Matched to the Bride, Book #3

• Single Dad
• Alpha Billionaire
• Adversaries to Lovers
• Workplace Romance

A mother for his daughter? Or a wife for him?

Only a fool allows themselves to get burned twice, especially when it comes to the heart. Or, at least, that’s the motto Raven Sierra has embraced following the loss of his wife. And though she’s gone, their beautiful five-year-old daughter, River, remains. She’s the only light he allows in his stark life, and he’ll do anything for her. But does that include providing her with a temporary mother?

He’s compelled to answer that question when River makes a special birthday wish—that the beautiful fairy in her favorite bedtime story be that mother. He can either break his little girl’s heart or risk breaking his own. As much as he doesn’t want to disappoint his daughter, he wants absolutely nothing to do with romance or marriage.

Or so he thinks until gorgeous J.J. Randell shows up on their doorstep. She’s the exact image of the storybook fairy and is intent on fulfilling River’s wish. She agrees to be the little girl’s mommy and—more shocking—his wife, for a week.

It leaves Raven questioning everything. Is she the one who can make his daughter’s dreams come true? Even more crucial, can she change his mind about love and marriage? Or is a temporary wife in his bed all he deserves?

Matched to the Bride is a passionate, tender contemporary romance, guaranteed to make you a believer in happily-ever-after.

Note to Readers: Matched to the Bride is Book #3 in The Matchmakers Series, a contemporary romance series by USA Today bestselling author and eleven-time RITA© (Romance Writers of America) finalist, Day Leclaire. This story features a hot, take-charge alpha hero and the perfect woman for him, and a sizzling romance between soul mates.

It had to be the most infuriating moment he’d ever experienced.

Raven Sierra glared balefully at the mob of Denver’s less-reputable reporters. Dammit all! They’d enclosed him in an inescapable ring, trapping him in the lobby of his own office building, holding him at bay as if he were a cougar run down by a pack of rabid dogs. If he’d been alone, he’d have fought back, raking them with cutting words and subtle threats, sending them scrambling for cover. But the SOBs had caught him at his most vulnerable.

His five-year-old daughter, River, clung to his leg with one arm while anxiously clutching a rag doll with the other. Every once in a while she’d lift her gaze to his, her glorious silver-blue eyes filled with the certainty that her daddy would rescue them from the noisy onslaught. Soft black bangs feathered her brow and a wash of silken-fine hair shot in a straight curtain to the middle of her back. In silent communion, he slipped his hand through her hair, his long fingers cupping her rounded cheek. Reassured, she relaxed imperceptibly and leaned into his thigh, far too patient and quiet and accepting of Fate’s perversity for a child her age. His rage built, communicating itself to well-toned muscles, while a fight-or-flee adrenaline surge threatened to overwhelm his need for calm control.

“Mr. Sierra! We have it on good authority that your days as Denver’s most eligible bachelor are about to end. Who’s the lucky woman?”

“On good authority?” Raven questioned sharply. “And whose authority would that be?”

“The announcement came from someone within your own organization. We were emailed the information.”
Raven’s eyes narrowed. That explained their presence. But, who within his company would have the nerve to email the press such a blatant lie and risk incurring his wrath? He intended to find out, and whoever it was would be out the door bruised, if not wiser. He glanced over his shoulders toward the bank of elevators. Where the hell was security? They should have arrived long ago to clear off this pack of yapping dogs. Until they made an appearance, he’d have to wait—not his usual method of handling a situation such as this.

“Come on, Mr. Untouchable,” another reporter urged. “This is too good to ignore. Someone’s obviously managed to put a collar around your neck. Spill it. Who’s holding the leash?”

The coarse laughter that followed had Raven clenching his hands. How he’d love to cut loose with these animals. Unfortunately, with River at his side, he didn’t dare. He remained silent, though he made certain his gaze promised retribution.

“When’s the wedding?” demanded another reporter.

“Is she pregnant?” A cynical-eyed blonde threw the question at him. Ms. Lark, the most aggressive of the bunch. “Is that why you two are getting married?”

“Who is she? You know we’re gonna find out eventually, so you might as well tell us.”

As though the reporters’ questions summoned her, a woman stepped through the doors of Sierra Consortium. She paused, caught in a shaft of sunlight that poured through the glass wall of the lobby. Most women he knew would have been disconcerted by the sudden spotlight. Not this one. She went perfectly still as she took stock of her surroundings. It reminded him of a lone doe entering a meadow, testing the winds for the scent of danger. Wary, rather than shy. Determined, but not foolish about it.

The woman was also gorgeous, Raven acknowledged reluctantly—tall, slender, and devastatingly elegant. Her clothes were impeccable, as was her hair and makeup. She carried herself with the assurance of someone not easily disconcerted. Obviously she’d been around. He’d have expected a woman like that to have a brittle sophistication that penetrated clear to her soul, like the blond reporter snarling at his heels.

But even as he tried to pin the accusation on this woman, he knew he was mistaken. Rather, he sensed a softness, a radiant sweetness his grandmother used to call a “gold spirit.”

“Those are the ones you marry,” Nawna had told him the week before she’d died. “They’re pure on the inside, where it counts. You wait. Wait until you find a pure one. Then you cling to her and never let go. She will close the circle. She will heal and complete you.”

He shook off the memory, furious with himself for giving credence to an old woman’s foolish fantasies. For that’s all they were. And with one regrettable exception, he’d weeded each and every fantasy from his life. And from his daughter’s.

