The Golden Lion (Knights of Passion Series 2) Read Free

yourself.” He reached down beside his bed and withdrew the wicked looking sword he kept there.
    She gasped and the sound seemed very loud. And then he st ood up, the sword in his hands, as if he was going to swing it through the air, and quickly she divested herself of her magic cloak. As it fell to the floor at her feet, suddenly she was visible once more.
    He looked startled, as well he might. She was wearing her flimsiest costume of silken scarves, a jewelled belt low on her hips, and her dark hair was loose about her. The scarves were so fine she might as well have been naked, and she knew he could see the curves of her body through them.
    H e came and stood before her and she looked up at him, her dark eyes shining. He was just as big and handsome as she remembered, with his golden hair and smiling mouth. Then she noticed there was a scar through his left eyebrow and somehow that imperfection made him even more desirable.
    Tentatively he reached out to touch her arm as if to confirm that she was real and not a ghost. His fingers were warm and when he was satisfied that she was made of flesh and blood he closed them around her arm to hold her.
    “ You are the woman who danced at the feast,” he said.
    She smiled, because he’d remembered her.
    “What is your name?”
    “Batilda.”
    He brushed his fingers across her cheek and then traced the shape of her lips. “How are you here, Batilda? Are you a witch that you appear out of the air like this? Should I be afraid of you?”
    She shook her head. “ No, I am no witch. It is Aghar’s magic cloak. I . . . borrowed it. Once it is on I become invisible. You see?” She lifted the cloak and swung it around her shoulders. At once she was invisible again but he reached out and found her.
    His mouth curved into a smile and he gave an amazed laugh. He removed the cloak from her and she was there again, head tilted to the side, watching him, wondering what he would do now. He ran his hand over the cloth, frowning down at it, then shook his head in wonder.
    “Magic indeed. How did the Sultan come by this thing?”
    “No one knows but it is thought he brought it with him when he came from the east.” She explained what else she had seen in the locked room, the golden orb and the bones. “It is thought Aghar stole them from a prince.”
    The English lion seemed interested, and while he listened to her he poured a goblet of wine from a jug and sipped. “And these things, they are all in the same room? With the cloak? Then how did you manage to get hold of the cloak, Batilda?”
    When she explained about the guard he laughed and his eyes gleamed.
    “You are very clever. And very beautiful,” he murmured, and then he brushed her lips with his. She tasted the wine, and when he pulled her against his body she felt the warm skin of his chest beneath her palms, and the hard bone and muscle against her softer curves.
    “Why did you come here tonight?” he asked.
    “To be with you,” she said, looking into his blue eyes.
    He took her to his private rooms. He seemed fascinated with her beauty, stroking her face, and then kissing her until it was clear he was full of desire for her.
    Their lips clung and she made a sound of need in her throat. She felt his tongue, wetting the seam of her lips, delving inside her mouth. He held her jaw, his thumbs stroking her soft skin, kissing her more firmly now.
    Batilda felt his cock against her thigh and shifted slightly, shimmying until she had it where she wanted it, pressing to the apex of her thighs. The ache only grew worse, but as they kissed, she bumped her hips against him, rubbing herself on the hard bulge that pressed against his breeches.
    Ah that was better!
    The pleasure began to build now, and she could feel her female parts swelling and dripping the moisture of desire. He took hold of her buttocks, lifting her and settling her against his cock.
    “This is what you came for?” he groaned. “When I saw you at the dancing I