He wasn’t a monk. He’d dated lots of women and he’d held more than a few overnights in his house, but for some reason, he was putting some sort of significance on this night. He wanted Stephanie to like his house and he was praying they were compatible in bed. God knew they seemed to be a perfect match out of it. He’d laughed when she’d asked what his flaws were. He suspected she hadn’t meant to speak that question aloud, but he agreed with the sentiment. For the past few hours, he’d talked to and listened to Stephanie Harper, wondering how in the hell she was still single. “How old are you?” She didn’t seem shocked by his abrupt question. “Twenty-nine. How old are you?” “Thirty-three.” He walked to the end table by the sofa and turned on a lamp. She looked around as he studied her face for a reaction to his house. It was ridiculous to be so proud of four walls and a roof, but he’d put a lot of blood, sweat and some serious cash into the place, and for some strange reason, Stephanie’s opinion of it mattered.
