Meet Marcus and Julia from HOLD ME CLOSE in the anthology THE CHARMED BRACELET

cover bit for NGNW anthology facebook eventWidowed young, Lady Julia Grantleigh can’t imagine finding love again. Certainly not with the fearsome Major Holsworth, her late husband’s boyhood best friend, whose harsh, brooding presence has always unnerved her.

But a mysterious gold bracelet that turns up in her chambers seems to have other plans. When its clasp gets caught in Holsworth’s uniform, some disrobing is required—and Julia discovers the fine line between fear and desire.

After that one passionate night, Marcus Holsworth is as eager as Julia is to put their indiscretion behind them—as a farmer’s son, he has no business loving a woman of Julia’s class, and he won’t dishonor his best friend’s memory by embroiling his widow in scandal.

He’d do the sensible thing and walk away—but he fears Julia’s in danger from the same traitor who he suspects may have murdered her husband. Bound together by fate, Marcus and Julia learn soul-shaking lessons about when to let go, and when to hold tight to a chance for love.

charmed braceletYou can read their story, HOLD ME CLOSE, in The Nice Girls Writing Naughty anthology, THE CHARMED BRACELET, available now wherever e-books are sold!

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I should point out that HOLD ME CLOSE is set in the era of Jane Austen. It’s the one historical tale in the collection, and it provides a delicious origin story for the bracelet that will unite the lovers in the contemporary stories that follow.

Want a little excerpt? Here you go. This is from fairly early on, when a collision in a darkened room causes Julia’s bracelet to snag on Holsworth’s uniform. Things get steamy pretty quickly after this, but I’ll give you a little taste:

******************

Good Lord, was he aware she’d always disliked him?

He breathed out an impatient sigh. “You never did approve of me, did you?”

Well, that took care of that question as well.

It was he who’d first disapproved of her, of course. But even so, if she’d been so indiscreet as to let her feelings about him show, it was time to make amends. “You were my husband’s dearest friend,” she assured him in the most gracious tone she could manage. “Christopher respected you as he respected no one else in the world. And I would never gainsay his judgment.”

Holsworth gave a dark laugh. “A suitably equivocal thing to say. Your husband always respected me. And of course a proper lady would never refute the word of her lord and master, no matter how sharply her private opinion might diverge. Your manners are, as always, exquisite, Lady Grantleigh.”

Well, then. Holsworth was rather more nimble at this bantering business than she’d given him credit for. He’d managed to shut her mouth entirely, for the moment at least.

“Come now,” he said abruptly. “We must get into the light, or I’ll never get this blasted bauble of yours unhooked.”

Blasted bauble? That helped her find her tongue again. “It’s your blasted clothing that’s hooked my bauble.” It was a silly retort, and by no means a proper one, but it was strangely refreshing to speak so tartly. How long had it been since she’d teased or joked with anyone?

Oh, she knew—she knew exactly. Eighteen months.

Since Christopher had been taken from her.

That Major Holsworth, of all people, should spark the habit in her again was rather painfully ironic. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“Besides,” she heard herself saying, “why should I follow you anywhere? You haven’t yet explained why you were skulking about in the darkness in the first place.”

His shadowed outline stiffened. “I never skulk, Lady Grantleigh,” he said. “I am merely unaccustomed to the frenzy of society ballrooms, and withdrew a moment to admire the moonlight.”

“We’re in the wilds of Devon, sir. Ballrooms here are hardly frenzied.”

“Compared to the wilds of India, ma’am, your ballroom is frenzied indeed. And I might point out that you yourself were doing some skulking.”

Her chin jutted forward. “I wasn’t skulking. I live here.”

“Fair enough. In that case, you might know of a reasonably private space where I could actually see to disentangle us. If you could lead us there, I’d be most grateful.”

Ah, yes. Disentanglement was, of course, the goal.

If they stood here much longer, all but entwined, someone was sure to come upon them and think they were in the midst of a scandalous romantic rendezvous.

“There’s—there’s a sitting room just a little way behind us,” she said. “Hidden behind that stand of date palms.”

“Good,” Holsworth said, his deep voice rough. “Since this might require removal of my coat.”

Her heart skipped a beat, or perhaps tried to perform several beats at once. She swallowed hard. “Removal of …your coat?”

