Tarotica

“High-concept it for me,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll try. Someone has been killing Meditrina’s grapevines by infecting them with a deadly fungus. I suspected the source might be foreign, so I took samples to a botany professor I know at San Francisco State. Turns out I was right. It’s a disease called Mort Jaune—Yellow Death—that until recently only existed in France. Now the bastards want to eliminate me before I can blow the whistle.”

“Why would anybody want to kill grapevines?”

“Listen, Ms…”

“Miranda.”

“Miranda, could we keep driving?”

Do I dare trust this man? Miranda asked herself. Cute guys had been her downfall before. And this one hadn’t behaved like a gentleman thus far. Maybe he really was in trouble, but helping him could endanger her, too. Still, he had that tattoo on his palm…

“What’s the story behind that tattoo?”

“I got it to honor Mother Earth. And my own mother as well—she was a dedicated environmentalist. She died two years ago. It’s sort of a talisman, too, I guess.

I’d hoped it would help me grow the best grapes in California.”

Miranda eased the car onto the highway. The whole reason for taking this journey was to have an adventure, she reminded herself. Be careful what you ask for!

“One more question. Why did you abduct me?”

Eli laughed. “If you’re going to kidnap somebody, it might as well be a beautiful woman.”

* * *

As San Francisco diminished in the rearview mirror, Eli pulled out his cell phone.

“Sybil, I’m in trouble. I need a place to hide out for a while… just north of the city… with a friend… thanks, see you soon.”

“Who’s Sybil?” Miranda asked.

“My mother’s best friend. She’s known me all my life, literally. She assisted at my birth.”

“Where are we going?”

“Mendocino. You’ll like it. It’s really pretty and low key.”

On the drive up the California coast, Miranda told Eli about her life as an artist in the historic Witch City. He told her more than she wanted to know about armillaria mellea root fungus, cylindrocarpon, “black goo,” and the other perils of the wine industry. The technical aspects of his work didn’t interest her much, but she admired his passion and his tenderness when he spoke of his beloved grapevines. Would he demonstrate such passion and tenderness toward a woman? she wondered.

The crescent moon smiled in an indigo sky as they turned into Sybil’s driveway.

An ornate wrought-iron gate decorated with dragons swung open to admit them. Miranda glanced around for some sort of electronic sensor, but saw none. Tall, spooky-looking trees edged the winding driveway. After a half- mile, they came to a stone house.

A light snapped on and a tall, slender woman in a long turquoise dress stepped out onto the front porch. Flowed out is more like it, Miranda thought, for the woman seemed to glide on air. Glistening silver hair hung to her waist.

“Welcome,” she called to them.

“Sybil, thanks for providing a port in the storm,” Eli said.

The woman nodded almost imperceptibly. “But of course.”

He pulled Miranda’s suitcase out of the trunk and carried it to the house. As he and Sybil hugged warmly, Miranda noticed him relax for the first time.

“Is that supposed to be a disguise?” Sybil asked, studying his harlequin garb.

“It helped me escape San Francisco.”

“In the morning you can tell me all about it and we’ll find you something more appropriate for the country,” she promised.

“May I present Miranda Malone?” he said. “Miranda, this is my dear friend, Sybil Lake.”

The two women shook hands. Except for the gray hair, Miranda thought, Sybil could be twenty-five. Her violet eyes sparkled and not a single wrinkle marred her smooth skin.

“Are you hungry?”

“No, thanks, we ate on the way,” Eli answered. “But we’re pretty tired.”

“It’s been an amazing day,” Miranda added.

Sybil eyed the pair with a smile. “Let me show you to your room.”

Room. They’d only met this afternoon, and not under the most romantic of circumstances. Miranda wasn’t sure she was ready to sleep with Eli, despite his adorable smile and sexy green eyes. Before she could object, however, Sybil led the way to a charming bedroom with a four-poster bed.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable,” she said and closed the door behind her.

Eli gave Miranda a look that melted her reserve, a blend of vulnerability, gratitude, and pure lust. He took her hand and kissed her fingers one at a time. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. You probably saved my life.”

A feminist fairy tale, she thought. This time, the damsel rescued the knight. She liked the idea; it made her feel daring and powerful. And sex was all about power. A surge of electricity zapped her like a vibrator teasing her clit. Cute guys are part of the adventure, she reminded herself. And if he’s supposed to be my future husband, I’d better check him out.

He glanced at the bed. “Miranda, I can sleep on the couch if you’d like.”

“No way.” She stepped forward and kissed him.

That was all the invitation Eli needed. He put his arms around her and drew her against him. Through his jester suit, she could feel his cock stiffen. He slid his hands under her T-shirt and deftly unhooked her bra. Cupping her breasts, he thumbed her nipples. Spikes of pleasure shot through her torso and lodged in her pussy. He pulled her T-shirt over her head, then unzipped her jeans. As he slid them down over her hips, taking her panties along with them, Miranda was certain she felt heat radiating from the tattoo on his palm.

When he’d divested her of her clothing, Eli stepped back and examined her intently. “You’re so beautiful. You remind me of Botticelli’s ‘Birth of Venus’.”

Want to win a girl’s heart, tell her she’s beautiful. Miranda grinned and struck a pose like the goddess in the famous painting.

He brushed her long hair back from her face and kissed her eyes, her earlobes, her neck, slowly working his way down to her nipples. As he sucked first one, then the other, his fingers found her slippery slit.

“How does this costume come off?” she asked impatiently, searching for buttons or a zipper.

“All in good time.” He led her to the bed and sat her down on the edge. Spreading her legs, he knelt between them. “Lie back,” he said.

Miranda did.

Gently he parted her pussy lips. “You’re like an exquisite flower,” he told her, running his index finger along the inner folds. He pinched her clit ever-so-lightly. “Look at this beautiful little bud.” He probed her, then withdrew his finger and licked off her juice. “And such delicious nectar.”

When his tongue swiped her seam, Miranda gasped. Her thighs began trembling.

Her cunt sighed open, beckoning to him.

“You taste sweeter than wine,” he murmured. “Refined and delicate, like pinot noir. Yet there’s an earthy fruitiness, too, like a shiraz.”

“Eli, how about a little less talk and a lot more action?”

“Your wish is my command.”

He left off long enough to fish his wallet out and unwrap a condom. His cock poked at the baggy harlequin suit like a tent pole. Unfastening his fly, he freed it.

“Aren’t you going to take off that silly costume?” Miranda asked. She longed to see what it concealed. Did