Rule No. 1: Don’t be too emotional : Chapter 42

Touch me If you’re not I’m going to touch myself anyway

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“So do it.

” I went silent when he answered like that, his eyes locking onto mine with a challenge that made my blood boil.

“What are you waiting for?” The tall figure leaned in, pressing his searing lips against mine. What started as a faint graze exploded into a passionate struggle where neither of us would back down. I felt the slick wetness around my lips as he nipped and sucked at my mouth. I hiked myself up to sit astride his lap… Snap! The sound of a finger snapping jolted me from my trance. I found myself back in reality, staring into those sharp, shimmering eyes. He was still sitting opposite me, having barely moved.

“Jane? What are you spacing out for?”

“Uh… nothing, P’.”

“I asked you just now-if we’re going to ‘do it, ‘ what are we doing?”” Huh? Do what?” He stared at me with a gaze that seemed to X-ray my very heart. Oh, drop dead. My heart was still thumping from the daydream. I prayed he couldn’t read my mind, or I’d have nowhere to hide my face.

“Killing time before Jamie finishes school. Didn’t you ask me what we should do?”

“Oh, er… I don’t know. You decide, P’.” I awkwardly ran my hands through my hair, looking incredibly suspicious. He kept scouting my face before-did he just offer a tiny smile? It was too fast to tell.

“Where are my suit and umbrella?”

“Oh! I brought them. Wait a second!” I scurried over to the wardrobe, opening several doors before finding the Armani suit. I handed them to him. He took the hanger with two fingers and slung the umbrella over his shoulder. He looked like a lead actor from a K-drama. Good lord, am I really this obsessed with him? Even back when we were dating, I wasn’t this blinded by his every move. The power of distance and reunion is a terrifying thing.

“I’ll pick Jamie up myself today. You start officially tomorrow.” I nodded vigorously, not daring to look him in the eye. I stared at the padlock pendant around his neck instead.

“Anyway… get some rest,” he said softly before turning to leave. As soon as the door shut, I clutched my hair and let out a silent scream. What is wrong with me? How am I letting thirty-two-year-old Jane Patrick rouse my desires so easily? The next morning, I fell into my routine as a nanny-tutor. I woke Jamie up, helped him with his morning tasks, and headed down to breakfast. P’Jane appeared, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. His eyes were dark-rimmed, and he was yawning as he munched on plain toast.

“You look so bad,” Jamie teased.

“Shut up, pumpkin head,” P’Jane shot back.

“No bad words in the house!” I blurted out. They both looked at me like I was an alien.

“We’ve spoken like this for ages,” P’Jane argued.” And that wasn’t a bad word.”

“Maybe you should use the word ‘quiet’ instead of ‘shut up, ‘” I countered in Thai.

“He’s only nine. Do you want him picking up bad habits?” P’Jane looked like he wanted to argue, but he just downed his milk in one go.

“Fine. Hey, pumpkin head, show him where to go.” I followed Jamie to the back of the house, where I found a private pier. P’Jane was there, putting out a cigarette. He stepped onto a luxury Sea Ray speedboat and took the captain’s seat.

“Come in, Lil’ Jane!” Jamie called .

P’Jane reached out a hand to help me board. The moment our skin touched, I felt a rush of heat. I breathed in his scent-that unique mix of cold fragrance and faint tobacco. It had been five years since I felt his hand in mine. As we sped down the Chao Phraya River, P’Jane played music on the boat’s high-end speakers-Lowkey by NIKI.

The lyrics were… suggestive, to say the least.

“This isn’t a good song for a kid!” I yelled over the wind.

“The lyrics are about sex and affairs!” P’Jane didn’t argue. He just switched the track to Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

“Smartass,” I muttered, while Jamie happily sang along. Over the next week, I worked hard at “thirst-trapping” P’Jane. I’m done being shy. I’ll say it straight: I was trying to seduce him. But he was a fortress. He remained so calm it was frustrating.

One morning, I saw him in the kitchen making coffee. I was wearing a thin white shirt with three buttons undone, purposely revealing my pale skin and the key pendant.

“P’, could you make me a hot chocolate too?” He nodded and started the machine. As we both reached for our cups in the narrow space between the counters, our bodies pressed together. I looked up at him with “innocent” eyes. P’Jane’s gaze dropped to my chest. He looked like he was struggling to look away.

“Your… button,” he rasped.

“What about it?” I asked innocently. He reached out as if to fix it-or perhaps to do something else-but then he abruptly turned away.

“It’s undone. Fix it yourself.” He grabbed his coffee and bolted upstairs. I smirked. I knew he was holding back. A few days later, I was in the garden when I heard a throat clear behind me. I turned and gasped. P’Jane was there, and he was shirtless. He was wearing Adidas joggers and trainers, his body glistening with sweat. He wasn’t the lean guy I once knew; he was packed with hard, defined muscle. A perfect chocolate six-pack.

“Weather’s nice. Wanted to workout outside,” he said stoically, holding a jump rope. I stood there, paralyzed, swallowing hard. I watched him skip rope with the intensity of a boxer. The maids were giggling nearby. Suddenly, a surge of jealousy hit me.

“That’s enough!” I snapped. He stopped and looked at me, surprised by my harsh tone.

“I mean… it’s too hot. You’ll faint. Go use the AC in the gym.”

“Is something wrong?” he asked, dripping with sweat and looking devastatingly handsome.

“Nothing! I’m just worried about you. I’m going to pick up Jamie now!” I spun around and marched to my car, slamming my forehead against the steering wheel once I was inside. Stupid! You just showed how jealous you are! That night, I sat on my bed in thin, silk pajamas, The room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp. I couldn’t get the image of him out of my head-the shirtless workout, the way he handled the boat, the way he looked in the elevator. I thought about his strong hands, the veins tracing his forearms. I imagined him kneeling before me with that wicked smile he used to have.

“Do you like it, Jane?” his imaginary voice whispered.

“I can’t… I can’t take it, P’Jane,” I moaned to the empty room.

“Wait a little longer, baby,” the voice teased. I called out his name as I finally reached my limit, collapsing against the pillows, gasping for air. My heart was still racing when- Knock, knock!

“Jane? It’s me. Open the door.”