Tarotica Page 3

  Sybil stroked his hair tenderly, as if he were still a child. Her long fingers brushed his cheek, his forehead, then across his lips and chin, down his neck. Eli surrendered to her touch. The sensation was both soothing and erotic. Heat flickered in his groin. Does she know I’m getting aroused? he wondered. Probably.

  He nuzzled deeper into Sybil’s lap and inhaled her scent. Miranda had perceived the situation accurately. Sybil was a MILF. And for as long as he could remember, he’d desired her. She probably knows that, too.

  Sybil bent and kissed his cheek. “Dear Eli, why don’t you rest for a while? I’m going to start dinner.”

  Rising as gracefully as smoke, she walked back through the woods to the house, leaving him to sleep beside the pond.

  * * *

  He hadn’t heard Sybil return, but when he reached out he found her lying beside him on the damp grass. His hand touched her bare thigh, cool and silky, and slid up to her hip. She sighed and rolled onto her back. In the moonlight, her luminous body seemed flawless — slimmer and firmer than the bodies of most women half her age. Eli stroked her stomach, his fingertips grazing the triangle of silver hair at its base. Again she sighed and opened her legs, inviting him to explore deeper.

  As he leaned down to kiss what she offered him, he noticed he was naked. Did she undress me? he wondered.

  “Eli,” she moaned softly, raising her hips to meet his mouth. “Eli.”

  He could feel his blood pulsing in his cock, as if his heart were beating there.

  “Eli.” Her voice was louder now, more insistent. “Eli, dinner’s ready.”

  Confused, he opened his eyes. The sun hung low in the sky, slipping rapidly toward the horizon. Sybil stood over him, wearing a long blue dress. He glanced down at his body and saw that he, too, was fully clothed. His erection strained against his jeans.

  “Sorry to wake you, but it’s time for dinner,” she said.

  He sat up quickly, trying to hide his hard-on. A squirrel scurried along a branch overhead, chattering raucously. Eli felt certain it was laughing at him. As the last vestiges of his dream receded into the gathering dusk, he pushed himself up and followed Sybil to the house.

  Erotic thoughts still lingered in Eli’s mind as he took his chair at the table on the screened-in porch. A bottle of Meditrina’s Merlot sat open, breathing; a vase of fresh flowers from Sybil’s garden perfumed the air. Candles waited to be lit. This looks like a setting for lovers. Is she teasing me?

  Sybil placed a quiche, made with eggs laid by her Rhode Island Reds, on the table beside a large wooden bowl of salad greens, fresh strawberries, and goat cheese. The aroma of hot garlic bread made his mouth water.

  “Thank you, Sybil,” he said as she lit the candles. “For everything.”

  “I enjoy your company,” she answered simply. “I cherish my solitude, but sometimes it can get lonely here. Besides, you’ve been a great help with the garden and you’ve fixed so much around the property. The place hasn’t looked this good in years.”

  Eli filled their glasses and a wave of sadness washed over him. He missed working in the vineyard. He missed his friends and colleagues, and his old life. As he sipped the Merlot, he thought, Will Meditrina ever make wine this good again? So many of the old grapevines had been torn out and burned to keep the deadly fungus from spreading, and it would be years before the new vines produced quality grapes.

  Meditrina’s success, it seemed, had led to its downfall. Ten years ago, when he first stared working there, the small family-owned operation garnered the respect of savvy locals and a handful of aficionados, but few people outside the Valley recognized its name. Then their wines won several major awards, and the world started paying attention. Especially the competition.

  “I still can’t figure out how they discovered I was onto them,” he wondered aloud.

  “The answer will come to you,” Sybil assured him. “Pay attention to your dreams. They often provide insights that can be useful when you’re awake.”

  What would she think if she knew about my dream this afternoon? he mused. He finished his slice of quiche and reached for a second helping. “Somehow I’ve got to stop these guys before they ruin other California vineyards, too.”

  “In order to do that, you’ll have to be careful and clever, not just brave. You’ll need to use all your senses—the sixth, as well as the usual five.”

