THE DARE (G!P Freenbecky)

Chapter 22

Lying in the large bathroom in her hotel suite, the tub filled with blissfully hot water and whatever sort of bubble bath had been in the generously sized guest bottle on the sink, Freen stared up at the ceiling and admitted defeat.

She didn't know how she was going to approach Becky.

She didn't like following her around without her knowing about it. It smacked of stalking, and she certainly didn't want her to think of her in that way.

But she wanted to see her again; she was sure of that.

Freen couldn't seem to stop remembering the night they'd spent together. Her thoughts kept coming back to that moment in time. It had been the most sensually incredible night of her entire life, and she'd had plenty of nights of sensuous experiences.

If nothing else, she wanted to know why she'd done it, why she'd thrown caution to the wind and chosen to lose her virginity that particular way. And why with her?

'Not that I'm complaining.' No, that night with Becky held nothing but the happiest of memories for her. Becky had shocked her out of her rut. Heng had been right; she'd been in a serious funk, all work and no play. And it had taken a free-spirited dancer in a Mardi Gras mask with a smart mouth and sharp wit to knock her right out of it!

Now all she had to do was figure out a way to meet her. Legitimately, no more of this skulking around stuff. Her body couldn't take much more of being contorted in the cold.

But it was more than that, more than any physical discomfort on her part. She'd told Becky at the wedding not to go and try to make the whole encounter with Mon something it wasn't. The trouble was, at the time, Freen knew she'd had no idea what had happened. Becky—as Mon the dancer — had simply blown into her life that night and knocked her for a loop. She'd stunned her.

Becky was like no other woman she'd ever encountered.

And the only thing she was sure of was that she really liked woman she was around her, the person she became. She loved the way she made her feel, and not just sexually. She felt more alive when she was around her.

Freen sighed, settled back more deeply into the hot water.

It was simply time to regroup. She reached over to the room service tray and picked up another shrimp, dabbed it in cocktail sauce, and swiftly ate it. One thing you could count on in London: the seafood was always first class.

Her cell phone rang, and she reached for it, right next to the tub where she'd placed it.

"Freen here."

"Freen!" Heng said. Just what she needed, a problem at work or at home.

"What's wrong? Is Riley okay?" She'd left her golden retriever, Riley, with Heng during the bachelor party at her house and had asked her friend to take care of her dog while she was out of town.

Heng laughed. "Nothing! Riley and I are fine. We took a long run by Lake Michigan the other day. Hey, can't I just call you to say hello and see how things are going?"

"I suppose you can."

Heng laughed again. "You don't sound too happy. What's going on?"

Freen thought for a minute, then said, "How much vacation time do I have coming?"

"Let's see— at four weeks per year, and six years without taking any vacation time at all, that comes out to your having six months of paid leave."

Freen stared morosely at her plate of shrimp and cocktail sauce. "I may have to take it all."

"Does this have anything to do with that little dancer?"

Freen found herself annoyed by the hint of laughter in her business partner's voice.

"Oh, never mind—"

"Listen Freen, the reason I called is that I was thinking about what you were up to, and there's this woman I know—"

"No more of these women, Heng—"

"No, not that kind of woman, this woman is in her late sixties, she knows everyone in London, and— well, I asked her about a certain Becky Armstrong, and she claims to know quite a lot about her and the grandfather she lives with."

Freen sat up in the bathtub, sloshing bubbly water all over the white marble floor. She remembered some of the details she'd read about Becky on the dance troupe's web site, including her training and her grandfather.

"You've got my attention."

"Her name is Danielle Tallant, and she said you could call her and come over for dinner anytime, just give her chef a couple of hours notice."

Sloshing out of the tub, slipping every which way, Freen walked into the living area of her suite, holding the cell phone to her ear, and reached for one of the hotel pads of paper and a pen.

"Okay. I've got a pen."

Swiftly she wrote down the woman's name, address, and phone number.

"It's the only way it can work," Heng said emphatically.

"With high society, you need a connection, and this woman is a great one."

"I owe you, buddy."

"Don't mention it. Just give Becky Mon my best. Oh, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Sure thing." Freen hung up and set the phone down on the desk, then picked up the pad of paper carefully with her wet hand and studied the address, in a very exclusive area of the city.

No time like the present.

She dialed the number.

As soon as she stated who she was to the phone machine, the receiver on the other end picked up.

"Freen Chankimha," The woman's voice on the other end of the line fairly purred, and she pictured a huge white persian cat on the other end of the line. "I've been expecting your call. Your friend Heng is quite an entertaining man."

"Isn't he ever," Freen felt her entire body tense, filled with impatience. "I'd like to take you out to dinner. Tonight."

"My, aren't we forceful. How about dinner at my place, say, about eight?"

"Sounds good. I'll be there."

"Anything you're allergic to or can't eat?"

"Nope."

"Any favorite foods?"

Freen smiled. "You pick for me."

She hung up the phone, then padded into the bathroom, got into the tub, lay back, and picked up another shrimp.

Things were definitely looking up.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Heng had said.

"Which means," Freen whispered to the empty bathroom, "All's fair....."

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