It’s almost time to get Wild At Heart!!

LaraArcher_WildAtHeart_800pxWild at Heart, the first in my new series Walk on the Wild Side, is  available for pre-order on Amazon!! So I wanted to share 7 paragraphs from the first time Nick Turner and Amber Wakeling break the rules of their long-standing friendship and give in to desire. They’re visiting Wild Mountain National Park in Colorado for an independent film shoot, when Amber suddenly decides to let things get wild:


She silenced him with a hand over his mouth, and then a quick press of her lips against his. Her lips felt like velvet, and tasted like strawberries. “Help me celebrate my new life, Nick,” she said insistently. “Remind me why it’s good to be free. That’s what you’re good at, aren’t you? Enjoying whatever comes your way?”

Her words stabbed. He didn’t want Amber thinking of him that way. Even if he was exactly that way—with other women. But Amber was the one who saw the better side of him, the artist in him. The soul in him.

“I don’t want to talk,” she said, and just like that, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it up over her head. She stood before him in shorts and a pink lace bra, with pure invitation—and a heartbreaking look of insecurity—in her eyes.

Nick heaved a deep breath, and he was lost. A sheen of sweat made Amber’s breasts seem rounder and fuller than ever, and the dusky shadows of her nipples peaked through the pink lace of her bra. Her beautiful blonde hair shimmered across her shoulders, swaying lightly in the late spring breeze, stroking over her skin the way Nick’s fingers ached to. And then she reached around behind her and released the hooks; the bra slid to the grass, and he could see the rosy peaks of her nipples bare in the sunshine, looking like wildberries ripe for his mouth.

He couldn’t think straight anymore. He’d wanted this so damn long. In one swift move, he peeled off his own t-shirt and dropped it in the tall grass. Then with a lunge he had Amber in his arms, pressed tight up against him—her bare breasts against his chest, her belly warm and yielding against the surging of his cock. It was what he’d fantasized about for so many years, and so much better than his fantasy: her soft mouth crushed beneath his, his tongue probing against hers, her moans filling his ears, the silky skin of her back naked under his hands. And he could hardly decide where to touch her next, where to taste her.

Her hands went everywhere on him. She stroked his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen, making his muscles seem to swell and strain wherever she touched him. They fumbled with the buttons and zippers of one another’s shorts, hands trembling and clumsy and desperate in the need to get every barrier out of the way. He got her fly open, then made himself take his time easing the fabric away from her hips, feeling the soft silky swell of them, the utter femininity. He relished every inch of her curves as he slipped his thumbs beneath the elastic of her pink lace panties and tugged them loose. She gave a wriggle, and the last of her clothing slipped free, and she stepped out of them, utterly bare to him, utterly beautiful.

Their mouths were still mutually devouring, tongues playing, teeth giving little nips. Her fingers were inside his boxers now, and she’d filled her palm with his balls. He was groaning loud, thrusting against her. He didn’t care—there was no one around to hear them, and he felt as free and wild as any creature in these woods. He ran his hands down the mounds of her ass, gripping and kneading the firm, hot flesh. He had to get his mouth on other parts of her now, and tore his lips from hers. He fitted his mouth to one of her perfect breasts, and suckled her; the taste of her was sweet, the heat of her seemed to blast the top of his head off. She moaned and arched her back, offering him everything. He moved to the other breast, laving it, feeling as if he were worshipping a pagan goddess.


Blurb for Wild at Heart…..

Cinematographer Nick Turner has lusted after 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?



myedits_LaraArcher_BaredToTheViscount_2500px copyBARED TO THE VISCOUNT is up for sale at Amazon!!

At the moment, it’s at #64 in Regency historical fiction! AND it’s got it’s first review….which I just have to quote because this is so danged fun!!:

“I’m a sucker for terrific writing – something BARED TO THE VISCOUNT has in spades – so it’s no wonder that I absolutely loved reading this debut novel from Lara Archer. Her prose is gorgeous, her pace is effortless, and the story flows from one well-crafted scene to another. Archer’s grasp of history and language is superb, and she blends this with a sensual story of love, connection, and humor that had me alternating between aching for these characters, fanning myself after their encounters, and laughing and crying with them as they faced the obstacles that kept them apart. (Not to mention the terrific and hilarious subplot of the sexton and his widowed lover.) This story is richly satisfying on all levels, which is why I’m thrilled to learn from reading blog posts that have popped up in honor of her release day that Lara Archer has books two and three in the Rites of May series well underway. I’m especially thrilled to learn Archer has plans for her character Sam Brickey! Hubba, hubba — that’s going to be one steamy and wonderful read. So, yes, I will be first in line to snap up those books, and any other Ms. Archer publishes. Judging by her BARED TO THE VISCOUNT, she’s clearly going to be a star!”