Well, they certainly couldn’t let anyone else be witness to that. As far as the sticklers of Society were concerned, a gentleman showing his shirtsleeves to a lady was tantamount to stripping nude.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “that damnable bracelet’s snagged between my coat and my linen in some maddeningly complicated way.”

Maddeningly complicated. Yes, that phrase seemed apt at the moment.

For the man as well as the predicament.

And for her own mood, too. She was irritated, frustrated, of course, by the absurdity of the situation, but also somehow…buoyant.

I am almost enjoying this.

Not a thought she wanted to consider in detail.

Thankfully, Holsworth got things moving. He set one large hand to the small of her back, and wrapped the other about her trapped wrist, presumably to keep the bracelet from ripping at his clothing as they walked, or perhaps to spare pressure on her arm. It might even be…courtly of him, she supposed. Considerate, at least. Perhaps even protective.

Despite his sometimes primitive manners, the man seemed more than capable of protecting a woman.

A realization which sent a peculiar flutter through her insides.

To her relief, he released her wrist to open the sitting room door and to throw the lock shut behind them, but then he made the fluttering worse by reaching across her to feel for the tinderbox that was always kept on a little table just inside the room.

And then it occurred to her that he’d been teasing before: he knew perfectly well this room was here. After all, he’d grown up in this house. Had in fact spent more years in it than she had.

A maddeningly complicated man, indeed.

He struck the flint, and a wood splint flared. He dipped it into the lantern beside the tinderbox, so neatly he scarcely rattled the glass, and the candle-wick hissed into flame.

Now a golden circle of light surrounded them.

And, oh, she wished they were still lost in darkness.

The sight of him, so very close, was after all far more disconcerting than being with him in the shadows. Lord, she’d never paid attention to the shape of Holsworth’s mouth before, to the generous sweep of his lower lip.

Or to how striking his dark eyes were, with their black fringe of lashes. Christopher had been so fair, his hair nearly as silken as a child’s and his pale scalp showing along his part, but Holsworth’s hair was thick and dark as night, its waves so dense she couldn’t tell if he parted it at all.

And then of course there was that frightening scar…

Oh, why should she be more self-conscious now than she had been in the shadows about the warmth of his breath mingling with hers?

He seemed to be studying her face, too, his body unnaturally still, his gaze intense but impenetrable in its intentions. She felt it like pressure against her skin—and had the disconcerting sensation that she was being stroked with black velvet.

A flush of heat ran up her throat.

Perhaps he noticed the color come into her cheeks, because he looked away suddenly, grasping her wrist again almost roughly. “Let me get a look at that bracelet,” he said.

He had to crane his neck awkwardly since it was snagged right near his collarbone, and he twisted her wrist back and forth to see the closures as best he could. His eyes widened suddenly, and his gaze snapped back to hers. “Where did you get this?”

His tone was sharp, almost accusing, and his fingers closed tighter on her arm.

“Why do you ask?” And what business is it of yours? Her pulse was growing more rapid again. Did he recognize the bracelet after all?

“It’s from India,” he said harshly, and it seemed to be a statement and a question all at once.

“It is,” she confirmed, refusing to let her discomposure show on her face. After all, she was under no obligation to tell him that she herself had no more information about the bracelet than that. “How did you know?”

“The color of the gold—a purer alloy than Europeans use. And the inscription appears to be in Sanskrit.”

“Yes,” she said. “Do you know what it says?”

He hesitated. “I can’t see enough of it to tell. In any case, I’m no scholar. Urdu and Marathi are of more use to army officers.”

Christopher was a scholar. That thought went through her with a pang.

Oh, why was she here with this piratical soldier and not with her gentle husband? Why should the man who’d spent years having bullets fired at him be alive, while the one who’d sat safely behind a desk have perished? The universe made no sense at all.

And why on earth could she not stop feeling so conscious of the heat and size of Holsworth’s body, of that disquieting exotic scent of his, of the dark tinge of stubble along his jaw?

This excessive awareness of him was merely the reaction of her flesh, to be sure. For all these months since Christopher died, she’d lived in dreams and shadows, lying in her cold bed alone at night. She’d barely remembered she had a body.

And Holsworth was certainly very bodily.

