The KISS Principle (Erotic Romance) (14 page)

“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

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Rock Starred

Photographer Katie’s
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Rock star Peter wants
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“A remarkable tale
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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 sexy 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 cocktails. You can find out more about Karen and her
books at
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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 damn if the rock stars
weren’t glistening so perfectly in eighty-plus degrees--especially Peter
Barrett. Nobody 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 fucking
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 bass 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 participant.

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 buttons. He was pushing my
photographer buttons, 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 damn 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. Hell, 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 damn hard to pass
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 God,
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.

My heart was heavy, looking at his sweet, puppy dog eyes. If only I could
just tell him the reason why I kept guys in one of two categories--friends and
the one-nighters. There was no being a member of both groups. Nothing ruined a
friendship faster than sex. So where did that leave Peter? He was saying
everything I wanted to hear, precisely the reason to keep him where he was--a
friend. Nice guys deserved better.

I picked up my phone. "Give me your number. We'll stay in touch.
Maybe I'll come see you guys play some time."

He fished his own out of his back pocket. "That would be
great."

As soon as I finished entering Peter's info, I had a text from my best
friend, Gwen.

Ice cream.

I clamped my eyes shut. Talk about horrible timing.
Ice cream
was
what Gwen and I had devised as shorthand for, "this is really fucking
important so drop whatever you're doing and call me right now". Gwen
generally used it when she had a fight with her boyfriend, Ted. I'd used it
countless times during the events that eventually led to me selling my
engagement ring.

"I'll be over in a few minutes so we can finish the shoot," I
said. "I just need to make a quick phone call."

Peter nodded. "Of course." His voice was decidedly less
enthusiastic now. I was probably insane for turning down a dinner date with
him.

"Hey, honey. What's up?" I whispered, jamming a finger in my
other ear and wandering off to a corner of the studio.

"I didn't want to have to tell you this over the phone, but I start
my shift at the hospital in less than an hour. There's no time for me to come
over and tell you in person."

"Tell me what? Did somebody die?" My stomach rolled with
unease.

"Brad got married."

I heard the words. Brad. Got. Married. They didn't add up.

"To, you know, her," Gwen continued.

The steps I'd taken to distance myself from what happened with Brad were
erased with a sentence from my best friend. With a rush, I was face-to-face
with my nightmare all over again. "Married. To her." I choked on that
last word, fighting images of him in a tux, the girl he'd cheated on me with in
a wedding dress. I was supposed to be the girl in the wedding dress. I was
supposed to have the happily ever after.

"Katie, if you need me now, I'll see if I can get somebody to cover
for me. We'll talk about it and drink beer and eat ice cream."

"No. No. I'm okay." I glanced across the room. Peter smiled at
me. For some reason, that only made me want to cry more. But there was no time
for tears and work always distracted me from the bad things. "I'm actually
in the middle of a photo shoot right now."

"Okay, good.  Go take pictures. I know it helps."

"It does. It helps a lot."

"You're stronger than this. Remember that."

I nodded, sucking in a deep breath. Was I stronger than this? At that
moment, I wasn't sure I was strong enough to make it through the next five
minutes.

But I had to get through this, just like I'd gotten through every other
miserable moment since Brad left that fucking note on the kitchen counter. I
had to get through it because there was no other way. I just needed to keep
myself on the path that had helped me through it, the path where I kept men at arms'
length and focused on work. "I got it. I'm good. I promise."

"Okay, well, whatever you do, don't go on Facebook. You're still
friends with his sister, right? She posted a zillion pictures."

"Yeah, I'm still friends with his sister. It's not her fault she has
an asshole for a brother."

Want more Katie and
Peter?

Rock Starred is available from your
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