  “Can you see how all this will turn out?”

  Sybil shook her head. “The future isn’t fixed. Everything you do and think influences what happens.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “First of all, don’t let fear and anger dominate your mind. Often, we attract what we dwell on.”

  She smiled at him across the table. In the candlelight she seemed more beautiful than ever. He reached for her hand, wishing he could turn back time.

  “Remember what I said about your dreams,” she said. “Write them down. If you like, we can discuss them and decipher the symbols they contain.”

  * * *

  She stood beside his bed, her long silver hair partially concealing her nakedness.

  Eli turned back the covers and invited her in. As she nestled beside him, his cock jumped to attention. He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her gently, then more urgently. Her nipples stiffened against his chest. Taking first one, then the other in his mouth, he sighed, I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life.

  Sybil’s soft hand grasped his cock and began stroking it. “I want you, Eli.”

  “I’ve always loved you,” he said, sliding his fingers through her silky pubic hair into her warm, wet pussy.

  “I want you inside me, now.” She opened her legs wider and guided his aching cock toward her.

  Eli pushed himself up on his elbows and moved between her smooth thighs. As he gazed down at her, inexplicably her face and body morphed. Miranda’s lips begged him to enter her. Miranda’s dark hair with the crazy purple streaks spilled across his pillow.

  Miranda’s full, firm breasts pointed their rosy tips at him.

  What’s going on? he wondered. In his ear, Miranda moaned, “Palace.” He plunged into her depths and felt his juice spurt.

  He awoke drenched in sweat and semen. This hasn’t happened in ages. He got up and still half-asleep, stumbled to the bathroom. While he cleaned himself up, he contemplated his dream and grinned at the idea of discussing it with Sybil. No fucking way.

  Then he recalled the word Miranda had uttered: “Palace.” Not something a woman usually said in the throes of passion. Did it mean something, and if so, what?

  Card 3: The Empress

  Eli couldn’t get a cell phone signal at Sybil’s house and he didn’t want to use her land line to check in with Meditrina—their caller ID would capture her number. Right now he thought it best that no one, not even his colleagues at the vineyard, knew where he was. So every few days he borrowed Sybil’s pickup and drove into town to phone Troy Aransas, Meditrina’s CEO.

  Troy answered on the second ring. After exchanging pleasantries, he said, “I’ve been reading the report your professor friend sent. The link between the French fungus and the one that killed our vines seems pretty clear.”

  “Are you going to press charges?”

  “Hold on, Eli. All we know is the two fungi are the same. There’s no evidence anyone intentionally infected our vines.”

  “Then how’d it get there? The only two places it exists are France and Meditrina’s vineyards. It wasn’t brought by FedEx.”

  “I don’t know yet. We’re still trying to figure that out.”

  Frustrated, Eli asked, “So why did those two French guys attack me? You think it’s a coincidence?”

  “I don’t know that either. It could be just that: a coincidence.”

  Eli drummed his fingers on the truck’s steering wheel. “Troy, you believe me, don’t you?”

  “Believing and proving are two entirely different things. We can’t go accusing our competitors unle
ss we have a solid case.” Troy sighed loudly. “This report adds useful information that can help us solve the mystery. I’m grateful to you for collecting all this data.”

  “And risking my neck in the process,” Eli reminded him.

  “That too. By the way, you had a visitor a few days ago.”

  “A Frenchman?” Eli asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

  “Nope, American. A distributor you met at a wine tasting at The Palace. He left his card.”

  The Palace. He’d attended a wine tasting at the elegant San Francisco hotel the evening before he’d been assaulted. Closing his eyes, Eli tried to recall the details. He remembered mentioning his discovery to a friend who worked at a vineyard in the Sonoma Valley. Perhaps someone had overheard? Someone who had a very good reason for squelching that discovery? That’s what Miranda was trying to tell me in the dream.

  “Thanks, Troy. I’ll check back with you in a couple of days.”

  “Okay. Watch your ass, now.”