Spying the reception desk, the woman deserted her position in the sunlight and crossed the lobby. Raven watched, swearing beneath his breath. She moved with a supple, rhythmic stride that attracted instant attention.
Of course. Beauty and grace. He’d always found it a deadly combination. Consciously or not, women like this drew men. Even if the trap of physical appeal could be avoided, they captured the unwary with every sway of hip and sweep of hand, their silent music more potent than a siren’s lure. As hardened as he’d become, he could still hear the call, sense the subtle pull.

She was forbidden desire.

Pausing at the desk, she questioned the man on duty, listening carefully to his response. Before she even turned, he sensed it, a gut instinct warning that she’d come for him. His mouth twisted. Another of Nawna’s “gifts,” one he hadn’t quite eradicated.

Sure enough, her head swiveled in his direction and hair as long and richly black as his daughter’s drifted in a slow, dark slide across one shoulder. Their gazes locked, honey brown clashing with raven black. To his surprise, she didn’t approach. Instead the woman slowly circled the press of reporters until she stood behind them. Setting her briefcase at her feet, she folded her arms across her chest and propped one shoulder against a nearby pillar.

And then she smiled.

He paid a huge price for that one smile. The focus he’d divided between the woman and the reporters slipped for a costly split second, arrowing in on her with unmistakable intensity. The reporters didn’t miss a beat. Almost as one, they turned. The crowd shifted ever so slightly, providing a clear view of the woman.

At his side, he heard River catch her breath. “Daddy! It’s her, it’s her! She’s come to give me my wish. Hurry or she’ll fly away.”

Before he could stop his impetuous daughter, she ripped free of his hold and plunged into the tightly packed crowd. With an agility borne of desperation, she wriggled through the forest of legs, intent on achieving her goal.

Releasing a string of pent-up curses, Raven started after her. She disappeared from view for a horrifying moment. Then he saw her skid to a halt in front of the woman. The two were completely encircled by the crowd of reporters, with Raven on the outside of that magical ring.

“You came!” he heard River exclaim as she flung herself at the woman. Even more startling, the woman acted as though she knew his daughter, laughing at the child’s enthusiasm and scooping her into a warm embrace. He could hear River’s piping voice, hear that she asked a question, but couldn’t make out the exact words.

Only two more reporters separated him from his daughter. Raven didn’t bother with niceties. Dropping a heavy hand on their shoulders, he shoved them from his path. The woman’s attention was still focused on the girl she held, foolishly unaware of the trouble she’d summoned by touching his child. She hesitated, taking a moment to consider her response to River’s question. What the hell was going on? Then she nodded. With a shriek of delight, River wrapped her arms around the woman’s neck.

Raven planted himself in front of the two, fighting to keep his voice low, struggling to subdue the deadly tone. He didn’t succeed. “Take your hands off my kid.”

River swiveled to face him, her expression lit with the purest joy he’d ever seen. “Daddy! She said yes. Justice is going to be my new mommy.”

A blinding series of flashbulbs exploded around J.J. and she blinked in confusion. Surely she couldn’t have heard correctly. What had River said? “Wait just a minute! I didn’t—” Her words were drowned beneath an avalanche of shouted questions and the sudden press of the surrounding reporters jockeying for a better position.

“What’s your name, lady?”

“When’s the wedding?”

“Where’d you two meet?”

“How did you convince Mr. Untouchable to pop the big question?”

“When’s your baby due?”

J.J. had faced the press countless times before. But never like this, never when they were in a feeding frenzy. Desperate for an avenue of escape her gaze lifted to the man planted directly in front of her. She’d been told at the reception desk that he was Raven Sierra, River’s father. The name fit.

He was as dark and sharp-eyed as a raven, with a countenance as cold and craggy as the Sierra peaks. His eyes reminded her of pitch, black and unrelenting and all-consuming. And he disturbed her in ways she preferred to keep safely untouched. There was something about him... Some indefinable quality that slipped past her guard and breached the defenses she’d spent years erecting.

Her eyes narrowed. It wasn’t his appearance that attracted her. She wouldn’t consider him conventionally handsome. Sure, he had great features—high, flaring cheekbones, a no-nonsense, squared chin and a broad, well-defined mouth. But his nose had taken a beating or two and his eyes were far too intense, filled with the light of raw passion, betraying him as a man who had walked on the wild side on more than one occasion. His hair emphasized that dark streak. He wore it long, the thick length stubbornly untamed.

And then it struck her, enabling her to recognize the underlying appeal. He’d been through the same wars she had. Fought the same battles. Received the same scars. Whether he knew it or not, they were kindred spirits. They were connected on a level few would understand. That’s why he’d been able to penetrate her defenses with a single look. He knew where to find the hidden passageways.

Unfortunately she’d done something that had stirred the warrior in him, something connected to his daughter. That made him twice as dangerous. Instead of working in concert together, she’d managed to pit them one against the other. She closed her eyes, summoning the energy the coming confrontation would entail. Whatever she’d done, she’d better be able to rectify the situation or she’d pay dearly. This was a man who didn’t lose.
Taking a deep breath, she looked at him. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. She could feel the rage building behind his rigid expression, knew he’d be only too happy to toss her to the scavenging reporters scrambling behind him. What in the world had just happened? How had she gone from innocent bystander to center ring in this media circus? She gave reconciliation a final ditch effort.

“Please,” she whispered, clutching River close.
She truly thought he’d ignore her entreaty. Winter had descended on this particular mountaintop, leaving it in frigid isolation. He plucked his daughter from her arms and tossed the little girl over his shoulder. And then, just as she expected to be deserted, he wrapped a heavy arm around her.

Shock vied with relief. It would seem she’d found herself a noble warrior after all, one who’d conduct their battle in private. Tucking her close, he forged a path through the opposition.