“How did you find it?” she persisted. He was a man of so few words, he might as well be an empty book. She needed something to grab on to if she was to make headway with her plan.

“I like to wander,” he said simply, offering no further explanation.

Which was just as well, because the path then took on a much steeper incline, and Jaya realized they were climbing up a small mountain. Her lungs, not yet acclimated to the altitude, could only expend enough air to keep her alive and upright.

Once they were finished climbing, Jaya took in the view around her, genuinely appreciative. Grey had brought them to a vantage point halfway up the mountaintop. Although she was wheezing from the climb, even the black spots dancing in front of her eyes couldn’t mar the majesty of the panorama. The town of St. Rosetta lay under them like a peacefully sleeping child.

“Incredible,” Jaya whispered, holding on to her tie as the wind tugged insistently at it.

“Mount Sama. It’s been my favorite place since I was about twelve,” Grey said, staring straight ahead at the horizon. “There’s a quietness here you can’t get anywhere else.”

Jaya studied his profile—the dark hair that, though it had been combed neatly at the beginning of the day, was now hanging in his eyes; the strong jaw dotted with black stubble; the straight royal nose. Grey Emerson was, she reluctantly conceded, quite handsome and rather intelligent. But he was strangely antisocial, too. Why did someone who’d so heartlessly thrown Isha to the wolves also need quiet meditativeness on a mountain? Why did he isolate himself from people so much? She’d expected Grey Emerson to be overtly cocky, arrogant, vicious. She had to play archaeologist, to delicately chip away at the dust and debris and stony exterior until she got to the truth underneath.

He turned to her. “So,” Grey said, his remote blue eyes giving nothing away. His square, straight jaw was hard.

“So.” Jaya took a deep breath of the cool air. “Something happened, back home.” She let a shadow of the vulnerability she really felt show, the morsel of truth. But no more than that; if he realized she knew about his involvement, he’d never let her get close to him. “With Isha. Isha’s our maverick, I suppose.” She smiled a little, but her eyes remained watchful. Would he smirk? Give away that he knew exactly what she was talking about? But he just continued to watch her, expressionless. “She’s always been one to dance to her own songs. Isha thinks our traditions are silly.”

“Unlike you.” He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, as if he was taking everything she said with a grain of salt. How very obnoxious.