Title: Risks, Chapter 3

Author: Sorsha711
Fandom/Pairing: JM/OFC

Rating: M, adult content
Disclaimer: The Munchkin isn't mine, except in my dreams! Sigh! DW owns him and the others.
Summary: A sequel to my Halloween fantasy, Whispers. Everything of worth has risks; what would you risk to find true love? JM/OFC & OE

Please read and review!!

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Risks, Chapter 3

"Huph!"

John woke with a start as something landed on his chest. Confused, he looked up to find a pair of bright blue-eyes watching him. Apparently satisfied with what she found, the cat began to purr loudly, nudging his hand in an imperious demand for attention.

A sleepy voice near his ear offered, "Ummm… that must be Maggie. She purrs at the drop of a hat."

Craning his neck, he tried to meet the eyes of his bed-mate. A thick tumble of blue-black hair blocked his efforts, covering as it did most of her face. Amused… and a little uncertain about his situation, John gave into the cat's demands and began to rub her head. "You know their purrs apart?"

Shifting slightly to cuddle more closely into his side, she admitted, "Of course. They are each distinct little beings with their own personalities and traits. I think Maggie… she's a chocolate-point Himalayan, was an empress in a former life… maybe a czarina."

Chuckling softly, he pressed, "And the others?"

"Lady D… the Siamese, is named after Billie Holiday for a reason… she's a diva," was her mumbled reply. "Be sure to admire her next performance… she yodels for lack of a better description, or she will get huffy and leave hairballs in your shoes."

"You're kidding??" he grinned, pleased by the implied assumption his shoes would be back in the loft… and off his feet again.

"Nope, all true." Reaching up to shove the curtain of hair out of her eyes, she warned, "I don't want to hear any complaints after I gave you fair warning."

"Duly noted," John murmured, lost in the depths of her sleepy gaze.

"Clover, the orange-marmalade, is a free-spirit. She's happy-go-lucky and gets herself into also sorts of places she has no business being, but she's so cute I forget to scold her most of the time. Drawers and boxes are her favorite places," she continued, reaching up to gently smooth his 'bed-head'. "Jewel, the tortoise-shell Persian, is spoiled and demanding… is content to sit in the sun all day and be waited on hand and paw, but she's very loving, so she gets away with murder. Max-a-million is my protector. He thinks he's in charge of everything… including me, and gets pouty when he doesn't get his way… typical male! He's a love though."

Wanting nothing more than to kiss her, he forced himself to concentrate on this line of conversation for now, unsure of what would happen between them in the light of day. "Do you really plan to keep the other cat… the blind one?"

"He's not completely blind… and yes, I guess I do. I have a name picked out for him… Toby, so I guess that seals it," she admitted, shifting so that she could study his expression to see how he was reacting to waking with her. She quickly noted the uncertainty he was trying to hide.

Deciding it might help them both if she started this conversation, she softly asked, "Are you OK with this, John? I didn't plan for this to happen, but I don't regret that it did. I think I've been waiting for you all my life. I just wanted you to see the paintings so you would understand that. I'm hoping this will be more than one night."

Giving into his desire to kiss her, John pulled her up into a lingering kiss. A relieved, hopeful smile accompanied his heartfelt whisper, "So do I."

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Flashback

John stared at her private gallery of dream inspired art. Overwhelmed, he turned to find Rella watching him from just inside the curtained doorway into her bedroom. Though he had only really known her for a few hours, he immediately sensed that she was scared… worried about his reaction to what she was showing him.

Unable to stop himself, John moved to her and pulled her possessively into his arms. The first moment their lips touched, a smoldering passion burst into flames between them… a fire that had crackled just below the surface since their eyes had met in the doorway of that neighborhood bar. He was never sure how they got to the bed, but he would never forget the sight, the feel, the taste of her body as it was slowly bared to his touch.

Their love-making was earthy and elemental, expressing their mutual need to claim and be claimed in return. Her throaty moans of pleasure fueled his passion and he subconsciously expected to find scorched skin wherever her hands… her mouth… her body touched his. Their passion built, threatening to spiral out of control… yet its climax came far sooner than either wanted. They wanted it to last forever, the power of their release almost too much to bear.

Their breathing had not completely returned to normal... their hearts still raced, when the next wave of passion was upon them. They slept little, talked less that night. Their bodies demanded what they had dreamed of for so long and neither had the will to resist. Dawn had already brightened the horizon with the light of a new day before they fell into a deep, sated sleep… finally held in the arms of their dream lovers, lovers at last made flesh.

End flashback

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Both were surprised to feel the passion that had consumed them the night before reignite with that kiss. Secretly, each had feared there would be nothing left after that mind-blowing experience. Shivering with need, John rolled Rella beneath him and they fell into the fire again.

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John took a sip of his coffee as he silently watched Rella scramble eggs for a late bunch, the breakfast hour having passed hours earlier. His body was still humming with the energy of their love-making and his mind refused to settle on a single topic. Hearing their toast pop up in the toaster, he rose to retrieve it. Accepting the butter she slid his way, he slathered each piece with a generous coating.