  “Absolutely. I’m quite fond of my ass.”

  Next, he tried Miranda and got her voice mail. “Sorry I missed your call…”

  He waited for the beep, then said in a tone that he hoped sounded sexy, “I had an erotic dream about you last night. Call me back and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Pocketing his cell phone, Eli got out of the truck and strolled down the sidewalk in search of a good cup of coffee. The morning fog was burning off and the day promised to be sunny and sweet. After walking a few blocks, he smelled the enticing aroma of java accompanied by the seductive scent of fresh-baked bread. His stomach growled.

  Pavarotti’s aria from Carmen greeted him as he entered the little Italian bakery.

  Eagerly he examined a glass case full of pastries: cookies, sticky buns, cannoli, and cupcakes in rainbow colors. Another case held more than a dozen cakes, plus an equal number of pies. Coffee steamed behind the counter.

  Several moments passed, but no one appeared to take his order.

  “Hello,” he called. When nobody responded he called again, “Hello?”

  Intoxicated by the heady smells, Eli decided to help himself to a cup of coffee and a sticky bun and just leave some money beside the cash register. As he opened the glass door of the pastry case, he heard a woman’s voice cry out, “Mio caro, ” from behind a checkered curtain that covered a doorway into a back room. A man’s voice answered passionately, “Bella, Bella, Bella.”

  Eli stepped closer to the curtain and listened. He heard grunts, moans, and the unmistakable sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Quietly, he pulled the curtain aside and peeked in. Inside the dimly lit storeroom, a Rubenesque woman with a tumble of thick black hair straddled a man sitting on a folding chair, his pants bunched around his ankles. Beneath her ruffled red skirt, the man’s hands squeezed the cheeks of her ample ass as she rose and sank, rose and sank, again and again, as leisurely as a boat bobbing on the ocean.

  His own cock stiffening, Eli watched as the woman shifted her position 180 degrees so her ass now pressed against her partner’s belly. Her white blouse hung open, her bra dangled loose. Her enormous breasts heaved and swayed, glistening with sweat.

  The man’s hands reached around her body and toyed with her huge, brown nipples. She sighed again. “Ah, mio caro.”

  Slipping his hand into his pocket, Eli stroked his cock with his fingertips. But his jeans were too tight to permit a good grip.

  The woman opened her eyes and spotted him. He started to drop the curtain, but she grinned and licked her full lips with exaggerated slowness. Her dark eyes laughed as she appraised his bulge. Eli smiled back.

  As her partner pumped harder and faster, the woman threw back her head and let out a cry that began low and deep, then rapidly swept up an octave and hung there quivering, as if she were singing along with Pavarotti. The man groaned in accompaniment.

  Not wanting the man to catch him spying on them, Eli withdrew into the main part of the bakery and waited until the couple emerged, flushed and disheveled. The man glanced at him, then hurried out. The woman adjusted her skirt, smiled broadly, and stepped behind the counter. In the bright light, he could see she was probably about his age, mid-thirties at most.

  “What would you like?” she asked Eli. As she spoke, her hands dipped and soared like birds in flight.

  A blow job, he wanted to say, but instead he pointed to a tray of buns drizzled with honey and sprinkled with nuts. “One of those and a cup of black coffee.”

  “Come with me. I have something better.”

  She motioned for him to follow her through a door that led into a cluttered kitchen. Pots, pans, and assorted cooking implements were everywhere. A large worktable, dusty with flour, stood in the center of the room. Along one wall ran shelves stacked with baked goods. The woman chose one and handed it to him.

  Eli stared at the plump, creamy globe with the salmon-pink frosting tip in the center. Is this what I think it is, he wondered, or do I still have sex on my mind?

  Seeing his confusion, the woman laughed and pointed at the shelves. He moved closer to get a better look. On one shelf he saw pastries—like the one she’d given him—

  resembling breasts in various sizes. Another shelf held loaves of white, rye, and pumpernickel bread shaped like penises. Buns formed like pussies rested on another tray, their slits shiny with a sugar-and-egg white glaze.