Thank you, lovely reviewer, whoever you are!! MWAAAAAHHH!!!

Grab your copy, ladies and gents, but first join me over at the Ruby Slippered Sisterhood for my Release Day party!!!




Love Pride and Prejudice, but wish Jane Austen had given Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth some uber-hot sex scenes?

Me, too. So….here comes my new Rites of May series!!

Regency England is so very civilized, so proper, so bound by unbreakable rules. But Springtime has a certain pagan energy that loosens all restraints. The Rites of May has all the wit and passion of Regency romance, but with heroes and heroines making much better use of all those lush, private spots in the English countryside.

You’ll get to see Mr. Darcy…er, um, Viscount Parkhurst…strip off the linen shirt and breeches and show the heroine just how bewitching he finds her.

SMALLER edited_LaraArcher_BaredToTheViscount_2500px copyBook one, BARED TO THE VISCOUNT, comes out just ONE WEEK FROM TODAY!!!

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?

Ready for a sneak peek? Get out your silk fans, ladies, because it’s about to get hotter than a June ballroom in here.

Here’s a bit of what happens when the viscount and Mary get tangled in those blackberry vines:

Damn again.

His mouth was positioned just above where her nipple must be.

He writhed to free himself, but that just resulted in him rubbing his lips over the fabric hard enough that he thought he fancied he could feel the nub of that nipple harden to a peak.

He thought Mary might scream then, as well she should have.

But she didn’t scream.

Instead, she exhaled audibly, a long, low sigh.

And then she did something entirely remarkable: she took her left hand and cradled the side of his head, pushing it more firmly into that little, soft, sweet-scented mound of flesh.

“John,” she breathed, and this time her tone was very definitely sensuous—throaty and deep and needy—something he’d never in a million years have expected from his childhood friend. “Kiss me there, John. Please.”

He could not possibly have heard her right. “Mary?”

“Please, John,” she begged, and the nervous quaver in her voice told him more surely than anything that she was quite serious.

Her breathing was fast and shallow, and though he couldn’t lift his head to see her face, he fancied he felt the pleading force of her gaze upon him.

“Kiss me there,” she insisted, her fingers spearing into his hair, urging him closer. “If you don’t, no one ever will. And I want to know what it feels like, just once.”

“But—but, Mary—”

“Please!” Her voice broke on the word. “I won’t ask anything more of you, I swear it. Just this one thing.”

He was painfully conscious of how hard her pulse was beating—he was close enough to her chest to hear it. And his heart was pounding just as hard.

Not to mention that his cock was throbbing.

He tried again to move his head, but he wasn’t going anywhere, not without ripping out half his hair.

Trying to think, he drew a deep breath—and that sweet, womanly scent of Mary’s flesh filled his nostrils and fogged his already baffled brain.

Everything rational in him urged him to find some way to get his mouth away from her breast.

He intended to do that, truly. Immediately, in fact.

Without question.

Because he was a gentleman.

An all-but-affianced gentleman.

And yet what he found himself doing instead was hooking the fingers of his free hand into the neckline of Mary’s frock and chemise and pulling the drab layers of fabric down. Her flesh against his knuckles was warm and surprisingly fine and silken, and the moment he felt the tight nub of her nipple pop free, and he fitted his mouth over it hungrily. He gave it a flick with his tongue, then suckled her.

She moaned, and it was the most erotic sound he’d ever heard.

All she’d asked for was a kiss, but he had to give her more. He found himself wondering about the color of that nipple in his mouth. He couldn’t lift his head enough to see it properly, so he pulled the neck of her gown down beneath her other breast, and looked his fill sideways even as he continued sucking the first breast he’d bared.

Lord. Her skin where the sun never touched it was pearl-white, and her nipple was as pink as a rosebud.

And surely just as sweet.

If he could lift his head enough to see her face, and have incontrovertible evidence he was doing this with Mary Wilkins of all people, he would never be able to do it.

But all he could see was a graceful small swell of womanly flesh and a pretty pink teat, so he strained against the thorns that bound his hair, palmed that soft mound towards his mouth, and kissed it, just as she’d asked, before drawing the rosy peak between his lips.

