Anytime Diego asked me to put on a blindfold, someone was either being executed or thoroughly pampered.
"Diego," I said, my voice muffled slightly as my hand searched blindly, catching his arm. "If this is another surprise inspection of the northern perimeter, I swear I'm going to throw your favorite tactical map into the pits of hell."
"It is not a tactical map, mi reina," Diego's voice vibrated with amusement.
His hands guided me gently over slick, moss-covered steps. The crisp chill was suddenly replaced by a thick blanket of rising thermal heat, carrying the distinct scent of crushed wild orchid and steaming spring water.
"The hidden grotto," I whispered, my fingers tightening against his forearm.
"Eleven years to that night, my love," Diego murmured against my jaw. His fingers r
