Twenty-four hours. It had been twenty-four hours since Lisa had sent Mason her book and she hadn’t heard a thing from him. She’d barely slept for worrying and now she paced the hotel suite, wringing her hands like some fretful, historical woman waiting to see if the man she fancied would call on her. She threw her hands in the air, angry at herself for being such a ninny. She should just go to him and demand to know what he thought.

That’s if he’d even read the thing. Maybe ...