"There's jam… and some lemon curd and marmalade in the frig, John. Choose whatever you want," she offered, scrapping the eggs onto a platter with the turkey bacon she had already cooked.

Hearing the nervous waver in her voice, John bent to press a kiss to her shoulder. "I guess that's another thing we have in common… we both have a sweet tooth."

A small gasp accompanied the gentle caress of his lips as they ghosted from her shoulder to her throat. "Keep that up and these eggs will get cold before we get around to eating them," she breathed, the smile of a temptress lighting her face.

Groaning, John rested his forehead against her neck for a moment before turning to open the refrigerator. Grabbing a jar of blackberry jam to place next to the toast on the table, he admitted, "I think I need some food… and a little more time to recover before that could happen again, but thanks for the vote of confidence, beautiful."

"I could accuse you of leading me on if I didn't feel the same way… though I realize it's a little different for you," she teased, relieved to be talking.

She felt stunned… overwhelmed by what was happening and needed to hear him confirm again he wanted more than a night… a night and most of a morning, in her bed. Rella knew she was falling in love with him… falling fast and hard, and she needed some reassurances he would be back. She also knew it was too much to hope he felt the same way this soon. Her only hope at this moment was that he would stay around long enough for that to happen.

Her teasing observation made him laugh outright. "More than a little different!! I'm 54 years old, so we've already far exceeded my expectations. Hell, last night exceeded any expectations I might have had when I was eighteen!!"

Dropping her head in a moment of uncharacteristic shyness, she admitted, "I've never had much in the way of expectations. I always wondered what was wrong with me that I didn't have much interest in sex… except in my dreams. Last night was a revelation for me."

Bolstered by her admissions, John took the platter from her hands and put it next to the rest of their meal. Tugging her into his arms, he whispered against her hair, "I meant what I said, Rella. I would like to see if this can be more than one night or a causal affair. I hope that was what you meant too."

Her arms tightened around his waist. "Yes, it was."

"Good. I guess we need to talk… take a step back and get to know each other," John offered, hoping she would agree. "This is happening pretty fast for both of us."

He was feeling more than a little overwhelmed; he had been alone for years and she was quickly slipping into all the empty spots in his spirit. He needed time to sort out what he was feeling…that he was feeling anything at all at this point in his life was a shock. He also needed time, time for the burgeoning emotions they were feeling to become more. John knew he was falling in love with her, but he also knew it was unreasonable to expect her to feel the same this soon.

He felt her relax against him. "Sounds right."

"OK… but can we eat first?" John pressed, pleased to feel her smile against his chest. "I really am starving."

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The door to her loft popped open when he rang the bell, having already been buzzed in at the building's entrance. Surprised that Rella wasn't on the other side of the door, John slowly stepped inside. He had left several hours earlier to go to his apartment to change clothes so they could go out to dinner that evening. Max, her feline guard, moved into his path before he could reach the living room.

"Esmerelda?"

Her voice answered from the cantilevered balcony that housed her studio. "Hi. I have an electronic door release up here in case you were wondering how I did that. Come on up. Inspiration hit after you left and I've been working while you were gone. Max… be a good boy and let John pass."

Amused that she had known what her pet was doing even though she couldn't see him, he skirted the brisling cat and made his way up the stairs. Max shot past him half way up and had taken position near his person by the time John reached the balcony. The rest of her menagerie had found places scattered around the space and were sleeping… or watching her paint as their mood demanded. Fancy and Will rose quickly to greet him and demand a petting as tribute. Tal's thick tail beat the floor in greeting as the huge dog lounged nearby.

"I'm sorry not to be ready, but it's your fault. You inspired me!" she teased, grinning at him around a large easel. She had donned a pair of oversized overalls to protect her clothes, the effect oddly alluring to his hungry eyes. "Would you mind if I worked a little longer to get this to a good stopping place?"

Captivated by the return of the temptress smile, John shook his head as he walked over to see the canvas. Her smile turned devilish as she held up her hand to halt his approach. "Not yet, Johnny. I want to finish it before you see it."

Canting an eyebrow, he laughed. "Nobody has dared call me Johnny since I got out of high school! And what are you painting that I can't see it yet?"

A bright red blush swept over her features. "You'll see when it's finished. Now be a good boy and don't peak, Johnny."

"Be a good boy?" he demanded, a grin that matched hers lighting his face. "I haven't been a good boy since… ever!"

Laughing, Rella went back to her painting. "I may not have known you long, Johnny, but that much I already figured out! There's a chair behind that canvas."

Nodding, John moved in the direction she had indicated. "Can I look at this one or do I have to be a good boy again and wait?"

"I thought we agreed you were never a good boy… so look as much as you want." Reaching for a fresh tube of white acrylic paint, she offered, "It's one of a series of paintings I've finished for a show I have coming up in December."

Looking up, he asked, "Is that one you're working on… the one that has you blushing, part of that series?"

