"Good. Remember that the next time I do something stupid." His kiss became commanding as he wrapped his arms around her. He tugged her closer and their tongues swirled in heady spirals.

He slid his hands beneath Allie's t-shirt and found her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She bowed her back, dropping her head as he teased her nipples with a brush of his thumbs. It was if her entire body suddenly remembered what it was like to have his touch, and she wished he could find a way to cover all of her at once with his exquisite caresses.

She reached for the hem of her t-shirt and swooped it over her head. His shirt was next and as soon as it was gone, she pressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his firm chest. An eager growl came from the depths of his throat and she responded by lying back and pulling him down on top of her.

She wrapped her legs around him as he raked his hands into her hair. It felt so impossibly good to have him kiss her, touch her, hold her down with every inch of his heavenly body. Her hips tilted as the hard ridge of his erection rode against her pelvic bone. She wriggled beneath him, not fully comprehending that the presence of their pajama bottoms was the source of her physical frustration.

Cooper laughed, breathlessly. "Come on, you." He stood and held out his hand. His hair was a delicious mess, the sly smile on his face worthy of a million surrenders. "I need to get you into bed."

That was all the prompting she needed. "We wouldn't want to wreck your new furniture." She slid her hand into his and they hurried to his bedroom.

"I'm not worried about ruining upholstery." Cooper pulled the tie on Allie's pajama pants as she did the same to his. "I just want to have plenty of room for proper make-up s.e.x." He scooped her up and plopped her down on the bed. "Although I a.s.sure you there will be nothing proper about it."

He climbed onto the bed and towered over her, bracketing her hips with his knees. He dropped his head, huffing hot breath on her breast before sucking her nipple. Every flick of his tongue sent heat sizzling to her core. All she wanted at that moment was for him to melt into her and vice versa, two bodies as one.

Allie reached down to wrap her fingers around his thick c.o.c.k, stroking gently until a guttural groan escaped his lips. He blazed a hot trail of kisses up her chest, to her collarbone, along her throat, until he finally met her mouth. One wet, steamy kiss and he reached for a condom from the bedside table. He rolled it on and Allie had to bite her lower lip when his abs twitched when he was ready.

He moved back between her legs, grazing her center with his hands, taking his time with languid pa.s.ses. His thumb found her c.l.i.t and he rolled circles, each rotation taking her higher.

"Cooper, honey, make love to me. I need you. Now." She arched her back to underscore just how badly she ached for him.

He slid his hands beneath her b.u.t.t and tugged her closer. He teased her fevered folds before thrusting and filling her exactly as she remembered. They rocked together like a wildfire destined to torch everything in its path. Her breath quickened as the pressure built, he moaned in her ear. She tilted her hips, coaxing him to drive deeper as his motions voiced his approval.

His thrusts became longer, his full length riding in and out of her. The energy gathered in her belly, tightening and binding until the tension broke through in a cascade of unrelenting waves. Cooper froze for an instant before resuming his movements, now slowing. Eventually he relaxed and left his full weight on her. His thundering heartbeat flickered against her chest, reminding her how alive she felt when she was with him.

Cooper rolled to his back and grasped her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing her knuckles before he scooted off the bed and traipsed off to the bathroom. She reached down and pulled the covers over herself, cozy, content and relieved.

"You look amazing in my bed," he said, walking back and waggling his eyebrows.

She smiled and patted the vacant spot on the mattress. "Now you know how I feel every time you sleep over."

"No more sleepovers. We just need to decide whose apartment we're going to live in." He shifted his arm beneath her head.

Allie smoothed her hand across his chest, snuggling next to him, inhaling his heady smell. "My apartment seems like the logical choice."

"Why is that?"

Careful. No more hurt feelings. "It's just a little, um, more put together."

"I have new furniture. That has to count for something."

Compromise. Find a compromise. She popped up on to her elbow. "How about this? My place, your furniture."

"Sounds like a deal."

"Except for your bed. Your bed isn't as nice as mine."

Cooper rolled his eyes. "Okay. We ditch my bed."

"And your sheets. What are these? Two hundred thread count?"

"Enough." He kissed her deeply. "I don't care if we sleep on grocery bags as long as I get to wake up next to you every morning."

Every morning. She drew in a deep breath. Permanence wasn't so scary after all. The possibilities of their future stretched out as far as could be imagined, ready to be molded into whatever she and Cooper decided was best for them. Allie settled her chin on his chest and smiled.

He traced his fingers along the contours of her shoulder blade. "What made you come back, Al?"

She toyed with his chest hair, drawing lazy circles on his skin. "It was Ian, actually."