So large and strong and irrefutably male. So vital, she fancied she could hear his heart pulsing, the blood rushing beneath the surface of his skin.

Suddenly the thought of him putting his arms around her, of him putting his mouth against hers, began to beat at the back of her skull like a drum.

Thankfully, Holsworth, for his part, now seemed focused entirely on practical matters. He had his chin down, squinting at the bracelet again. “Where is this pin you mentioned? To release the clasp?”

She had to feel for the tiny metal nub herself, her knuckles brushing the underside of Holsworth’s jaw and pressing into his uniform front as she searched. Goodness, the man was hard as a rock, everywhere.

Holsworth could probably snap her in two if he wanted. And judging from the harsh expression on his face just now, she wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t want to.

There—her fingertip found the pin at last. She pressed her nail into the tip as she had the first time, and waited for the front seam to pop open.

It didn’t pop.

She pressed once more.

Still nothing.

“It—it’s not working.”

“Damnation,” he swore. “You must have damaged the mechanism in the fall.”

I must have damaged it? May I remind you that you knocked me down. Deliberately, I might add. And you still haven’t explained why.”

He blew out an impatient breath. “I thought you were—oh, never mind what I thought.”

She planted her one free fist on her hip. “In any case, it was your weight that struck the bracelet, not mine! I merely struck the floor.”

He swore again—a word she wasn’t familiar with, and which might not be English at all, but uttered in the unmistakable tone of male obscenity.

“Are you sure you can’t just pull your hand out?” he asked, gripping her wrist with thumb and forefinger as though he were about to force the issue himself.

“Stop that!” she snapped. “If I were capable of pulling my hand through, don’t you think I’d have done it by now?”

“Well, I can’t seem to get the fabric free,” he said, as though that were somehow her fault. “It looks like part of my shirt is caught inside that little separation where you say the clasp is, and the inside of my lapel’s caught in the seam on the other side. It’s like the bloody thing bit down on me, on purpose.”

She laughed. “You’re attributing malevolent intention to my bracelet?”

“You explain it.”

“You’re big as a bull,” she said bluntly. “Your weight probably forced the two sides apart just long enough to wedge the fabric inside. And they closed up again when you got off me. And now it’s—it’s jammed somehow.”

She didn’t feel as though they were bantering anymore. Merely being quite direct with one another. But it was strange—as uncomfortable as she felt with him in so many ways, she also felt more at ease in his presence than she ever had when they were actually trying to be civil. Necessity makes strange bedfellows, she thought. And instantly regretted the image that brought into her mind.

“Big as a bull, eh?” he said, musing, his voice oddly softer than before. “That I am, I’m afraid.” His gaze met hers again, steadily, and now his brow creased with concern. “Good Lord—I didn’t hurt you, Lady Grantleigh, did I, when I knocked you down? I suppose I should have asked you that much earlier than this. Beg pardon—I’ve spent my adult life disabling enemies, not inquiring after their welfare.”

Again, she laughed. “Enemies? Do you count me among their number?”

To her shock, a tinge of ruddy color appeared on his cheeks.

“No. Never,” he said. “Of course not.” Lord, his eyes were so very black, almost unfathomable. And somehow, as deep as they were, they seemed to reach far inside of her, too. “You must know, Lady Grantleigh,” he said softly, “you are everything admirable.”

Oh. She wasn’t at all sure what to say to that. It became a little hard to breathe, and the flesh prickled all along her arms, and along the fronts of her legs.

Standing close to him had been far easier to manage when he was being harsh with her.

“On your wedding day,” he said, just as softly, his eyes still boring into hers, “do you know what Christopher asked of me?”

“No,” she whispered.

“He asked me to protect you, and look after you, if ever he could not.” His gaze sharpened, somehow, and he seemed about to say something even more profound. But then his mouth pursed, and his eyes slanted back down at the bracelet again. His tone became lighter, ironic. “And look what a fine job I’m doing of it.”

The joke did nothing to lighten the strange tension that gripped her. Christopher had asked him to protect her?

The oddest sensation twinged in the center of her chest.

The sheer power of the man seemed palpable, pressing down against her.