Leaning around the easel to gauge his reaction, she grinned. "No… if you must know, it's going to join the ones in my bedroom."

Holding her gaze, he smirked, "I thought as much! So, am I invited to the opening of your show?"

"Of course… I'd love for you to come," she exclaimed, relieved he had brought it up.

"As your date or just a guest?"

"Well, I would hope as my date," she clarified, biting her lip in sudden nerves.

"Good. Just checking," he confirmed, studying the painting. "This is amazing! The girl looks a lot like you. Who is she?"

"That's my great-niece, Ava. My brother and sister are a lot older than me," she supplied. "My mother was fifty-one when I was born and Dad was a fifty-six. Josif and Magda were both grown with families of their own by then. I was like an only child in some respects, since my other brother, Greg, is twelve years older than me. I was closer to Ava's mom, Sophie… she's Josif's daughter, than I was to any of them until I was in my twenties. I finally grew up enough to have something in common with them."

"I'm nine years older than my brother, Bernie. After our dad died, I tried to step in and take his place… along with my Uncle Andrew." Pushing aside his lingering grief over Andrew's decision to not accept treatment for his depression-fueled dementia, John added, "Bernie and I are pretty close. His son, Sam, comes to visit me several times a year. Sam's planning to attend NYU's film school in two years, so I hope I get to see them more frequently while he's here."

Pausing, John asked a question that had been nagging at him since they met. "Can I ask… how old are you?"

Chuckling, Rella peaked at him again. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to ask a lady her age?"

Smiling, he agreed. "She mentioned it a few times, but she gave up teaching me manners eventually… you can only beat your head against a brick wall for so long!"

"Ah… that explains it!" she teased. "I'm 41… 42 in January. Why?"

Making sure there were no cats in the chair, John dropped into it cushy comfort. Within seconds, the five kittens were perched in his lap or on the arms and back of the chair. "That makes me over 12 years older than you. Does that bother you… that I'm so much older?"

"I did the math earlier, John, and no, it doesn't bother me at all," she insisted. "You're sixteen years younger than my sister would have been and almost eighteen years younger than Josif. I think we tend to define our contemporaries by the age range of our siblings, so you're well under the limit!"

"They are that much older than you?" he asked, clearly surprised.

"Yeah. My parents… Tatiana and Petre, met in Bucharest while Papa was at University and were married in 1933. Josif was born a year later. Dad is half-Jewish, Mom is half-gypsy, so they fled into the Carpathian Mountains in 1939 hopes of saving their three children from the Nazis. Stefan was only a baby and died of pneumonia the first winter," she offered, setting aside her paint brush long enough to open a small refrigerator hidden under her work table.

Extracting a chilled bottle of white wine, she handed it to him. Two glasses and a corkscrew found their way to him next. "His death nearly tore them apart. Dad joined the resistance and Mom hid with her parents until the war was over."

"I can imagine loosing a child would do that," he murmured, pulling the cork free. After pouring them both a glass of the wine, he asked, "How did your family end up in New York?"

After taking a sip from the glass he handed her, Rella picked up her brush and returned to her work. "They came here in 1947 hoping to start over. Dad finished his law degree at night school and they rebuilt their life together. They had my other brother Gregor in '52, so he's your age. I was a huge surprise coming along more than ten years later. They all spoiled me and are still very protective of me."

"Are your parents still alive? You used present tense when discussing them," he gently pressed.

Nodding, she offered, "They live in an assisted living building on the Upper West Side. I get to visit them several times a week unless they are in Florida with Josif and his wife, Maria. We lost Magda four years ago to lung cancer. She smoked heavily all of her adult life. They have begun to show their age since she died. No parent should have to bury two of their children."

"No," he agreed quietly. "My mom suffered a number of miscarriages both before and after I was born, along with two still births. She still visits their graves."

"You mentioned your mother has Roma blood during one of our phone conversations," she prompted, pausing as her stomach growled.

Laughing, John suggested, "Why don't I order us delivery? That way you can work on your painting as long as you want. It doesn't seem to be getting in the way of our talking."

Grinning, she tossed him her phone. "I have at least half-a-dozen local restaurants programmed into the memory. I'm a pretty good cook, but I don't bother very often just for me. Anyway, there's Greek, Italian, a pizza place, Chinese, Thai, Lebanese, Moroccan, and Russian… French on speed dial. There's a folder of menus in the desk next to you for those restaurants, as well as, several others. Whatever you're in the mood for is fine with me."

"I haven't had Moroccan in a long time. How's that?" he asked, finding the folder of menus with ease. Lady D began to yodel in response to his question. Stifling a laugh, John commented, "Very nice, pretty girl! I'll ask if they have any kibbi for kitties or catnip-kabobs."

"Moroccan sounds great for us, but this crew will be just as happy if you crack open the treat jars on the kitchen counter," Rella teased. "They can be bought and they aren't all that picky."

"Noted," he grinned, relaxed and comfortable with the way their evening was turning out. "Remind me to grab some when we go down for the take-out. So… what's good at this place?"

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