She liked what he was doing, clearly. Her fingers were in his hair, at least where it was free of thorns, and urged him closer, nearly clawing him in her enthusiasm.

He licked and sucked and swirled his tongue, moving from one breast to the other and back again as best he could with his head pinioned, feasting on her, making her gasp, making her push her hips towards him.

His cock was hot and straining, and his balls had grown heavy as true stones. If he hadn’t had most of the left side of his body hooked by those damnable vines, he’d have done exactly as she seemed to be wanting and pulled her hips tight against his and pressed his throbbing erection into her belly.

Heat rose from between her breasts, with the subtle, intoxicating scent of arousal.

She was trembling now, still pulling his mouth against her and crying, “John, oh, John, please, John!”

Without another thought, his hand was at the buttons of his fall, fumbling to free his aching cock. No thinking was involved, just desperate, red-tinged visions of hiking up her skirts and finding her hot, wet slit, and somehow angling their bodies so he could push hard inside her.

Want to read more?

Pre-order now at: Amazon

Coming out June 23, 2015!!


A Little Lust in the Outdoors…..


Welcome to the Nice Girls Writing Naughty “Under the Gazebo: Naughty Hottie Memorial Day Blog Hop” @ngwngroup @giveaway

The weather’s warming up and the heroes and heroines of our stories are finding themselves lured by temptation in the great outdoors.

On June 23, I’ll be debuting the first book in The Rites of May, a series of historical erotic romances set in Regency England.

And here’s the brand new PRE-ORDER link:

In the first book, BARED TO THE VISCOUNT, Lord John Parkhurst—a man everyone assumes to be about to marry the local beauty– finds himself tempted by the last woman he should ever allow himself to lust for: the spinster sister of the local vicar.

myedits_LaraArcher_BaredToTheViscount_2500px copyThe trouble starts when the viscount and the virtuous Mary Wilkins take a walk together in the woods, and her skirts become snared in a wild tangle of blackberry vines:


“Hold still, Miss Wilkins,” he urged her. “I’ll get you loose.”

“No!” she cried. “No need! Stand back, Lord Parkhurst!” And she pulled harder at her restraints, which only seemed to shake loose other vines from the vast green tangle, so more long tentacles full of thorns whipped around her, catching her clothing in several places, and even the side of her hair.

“Blast!” she said again, and her cheeks colored once more. The vines now held her in a slightly contorted posture, one that bent her forward, bringing that subtle curve to her backside into more prominent sight.


John’s loins were definitely reacting, and the fact that Mary let loose with one or two more choice exclamations a clergyman’s daughter probably should not have uttered in a gentleman’s presence was not particularly helping.

A gentleman. He was a gentleman, and he couldn’t afford to forget it.

He was not going to think about her backside, and he was certainly not going to pay attention to the fact that her breathing had become more rapid or that the pinkish color in her cheeks now spread to her long, bare throat.

“Please, Miss Wilkins,” he said. “Hold very still, and I’ll have you free in just a moment.”

Unfortunately, the vines had her pinned all along one side, and he didn’t dare get closer to the general mass of them, lest he be snagged himself, so he had to contort himself to try to free her. Which required his forearms to press against the backs of her legs as he reached around her, and even brought his face into proximity with that intriguing backside he was working so hard not to think about.

And damned if she didn’t smell rather delicious—clean, natural, without a trace of perfume, only the slight tang of exertion from their long climb, and a scent of womanly flesh that made him want to breathe her in more fully.

He needed to get away from her, and soon, before he started actively sniffing at her, like a mongrel after a bitch.

But freeing her wasn’t a quick job: every move set the whole network swaying, so half the time, when he got a bit of her loose, the vines shifted and caught her somewhere else. If women wore breeches, his job would have been easier, but there were folds of fabric everywhere around her, especially in that loose sack of a dress.

At one point, a particularly springy shoot he freed bounced upwards and speared a new bit of fabric on the way, lifting the hem of her skirt, baring her ankle and several inches of long, white, surprisingly shapely leg.

His cock pulsed and stiffened almost instantly.

Which was going to make standing upright again quite a bit more awkward.

Mary gasped as the breeze hit her skin, surely embarrassed by being exposed to his gaze, so in desperation he gripped the vine to tear it free, stabbing his fingers and tearing a small rent in her hem.

At least he got that one bit of fabric loose, and her leg was properly covered again.

But Mary had jumped rather violently in her own panicked effort to free her skirts, and now she cried, “Ouch! My hair!”

