‘They’ve closed it down, haven’t they?’

Jacqui craned her neck. ‘Yes,’ she said in amazement. ‘They have.’

‘Why do people play the game if the odds are stacked in the casino’s favor?’ Bronwyn wasn’t staring at the roulette table or at the champagne flute she held between her hands, but at him. He took the dare and looked into her eyes, green as new leaves in spring, green as the deep water that ringed the island. He forgot what he was going to say.

‘What?’ he asked helplessly.

‘Why play?’ she repeated sounding almost as lost.

‘Because it’s fun,’ Jacqui answered for him. ‘And because it’s so James Bond.’ She laughed, as though enjoying a private joke. ‘What time is it?’

‘Excuse me?’ Bronwyn said, turning her head, breaking their locked gaze, breaking the spell.

‘What time is it?’ Jacqui asked again. She looked from one to the other of them. ‘I want to call Brent and tell him about the money. He won’t believe it.’

Bronwyn looked at her watch. ‘It’s almost eleven there.’

‘I’d better hurry. Are you coming with me?’

‘I...’ She didn’t finish.

Ryan wondered what the odds were against her turning him down if he asked her to stay. Probably not good, he thought. He really didn’t want to know. He just wanted to keep her there beside him. The sensation in itself was novel enough for him to want to explore it further.

‘Would you like another glass of champagne?’ His words came out abrupt and rough-edged.

‘It’s been a long day for my sister-in-law,’ Bronwyn said as Jacqui rose, clutching her purse, full of casino chips, in both hands. Ryan stood when she did.

Jacqui hesitated a moment. He felt her assessing hazel eyes on his face. She seemed to make up her mind. ‘Good Lord, Bronwyn, I’m pregnant, not wasting away with some rare disease. I’m just going to call it a night because the minister of tourism has invited us to breakfast tomorrow at the plantation great house at Rose Point, remember? We have to be up at six to be ready to leave on time. Have you ever been there, Ryan?’ She waved him back into his seat as she spoke.

‘No. But I understand it has a very interesting history.’

‘It’s haunted supposedly. By the ghost of a young serving girl who was dishonored by the owner’s son and then killed him and herself. I’m not sure if it’s truth or legend. And I don’t believe in ghosts, anyway, but it makes a good story. And a good day trip for my clients. Bronwyn hasn’t made up her mind about coming with me.’

‘I’m debating the merits of a forty-five-minute bus ride with thirty travel agents, half of whom are probably going to be hung over, against a cup of that marvelous coffee they have here, and a peaceful early-morning walk to watch the sunrise on the beach.’

Jacqui made a face. ‘When you put it that way, it’s not much of a choice.’ She looked at her watch again. ‘I’d better hurry, or I’ll wake Brent with my phone call.’

‘Say hello to everyone for me.’

‘Of course.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come back to our room with you?’

‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine. Stay. Have another glass of champagne. Drink one for me. You have your key, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Bronwyn said, indicating her own small beaded evening bag. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘I won’t wait up. Good night, Ryan. I hope we see each other again. I’d love to talk some more about your work.’

‘I’d like that, too.’

‘And thank you,’ she said, ‘for the roulette lesson.’ She looked down at her stomach. ‘From both of us. Good night.’

‘Good night, Jacqui. It was nice meeting...both of you.’

Jacqui waved and was gone, swallowed up by the lush vegetation of the simulated rain forest that screened the casino from the hotel lobby.

Bronwyn and Ryan were alone.

‘Would you like another glass of champagne?’ he repeated.

‘Yes,’ Bronwyn said. He signaled the waiter. She turned her head slightly to look at the stretch of moonlit beach visible beyond the terrace that fronted the entire resort.

She wished she’d followed Jacqui out of the casino.

She was glad she had not.

She wasn’t certain why she was staying to talk to this man. It was out of character for her, but then she hadn’t felt truly herself since the moment she’d landed on St. Gregory. It was such a different world from winter-bound Eternity, soft and warm and flower-scented. She reveled in the contrast. And Ryan Mears was very different from any of the men she knew. A genius, most likely, at least as far as math and numbers was concerned.

‘Are you as good at playing twenty-one as you are at the roulette wheel?’ she asked when the silence between them threatened to become uncomfortable.

‘I usually do well at twenty-one,’ he admitted, reluctantly, it seemed to her. ‘The odds aren’t stacked quite as heavily in the house’s favor.’ He wasn’t comfortable talking about himself, she realized, and she found that trait intriguing. Most men were usually quite willing to discuss themselves and their achievements at some length.

‘But the management frowns on your winning so routinely at twenty-one, as well as roulette?’ she made the statement half a question, hoping to draw him out a little more.

He laughed. ‘That’s putting it mildly. I wouldn’t mind as much if they’d come up with something more original than accusing me of counting cards.’

‘I can’t see you doing anything as mundane as cheating at cards,’ Bronwyn said, without thinking. The waiter arrived with the champagne. She picked up her glass, glancing once more at the tropical moonlight beckoning from beyond the open French doors.

‘Thank you,’ he said with that wry, self-mocking smile she’d seen before. ‘I think.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She felt a flush spread across her cheeks. ‘I put that badly.’

‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I know what you meant.’ He looked at her for a long moment without speaking. Bronwyn forced herself not to look away. She had no idea what he was thinking.

‘I need some air,’ he said finally. ‘Would you like to go outside with me?’ His expression was guarded. He tensed as though expecting her to refuse the invitation.

‘I’d like that.’ She barely knew this man with his secret-agent good looks, his formidable intelligence, his haunted eyes. She might be acting foolishly, if not downright dangerously, following him into the darkness, but that didn’t seem to matter. She wanted to get to know Ryan Mears, and she was willing to take a risk to bring that about. ‘I’d like that very much.’

She held out her hand. He didn’t say anything as he stood up. His fingers closed around hers and he pulled her gently from her chair. The sadness was still there despite his smile, shadowing his smoke gray eyes, deepening the lines along the side of his mouth from nose to chin. This was a man who knew the dark side of living, had felt the weight of sorrow and disappointment in his life.

‘I haven’t walked on a beach in months,’ Bronwyn said, resolved not to let his sadness touch her more deeply than it already had. She started talking, more to silence her own thoughts than anything else. ‘It was November and very cold. Jacqui’s son Jason had to do a star chart for science class. He’s thirteen now, in junior high. Of course he left it until the last moment. My brother