And, then, for some reason, the image of the carved dancing girl atop the jewel box came into her mind, the silky-looking cloth about her hips, the pearls draped over her bare breasts. And Julia’s own breasts seemed to tighten.

Good Lord. She really did have to dispel this strange mood that was taking her over, or the next thing she knew, she’d be thinking dangerous thoughts about Major Holsworth taking off his coat, and perhaps his shirt as well, and she’d be wondering what that huge, hard body of his looked like when it was stripped bare.

She gave her head a little shake. “Oh, please, Major,” she said, trying to keep her tone nonchalant. “Don’t be so serious about things. What’s happened here was a silly accident, nothing more. Something to laugh over one day.”

He nodded gravely. “I’m glad to hear you have that attitude,” he said, “because it’s about to get worse.”

A peculiar thrill raced down her spine at his words. “Worse? In what way worse?”

“If the pin on your bracelet won’t work, and you can’t slide your wrist through, there’s no help for it, Lady Grantleigh.” He drew a rather ragged breath. “I’m going to have to start disrobing.”

 

THE CHARMED BRACELET: The First Nice Girls Writing Naughty Anthology is Here!!!

charmed braceletFrom Regency England to modern day Chicago, a mysterious golden bracelet connects lovers through centuries and across continents.

A widow born to wealth and the military hero who loves her…
The determined young woman and the man she rescued from the streets…
A feisty waitress and the financier who always appears when she needs help…
A computer programmer and the cop who saves her life…

Authors Lara Archer, Leela Lou Dahlin, Nona Raines, and A. Catherine Noon and Rachel Wilder, members of the Nice Girls Writing Naughty, bring you this anthology celebrating the unexpected twists of fate that lead to true love.

Are you ready for some nice with a heaping helping of naughty?

Just 99 cents for four steamy stories!!!

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Great Reviews Coming In for The Devil May Care!

THE DEVIL MAY CARE, winner of the 2012 Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award for BEST HISTORICAL ROMANCE is available for sale!! Grab it on Amazon!!

Here’s what early reviews are saying:

“I have been a romance reader for decades. Lately, the ballroom fluff and stuff has become so tedious. There’s no intrigue, no danger, no meat on the bone!! THIS book is quite the opposite! Sebastian and Rachel just sizzle off the page with tons of fulfilling plot twists and story/character depth. I couldn’t put it down. A true treat!”

“Lots of intrigue and passion but well-balanced against a time in history when everything was “more”. Can’t wait for book 2 in this series.”

“Well written love story that develops over time. The masterspy needs to teach an innocent governess how to act like a courtesan. Enormously sensual and detailed characters fight to uncover the French secrets for the British during the Napoleonic war.”

“I’ve been a major fan of Ms. Archer since her first book came out last June. She has an unbelievable way with words, crafts terrific characters that pull you into their world, and writes gripping, sexy stories that pulse with the connection between her main characters. And The Devil May Care is Lara Archer at the very top of her game! No wonder this book won the Golden Heart – that’s one cracker-jack opening. Even better, it fulfills that promise to the very last sentence. I absolutely adored Rachel’s intelligence and drive, and Sebastian is a terrific hero full of turmoil and deep feeling. I rooted for these two, loved to hate the villain(s), and was deeply drawn to several of her secondary characters. (I sure hope they get their own books!) Archer is an auto-buy for me, and I look forward to the next book she puts out. “

THE DEVIL MAY CARE Debuts March 24!! Pre-order now!!

LaraArcher_TheDevilMayCare_200I’m so thrilled to be bringing this book out into the world.

A few years ago, under my other, rather-less-steamy pen name, it won the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award for Best Historical Romance, and I couldn’t wait to get it into readers’ hands.

Something held me back, though: I loved the story as it was, but the story WANTED to be hotter…after all, it’s about an innocent governess who pretends to be a courtesan. This year, I finally decided I’d let loose with it and bring the heat that made it work for as a Lara Archer book. And I’m so excited about the way it turned out!!!

Pre-order now at Amazon!

Wanna know what it’s about?

When Rachel Covington’s twin sister Sarah is murdered, revenge requires making the killers believe Sarah’s still alive, so the sheltered governess must take on her twin’s double role as London’s most notorious courtesan and undercover English spy.