He looked up to find a thick vine arching above her, pulling long strands out of the tight coil on her scalp as it strained upwards, doubtless causing her quite a bit of pain.

To stop the pressure, he grasped her hair as near to her scalp as he could, then used the fingers of the other hand to tease the captured strands loose.

They were lovely strands, he discovered.

The color looked dull wrapped at the base of her skull, but the loose strands in the sunlight were warm, reddish-brown, rather like the color of good brandy. And surprisingly silky to the touch.

What would her hair look like if it were all loose, curling down around her hips?

No. He definitely wasn’t going to think about that.

He eased the loose curls down against her cheek, careful to keep them away from the blackberry branches. Her face looked far softer with waves of brandy-colored hair resting against it.

Softer, and…warmer.

With her grey eyes suddenly looking very bright indeed.

His gaze fell quite unbidden to her mouth, which was also a good deal rosier than he remembered.

“John,” she said again, more softly. She was looking at him too, her gaze vague and unfocused. Her breathing was quick and shallow, and her lips were parting. “John.”

He was breathing faster too.

John. She was calling him John. For the first time in years.

No one had called him by that name since his father died, not even his own mother, to whom he was always Parkhurst now. The sound of his name on Mary’s lips moved something in his chest. He felt as if he were….loosening inside.

Not to mention that he was still staring at her lips, and his blood was heating quite precipitously, and his cock was stirring to full attention against the fall of his trousers.

“Mary,” he said, though he had no conscious intention at all of saying her name.

Oh, this was bad—this was very, very bad.

This was Mary Wilkins he was having lustful inclinations towards.


I hope you enjoyed that little snippet from BARED TO THE VISCOUNT! Trust me, things get a lot steamier from there….

For a chance to win the $10 Amazon gift card and Advanced Reader Copy of BARED TO THE VISCOUNT I’m offering, please comment and answer this question:

Have you ever been tempted by someone you should have stayed away from?

I’ll announce the winner on Monday here and on the Nice Girls Writing Naughty Readers Group on Facebook. If you haven’t yet joined our group, now’s your chance 🙂 We have fun events and great prizes every month!

Don’t forget to comment at all the stops for a chance to win the Grand Prize, a $50 Amazon Gift Card! Find all the participating blogs here!

Thanks for taking part in the Naughty Hottie Memorial Day Blog Hop!

Nice Girls Writing Naughty Holiday Hunks Blog Hop!!!

myedits_LaraArcher_BaredToTheViscount_2500px copySurprise Cover Reveal!

Release Day is still a few weeks away, but I’m thrilled to introduce the cover of my upcoming historical erotic romance, Bared to the Viscount!

The Nice Girls are doing our Hunky Holiday Blog Hop, so even though this is Book One of my new series, The Rites of May, set in springtime, I’m imagining what my hero, Viscount Parkhurst, might be doing on a typical Regency Christmas Eve.

During the Regency, the English shared gifts on Christmas Eve, not Christmas Day. Christmas trees were a German custom, but English houses were still full of greenery–pine boughs and holly and perhaps even a frisky bit of mistletoe.

The Viscount and his new Viscountess first felt the flames of passion in the wild, still-pagan forest near their home, so I’d like to think they’d venture out in the snow to gather their Christmas greenery together. And if they should happen to come across a nice bit of mistletoe, I’m sure they’d test out its magical powers of attraction.

Regency women didn’t usually wear much more than stockings under their layers of skirts…and I’m sure outdoor lovers could find all sorts of ways to keep each other warm. And that would be the best Christmas gift of all!

Leave a comment to be eligible to win one of many prizes for the Holiday Blog Hop! I’m giving away a $10 Amazon gift card!

Nice Girls Writing Naughty Teacher’s Pet Contest!!!!

viscountThanks for visiting my brand new site!!

My Teacher’s Pet is The Viscount, hero of the soon-to-be-released Bared to the Viscount.

Here are Five Fast Facts about him:

  1. He received his degree from Oxford—with honors, of course.
  2. He was Captain of the cricket team—and could outrace any rider from London to Bath.
  3. Growing up he wanted to be…Viscount, naturally, like his father and grandfathers before him.
  4. On Friday nights, you’d have found him dancing with the most notorious married ladies at rather-less-than-reputable soirees.
  5. At Eton, he spent most of his Latin classes composing bawdy verses to send to the Headmaster’s daughters.

The winner of the $10 Amazon e-gift card is Evelise Archer (no relation, LOL)!