"What?" He clutched her arm and drew back his head to see her.

She grinned. "He dropped the lawsuit."

His eyes grew wide at the announcement, certain happiness flickering. "Wow. That's fantastic." He pressed his soft lips against her forehead. "And that's why you came up here to make up with me? Because you were so happy?"

"No, because I was so unhappy."

"But that's what you wanted, more than anything." He cupped her cheek and chin, his face clouded with confusion.

"Or so I thought. Turns out what I wanted more than anything is you."

Cooper's expression softened and her pulse skipped. "That makes it simple," he muttered. "All I want is you." He smiled in a way that made her breath catch, her insides melt, her heart feel as though it could take flight. "For the long haul, Al. I'm not kidding."

"Absolutely for the long haul." She sank against him, exactly where she wanted to be. "For keeps."

The End Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed The K.I.S.S. Principle, please consider leaving a review online.

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Rock star Peter wants more.

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About the Author.

Karen Booth is a Midwestern girl transplanted in the South, raised on 80s music, Judy Blume, and the films of John Hughes. An early preoccupation with rock 'n' roll led her to spend her twenties working her way from intern to executive in the music industry. Now she's a married mom of two, and instead of staying up late in rock clubs, she gets up before dawn and writes s.e.xy contemporary fiction. Rock star romances and big city love stories are her specialties.

When she isn't creating hunky fictional men, Karen is busy honing her Southern cooking skills (she makes some mean collard greens), listening to everything from Duran Duran to Otis Redding with her kids, or sweet-talking her astoundingly supportive husband into whipping up a batch of c.o.c.ktails. You can find out more about Karen and her books at karenbooth.net.

Also by Karen Booth: Bring Me Back Back Forever, the sequel to Bring Me Back Hiding in the Spotlight Rock Starred London Calling with Karen Stivali Love Plus One Forever Now That Night with the CEO, coming August 2015 Pregnant by the Rival CEO, coming January 2016 Save a Prayer, coming February 2016 Excerpt from Rock Starred

Chapter One.

I should've complained a second time to the building superintendent about the busted air conditioning. Really, I should have. But d.a.m.n if the rock stars weren't glistening so perfectly in eighty-plus degrees--especially Peter Barrett. n.o.body would volunteer to have their photograph taken under these conditions. Sucked for them, happy accident for me.

"Guys, I know it's hot, but let's get a few more shots before we take a break and try a different set-up." I crouched below eye-level of the four members of Slump. Late afternoon sun filtered through the lead-paned windows of my warehouse photo studio, soft and golden. If I could've bottled the beauty of that light, especially as it graced the sweaty guys before me, I would have.

"It's freaking April in New York. It's not supposed to be so f.u.c.king hot. We're sorta dying here, Katie." Elliott, the singer, blew a fringe of sandy-blonde bangs from his forehead.

"Grow up," Peter chimed in. "Let her do her job."

"Just our luck with this freaky heat wave." I smiled and kept taking pictures. I photographed countless bands every year, and the ways in which they fought like siblings never failed to amuse me. Perhaps it was the product of being an only child. "The light is just so amazing right now." I held my breath when Peter unleashed a particularly penetrating stare. He was hot enough to make me drop my camera. And not just literally hot. "It'll be gone in a minute and there's no getting back good light."

I snapped the camera shutter like crazy. Sweat rolled down my back. My tank top clung to me. The hair I'd piled on top of my head in an effort to cool off threatened to topple. I kept moving though--side-to-side, up-and-down, capturing Slump from every angle.

As ordered, the guys followed me with their eyes. I wanted them to confront the camera. I wanted raw intensity. It was a perfect match for the grinding, guitar-driven sound of the band Rolling Stone had just dubbed, "Kings of the Universe".

It might've made me a bit self-conscious to be firmly planted beneath their unflinching stares, although I always used the camera as a bit of a shield, but it was obvious that most of them had something else on their minds.

Elliott, the singer, had been arguing with someone over his phone whenever we took a break. By the sound of it, I would've guessed he was in the midst of a break-up with a girlfriend, or he was at least trying to cut a woman loose. Mark, the ba.s.s player, was reportedly getting over a cold and very much seemed stuck in an antihistamine-induced haze. I sensed that the drummer, Tony--or as his bandmates called him, Stony--was in a different kind of haze, but he enjoyed having his picture taken and was a willing partic.i.p.ant.

And then there was Peter--he wasn't merely following orders by keeping his eyes glued to me. Something else was going on. I felt it from five feet away. His brilliant blue was unusually intent, zeroed-in. Maybe he was just like that. Maybe he was fascinated by photography.