            Sarah’s former espionage partner, Sebastian Talbot, is assigned to train and protect Rachel, but he seems more interested in vexing her in every possible way. For Sebastian, the mission is a nightmare, a replay of his failure to save Sarah, but with a woman whose unfamiliar innocence threatens to slip past all the barriers of his cynical soul.

            Together, they must lure Sarah’s murderers into the open, distinguish loyal agents from traitors, and struggle to trust one another. The slightest misstep may mean Rachel’s death, so Sebastian must help her play her courtesan role convincingly, and that means awakening her long-buried sensuality—a process which threatens both their professional detachment and their surprisingly vulnerable hearts.  

Here’s an excerpt, from early in their partnership, when Sebastian first gives Rachel a taste of the power of pleasure:

The one practical thought that came to him involved Miss Covington’s gown. In accordance with Sal’s sophisticated style, it had been fashioned with the more subtle, softly luminous side of the silk showing outwards. That meant the glossier, slicker side turned in against the skin. It was a whore’s dress, worn without a shift and with minimal stays that lifted but did not cover the breasts. He smiled.

That fabric could be a most effective weapon, in the right hands.

His hands.

He pressed his palm against her breast, shifting it slightly and sliding his thumb so the glossy silk moved along with his stroke, over the taut nub of her nipple. She nearly fell forward into him. Her hands clawed upwards over his back, and gripped the muscles of his shoulders.

Hooking his index finger into her neckline, he kept up the stroking, pressure and silk, flicks and swirls, his other fingers kneading relentlessly, until her fingertips dug into his flesh. She swayed, leaning backwards, head thrown back. Still trailing kisses across her throat, he added his other hand to the subtle torture, claiming her other breast.

Though, blazes, at this point, he itched to tear the damn fabric away entirely, to get his palms against the silk of her flesh itself, and touch her everywhere…. He was hard as a steel rod now. He pressed himself against her, instinctively, alive with the need to lift her skirts and seek out the greater heat he knew he’d find there.

Almost without his conscious intent, his right hand slipped from her breast and skimmed down over her belly, to that enticing V at the very top of her long legs.

The silk slid freely under his hand, against her skin. She gasped, and then moaned again, louder. Her spine bowed, mashing her breasts against his chest. He let his hand play against her, at the joining of her thighs, just the slightest teasing pressure against her sensitive flesh, letting the silk do most of the work.

Chancing a glance at her face, he found her eyes tight closed, her lips open and ripe. Her skin was flushed, deliciously rosy. Her expression half pained, half blissful. On the cusp of new and exhilarating knowledge.

And he’d hardly begun with her yet.

Had no one ever touched her, truly? Never given her even this little taste of pleasure?

Good God, what fools she must have lived amongst.

Nice Girls Writing Naughty Splish-Splash Page Hop!! For National Bubble Bath Day!!

As part of the Page Hop, I’ll be giving away copies of my books BARED TO THE VISCOUNT and WILD AT HEART (print or e-copy, winner’s choice) plus a $25 gift card to Bed, Bath, and Beyond!

All you need to do to enter is read the excerpt below and leave a comment here at laraarcher.com! (Winners will be drawn on Sunday.)

Then be sure to jump to the next stop on the Page Hop (with a chance for lots more fun prizes!): LEELA LOU DAHLIN: https://www.facebook.com/LeelaLou2/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel

__________________________________________

LaraArcher_WildAtHeart_web size new edit with burnIn WILD AT HEART, cinematographer Nick Turner has yearned for independent film director Amber Wakeling for years, but he absolutely forbids himself to touch her. Their work together is the one thing that makes this notorious Hollywood Bad Boy feel like he has a soul. He’s just not wired for commitment, and he won’t risk his artistic bond with Amber for a few nights of even the most mind-blowing sex.

A new shoot on Colorado’s beautiful Wild Mountain, though, strains Nick’s resolve to the breaking point. Somehow in this lush, unspoiled setting, the rules of civilized life don’t seem to apply. When normally straight-laced Amber makes a sudden move on him, Nick is lost to desire.

Here’s a quick excerpt from the opening of CHAPTER ONE:

Nick Turner found himself in a very familiar position: hiking uphill with heavy camera equipment strapped to his shoulders and earth crunching under his boots. And, of course, with his eyes glued to Amber Wakeling’s long, strong, suntanned legs eating up the trail ahead of him.