  “Eat,” the woman told him, indicating the breast-shaped puff pastry she’d given him.

  He grinned, then bit into the sweet, warm dough. “Mmmm. It’s delicious.”

  She nodded, accepting the compliment. He took another bite. As he chewed, he felt a twinge of desire in his groin. By the time he’d finished eating, he was fully erect.

  What the hell…?

  The woman winked as she unzipped his jeans and slid them down over his narrow hips. While he licked his fingers, she circled his shaft with her hand and massaged him, rubbing and pulling and squeezing as if she were kneading dough.

  “I couldn’t let you go away hungry,” she said.

  Kneeling before him, she cupped his balls with her other hand and slid her hot, wet mouth over his swollen cock. She licked and sucked with such relish that Eli quickly spurted into her throat. She swallowed, then flicked her tongue over her lips as if she’d just tasted a most delectable treat.

  As he fastened his jeans, she pinched his cheek fondly and said, “Now we’ll have coffee.”

  * * *

  “Why did you become a baker?” Eli asked.

  “I like making people happy,” Bella answered. “When you were a little boy, did your mother bake cookies and birthday cakes for you?”

  Eli nodded.

  “Even now, you associate those sweets with love. Am I right?”

  He nodded again.

  “There’s too much fear and anger in the world, and not enough love,” Bella said, her dancing hands punctuating her words. “In my own way, I’m trying to change that. ‘Make love, not war,’ yes?”

  “You certainly turned my day around,” he said, grinning.

  They were sitting at a café table in front of the bakery, drinking espresso and eating desserts. Not the erotic ones, though. “In those,” she confessed, “I put a secret ingredient.”

  “Viagra?” he asked, remembering how he’d inexplicably gotten hard when he bit into the pastry breast.

  “No, silly.”

  “What, then?”

  Bella smiled slyly. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret.”

  “How about a hint?”

  “Let’s just call it the elixir of love.”

  She passed him a brownie, peppered with walnuts and chocolate chips.

  “Is there a secret ingredient in this?” he asked. “Marijuana, maybe?”

  “Of course not.” She shook her head so hard a lock of her thick, dark hair slipped free of its tortoiseshell comb. “I’m no druggie. Unless love is the drug.”

  “I’m going to get fat if I keep eating all
these wonderful things.”

  She patted her round belly. “Well, maybe I’m too fat. But who would trust a skinny baker?”

  A blond woman with two little girls in tow approached the bakery.

  “Scusi,” Bella said and went inside to serve them.

  While Eli munched his brownie he contemplated his situation. Sunshine spilled across his shoulders. A light breeze ruffled his amber hair. Funny, he could barely recall the anxiety he’d experienced earlier today. He’d gobbled lots of gourmet goodies, gotten his dick sucked. At the moment, life was good.

  The blonde with the children came out, carrying a big bag and a cardboard box tied with string. When she caught him looking at her, she blushed and hurried away. Does that box contain confectionary pricks and pussies? he wondered.

  Bella returned with more coffee and a plate of blueberry muffins. She settled her voluminous backside on the dainty café chair and buttered a muffin.

  “Why did you become a winemaker?” she asked.

  “I guess I’m like you. I want to create good things that will give people pleasure.”

  “Yes, it’s important to use our abilities to create something—wine, baked goods, music, poetry, whatever.” Bella licked crumbs from her fingers and pointed to an elderly man across the street, meticulously pruning his rose bushes. “See that old gentleman? His labor creates beauty for all to enjoy, and look how it pleases him. Everyone is happy.”

  She waved at the old man and he waved back. “Tonight I will take him some éclairs, and he will give me some roses. In this way we exchange love.”

  A middle-aged couple entered the bakery and once again Bella excused herself. A few minutes later they emerged, arm in arm, each holding a shopping bag full of baked goods.

  Bella threw them a kiss as they got into their car. “They are having a party,” she told Eli.

  “It’ll probably turn into an orgy.”

  “I hope so.” She handed him a paper bag.

  “What’s this?”