I hit the shutter a final time and rested the camera on my chin. "Let's take twenty. I'll see if we can find another fan and I'll call the building manager and find out when the air conditioning is supposed to be fixed."

All four guys broke free from each other, heading in opposite directions, Peter straight for me.

"How's everything looking?" he asked.

So that was it--he was worried about looking good in the photos. "I got some amazing stuff. You four are extremely photogenic. I think the heat will be worth it." I stepped over to the cameras and lenses littering the beat-up factory table I used for meetings.

Peter followed. "Photogenic? Have you looked at Elliot? He's ugly as sin. If we look good, I'm sure it's all your doing." He absentmindedly ran his hands through his messy and slightly damp, chocolate brown hair.

"That's nice of you to say. I'll try my best to get it right."

He cleared his throat. "You know, uh, I have to say that your work is really amazing." His voice was jumpy, which was ridiculously charming. "I don't want this to sound weird, but I've been a fan for a while now."

"Of me? You like looking at photos of other bands?"

Peter laughed and relaxed his stance, leaning back against the edge of the table. His slim-fitting black tee hitched up. The sliver of stomach above the waistband of his jeans could've distracted me for quite a while if the rest of him wasn't so nice to look at. "No. Your other work. The black-and-whites, especially the urban stuff in New York is pretty amazing."

This was a first. No band member I'd photographed had ever taken note of my other work. Frankly, very few people paid attention to it. Those photos were about scratching my creative itch, it was the stuff for galleries, and only when I was lucky enough to find one to take me. "Where did you see my other photographs?"

"At a showing in LA. About six months ago. I bought one of the ones you took from under the Brooklyn Bridge."

"Really? Those are some of my favorites."

"It's in my place in Chicago." He held both hands out before him, splaying his fingers. "I hung it right above my bed."

I swallowed hard. Every new word out of his mouth held another humbling surprise. "Well, thank you. That's so flattering. I really appreciate it."

"Maybe we could go out for dinner tonight. You know, talk about your work, my work. Other things. Whatever comes up." He dropped his head to the side, asking for an answer. The electric flicker in his eyes suggested far more than sharing a meal.

Dammit. I filed through the reasons I shouldn't say "yes", but none of them felt particularly compelling when confronted with Peter. He wasn't just pushing my lady b.u.t.tons. He was pushing my photographer b.u.t.tons, too.

But I had to be strong. Dinner with Peter would just mess me up. It didn't take much for me to get attached, especially to a guy as smart and smoking hot as him. "I'm sorry. I don't think it's a good idea." It physically hurt to say it.

"Boyfriend?"

My stomach sank at the mere mention of the word. "Nope."

"I don't see a ring."

Handling "boyfriend" was a breeze compared to the way "ring" made me feel. No, he definitely did not see a shiny platinum band with a 1.2 carat, ideal-cut diamond on my finger. Absolutely not. It no longer resided on my finger because I'd sold it and bought camera equipment to donate to a local high school. I'd considered throwing it in the East River, but in the end, I figured some good had to come from my misery.

"Nope. No ring either."

He smiled wide. "Perfect. You're unattached."

Unattached. That was such a simple way of looking at it. If only I was at a point where I could think of myself as one of two things--single or taken. "Peter, you seem like a great guy. I just try not to mix business and pleasure. Gets messy." I scrunched up my nose. My stupid excuse stunk.

"It's just dinner, and technically, if we go after you're done taking our picture, won't you be done with business for the day? We could forget work and focus on pleasure."

Why did everything have to sound so d.a.m.n enticing coming out of his mouth? "Maybe the next time you come to New York." That might buy me a few months. Maybe I'll be ready by then.

"If you're trying to blow me off, you should know I'm an incredibly persistent man."

I shook my head. "You can have your pick of women. h.e.l.l, there are about fifty hanging out in the alley behind my building waiting for you guys to finish up. Don't expend a bunch of energy on my account."

"Funny, but I don't tend to find the right women in alleys. I've tried, but it just never works out."

He had an answer for everything. That one even made me laugh. I'd had my fair share of come-ons from guys in his line of work, but none of them had come prepared the way he had, nor had any of them seemed so sincere. "I appreciate your effort to be outside the rock star mold."

He shrugged. "I'd rather spend time with a woman who's beautiful and smart and has a creative mind. I find that combination pretty d.a.m.n hard to pa.s.s up. I'm curious to find out what makes you tick." He traced his finger in a circle on the tabletop. "Or purr, as the case may be."

For a good thirty seconds, I completely forgot how to breathe. Good G.o.d, I wanted to know what he was willing to do to make me purr. It'd been way too long since a man had made me feel like that.