It was a sight Nick always enjoyed: the strides that showed Amber’s confident energy and zest for life, not to mention the way those legs of hers shot straight up to the swaying, gorgeous, heart-shaped curve of her ass.

He had a whole arsenal of fantasies to torture himself with as they sought whatever destination Amber had in mind for filming on any particular day—New Mexico desert or New York City dockyard, he could adapt for anything.

Today was especially potent, out here on a Colorado mountain, in the pine forest, alone. A perfect early summer day. Not a soul for miles.

No harm in imagination, right?

With a few long strides he could catch her, run his palms up those taut thighs, seize her around the waist and press his mouth into that sweet little space behind her ear. He’d have her breasts in his hands then, and he’d yank her t-shirt up and off. And then he could spin her around and back her up against a tree-trunk, or maybe just coax her to bend forward over a sun-warmed boulder.

He liked the idea of wrapping both her hands in one of his, drawing her arms taut over her head. His other hand would pop the button on her hiking shorts, drag down the zipper, slide the waistband past her hips. He’d yank up her shirt next, have her naked in seconds.

Maybe he’d take his time then, exploring her everywhere with his hands and mouth until she moaned and screamed his name. Or maybe he’d rip open his own button-fly, shove her thighs apart and thrust right into her until he was the one screaming. He’d slide his fingers to the joining of her legs, stroking the way he wanted to, the way he dreamed of, and they could scream together.

Hell. There wasn’t a camera bag big enough to hide the bulge that had started straining the front of his shorts.

But he’d just have to live with it. No harm in dreaming, but there was no way in hell he was actually going to do it.

Amber was his friend, damn it. Not to mention his work partner, in the best creative relationship of his life. Four indie films in four years, with serious Oscar buzz for the last two. For the first time in his life, he felt like the artist he was meant to be. If he messed that up, he might as well go back to plastic L.A. and waste his life shooting car chases.

He was not putting this relationship at risk.

Now Amber glanced back over her shoulder with a grin. “It’s not much more than half a mile from here,” she said, her brilliant blue eyes sparkling. “You gonna make it, cowboy?”

He grinned back. That kind of teasing had become a tradition, too, every time they scouted a challenging location. “Race you to the top!”

And then it was a burst of speed, a tangle of branches and leaves slapping at their bodies, their hips jostling one another as they fought for the lead along whatever narrow path they happened to be following. There were no rules. Her elbows jabbed playfully at his belly, his hands clutched at her ribcage to slow her down. A brief, delicious excuse to touch her.

They were both panting and laughing as they shot out from the woods into a wide, green meadow. It was like leaping into Eden. The sky was suddenly enormous after the canopy of the pines.

“Look at this place! Look! It’s perfect, Nick!” Amber cried, stretching out her arms and spinning as she looked up at the clouds.

He eased the heaviest of the camera bags off his shoulders and looked around. God, yes—it was perfect. Amber had such an instinct for these things. Once the actors arrived, they’d shoot the perfect love scene here: starting with a lush panoramic shot, sweeping around all this greenery, the mountains in the background, still capped with the last of the winter snow. The flowers were so vivid, people in the theaters would swear they could smell them.

“Can you imagine,” said Amber, her tanned arms still reaching for the sky, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Ruby Torres and Jay Hultensaalt here, starring in our movie? Just think of the sheer gorgeousness of that!” Her golden hair swept around her like sunshine, and the stretch of her arms lifted her breasts in a way that made Nick’s throat go dry.

“It’s already sheer gorgeousness,” Nick said, before he could stop himself. He hastily shifted his gaze off to the horizon. “The setting, I mean.”

Laughing, Amber reached down to pick a stalk of purple lupine, which she tucked behind her ear. She looked dazzling and adorable, a hippie princess. The dusting of freckles across her nose and the crinkles at the corners of her blue eyes—payment for spending so much of her life outside in the sun—only made her more beautiful. She couldn’t have been more tempting if she was trying to seduce him.

Which of course she wasn’t.

Unfortunately.

__________________________________________________

Read more at Amazon.com

Spoiler alert: Nick’s going to get his wish, but it’s going to be a lot more complicated (and a whole lot hotter) than he bargained for!

