Merchant watched Baiba’s sleepy smile wither the instant she saw him. She started to shut the door, but he stopped it with his hand. “We need to talk. It’s important.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.” She pushed against the door.
He exerted an equal and opposing force. Now was not the time to overpower her. “You don’t understand, Baiba. I—”
“I understand perfectly. You put something into that drink. You took advantage of me. I don’t even know how I got home. And my neck—my body—now let go of my door.”
He did not let go. He watched Baiba’s delicate hand touch the scarf she had coiled around her neck, and he remembered his fingers around her neck last night. Just thinking about it made him want to fuck her again. With his free hand, he held up the small robin’s-egg blue bag. “I brought you something.”
“I don’t want any more of your gifts.”
But he saw her study the bag. She would know that the small box inside the bag held a gift more expensive than any of his previous offerings, and she would want to know how much he had been willing to spend to secure her “forgiveness” for last night. He knew the rules of the game he played. If you took, you had to give in return. “Go on.” He smiled. “Open it. I think you’re going to like it.”
Still Baiba did not budge. She was playing her part, he thought. She didn’t want to appear too willing to capitulate. She wanted his moment of submission to last a little longer. Right now, she would be relishing his supplication. Well, let her enjoy it, he thought. He wasn’t worried. Sooner or later she would look in the box. Women always opened the box. “I hope you like it,” he whispered.
And true to his prediction, she took the bag from him. She reached inside, brought out the small, ribboned box, and then, in a fluid continuation of motion, she cocked her arm up and over her shoulder and pitched the box like a fastball. It narrowly missed his head and landed on the stairwell. “That’s how much I like it.”
Merchant turned to look behind him. The dented Tiffany box lay on its side against the wall at the foot of the stairs. Her little outburst made him want to drag her to the bed right now and spank—no, throttle—her, but now was not the time to punish her. Instead, he smirked appreciatively. “You just threw away five and a half karats.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want your payoff.”
“It’s a gift.”
“You’re paying me off. You don’t think I know what these gifts are all about?” She glared. “You want to keep me quiet. You think I don’t know that? Well, guess what? I sold the last one. I cashed it in on Forty-Seventh Street for three thousand dollars.”
His anger coagulated into cold fury at himself. Not only had he overestimated Baiba’s sexual gameness, but he had underestimated her vindictiveness. He stared at the box and considered his next step. If he went to retrieve the box, she would probably slam her door on him. If, on the other hand, he entered her apartment, leaving the box where it was, someone might pocket a twenty-five thousand dollar pair of earrings. He shrugged. You didn’t close deals with hesitation. He counted to three and pressed his weight into the door so suddenly that Baiba lost balance. As she stepped back to regain her footing, he moved inside and bolted the door behind him. “Let’s talk. Just talk.” He spoke calmly.
“No you don’t.” He smiled. She liked his smile, he knew. He had felt her staring at his mouth that first night at the Four Seasons. She had wanted to kiss him even before they’d had wine. “But you’re very angry with me,” he added. “You probably want to hit me. Go ahead. I understand how you feel. I was wrong. I just wanted you so much, Baiba. It’s hard to control myself with you. I went a little too far.”
“A little?”
“I went too far.” He held her deep blue eyes. A rush of blood was making him stiff. He saw her notice his erection. “No other woman has ever made me feel like this, Baiba. No one. Ever.” Her arms were crossed, but he felt her resolve start to waver. “And I want to hear everything you have to say to me, Baiba.” Wooing her back after such an egregious violation was an irresistible challenge. He made his voice sound perfectly sincere and convincing. The words he spoke didn’t matter; it was all in the delivery. Baiba wanted to believe he cared about her. She was looking for the evidence. He just had to give it to her. He moved over to the small round table near her tiny pass-through kitchen, took off his gray suit jacket—no sense getting that wrinkled—and hung it on the back of a chair. “May I sit?” But he didn’t wait for her answer.
She uncrossed her arms and moved them to her hips. “I have nothing to say to you.” But he could hear her inner thoughts. Make me feel better. Tell me I’m special to you. Be the daddy I never had.
“You make me crazy when you’re angry,” he said. “I want you so much right now. I want you to sit on my lap.”
She looked uncertain. “I think you should leave.”
And then he called in the big guns. “I can’t leave you, Baiba. I’m in love with you.”