Remember to leave a comment below to be entered in the drawing for the book prizes and the $25 Bed, Bath, and Beyond gift certificate…and be sure to visit LEELA LOU DAHLIN next on the Page Hop: https://www.facebook.com/LeelaLou2/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel

 

 

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OOOH!!! Crazy good hot sexy stuff….for crazy cheap!!

Both my historical and contemporary erotic romances are JUST 99 CENTS from October 1 through Oct 10 as part of Zoey Derrick and Gillian Zane’s OCTOBER SPOOKTACULAR EVENT!!!

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deal viscountBARED TO THE VISCOUNT

Poor, plain spinster Mary Wilkins has no business falling in love with Viscount Parkhurst. They may have been best friends in childhood, but he’s the wealthy, powerful lord of the manor now, and everyone knows he’s bound to marry a beautiful local heiress. Mary tries to resign herself to a life of hopeless yearning, but when she and the viscount find themselves entangled in a stand of wild blackberry vines, unexpected passions flare.

The viscount can’t seem to keep his hands off her. But is he planning to make her his wife—or only his secret mistress?

Buy on Amazon.

deal wildWILD AT HEART

Cinematographer Nick Turner has yearned for independent film director Amber Wakeling for years, but he absolutely forbids himself to touch her. Their work together is the one thing that makes this notorious Hollywood Bad Boy feel like he has a soul. He’s just not wired for commitment, and he won’t risk his artistic bond with Amber for a few nights of even the most mind-blowing sex.

A new shoot on Colorado’s beautiful Wild Mountain, though, strains Nick’s resolve to the breaking point. Somehow in this lush, unspoiled setting, the rules of civilized life don’t seem to apply. When normally straight-laced Amber makes a sudden move on him, Nick is lost to desire.

But will stepping off the safe path lead to heartbreak for both of them, or will Nick discover he’s capable of something he’s always thought impossible—real and lasting love?

Buy on Amazon.

It’s here! It’s here!! It’s time to get WILD AT HEART!!!

LaraArcher_WildAtHeart_web size new edit with burnWILD AT HEART is finally live and up for sale on Amazon.

I’m celebrating with a big party over on the Ruby Slippered Sisterhood blog….come join me today, and have a chance to win a free e-copy of the book and a lovely 24-karat-gold-dipped aspen leaf pendant!!!

I hope you’ll love Nick and Amber’s story! I certainly loved writing it!! So much romance….and, of course, smokin’ hot sex.

SUPER SUMMER BLOW-OUT SALE!!!!

I have two books on sale for just 99 cents as part of Zoey Derrick’s SUMMER BLOW-OUT EVENT, which features lots of super-hot romances for $1.99 or less (some free), and also has a Rafflecopter giveaway for a $110 Amazon gift card!

zoeywildCinematographer Nick Turner has desperately wanted independent film director Amber Wakeling for years, but he won’t touch her. Their work together is the one thing that makes this notorious Hollywood Bad Boy feel like he has a soul. He’s just not wired for commitment, and he won’t risk his artistic bond with Amber for a few nights of even the most mind-blowing sex.

 A new shoot on Colorado’s beautiful Wild Mountain, though, strains Nick’s resolve to the breaking point. Somehow in this lush, unspoiled setting, the rules of civilized life don’t seem to apply. When normally straight-laced Amber makes a sudden move on him, Nick is lost to desire.

 But will stepping off the safe path lead to heartbreak for both of them, or will Nick discover he’s capable of something he’s always thought impossible—true and lasting love?

WILD AT HEART is available for pre-order on Amazon, and releases September 17!

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zoeyViscountBARED TO THE VISCOUNT is available on Amazon, and is three dollars off its regular price through September 7.

Poor, plain spinster Mary Wilkins has no business falling in love with Viscount Parkhurst. They may have been best friends in childhood, but he’s the wealthy, powerful lord of the manor now, and everybody knows he’s bound to marry a beautiful local heiress. Mary tries to resign herself to a life of hopeless yearning, but when she and the viscount find themselves entangled in a stand of wild blackberry vines, unexpected passions flare.

The viscount can’t seem to keep his hands off her. But is he planning to make her his wife—or only his secret mistress?