His burning passion entwined her in a tempest of desire—until her heart could do nothing but melt beneath his touch.
-------------------------------------------
Walapa, Suraj's mother, had reached out to Anchana many times. At last, the young woman turned to her own mother for guidance before making a decision.
"Mum… I don't know what to do. Should I ask for a trial before agreeing to this marriage contract?" she asked, her voice carrying both anxiety and hope.
"You might speak with Aunt Bell," Anya suggested gently. "I heard that before she wed her husband, she, too, made certain agreements. Perhaps she could offer some advice. I understand you, my dear."
"And what about Dad?" Anchana asked anxiously, worried about Attapol's feelings.
"Talk to him tonight," her mother said with a sigh. "When I spoke with him earlier", he only said, "Why must we force our daughter?"
Meanwhile, Kangsadan relayed Anchana's request for a trial period to Walapa. The two mothers agreed that giving the young couple time together might help them adjust to their upcoming marriage.
Soon, Suraj consented to let Anchana stay at his hotel suite—the same place where they had first met. Their second meeting carried a new tension, softer yet more dangerous than the first.
"Please, come in," he said as he opened the door, his gaze steady.
Anchana offered a polite bow. She did not want this encounter to begin on the wrong note.
"No need for formality," he said with a faint smile.
"Tradition matters," she replied softly. "So… what would you like me to do today, besides sitting here and watching over you?"
"Do you have a way to bring back my memories?" he asked with a hint of challenge.
She shook her head. "No… I wasn't given any instructions."
"Then do whatever you wish," he said. Yet in his eyes she saw something warmer than before, a faint connection she could not name.
Anchana sat scrolling on her phone, searching for information about brain rehabilitation after trauma that had caused temporary memory loss.
"Um… would you like to cook something together?" she suggested gently.
"Perfect. This afternoon then—what should we eat? You decide," he replied, though he rarely liked having lunch.
"I usually wake up late, so breakfast and lunch are one meal for me—brunch. Around four in the afternoon I'll have a snack. You can pick."
"How about dumplings…?" She suggested.
"I don't like greasy, spicy, sour, or salty food."
"Wow… so you like it really bland?"
"Fresh spring rolls—do you like those?" Anchana showed him a picture on her phone.
"Those are fine." He arched a brow playfully, looking rather cheerful.
"Then I'll go down and buy the fresh ingredients."
He handed her his credit card.
"Um… it won't cost much. I can pay." She tried to give it back, but he pressed it firmly into her hand again.
"Don't overthink it. I won't charge you principal or interest…"
Her breath caught at those words—they reminded her of the clash they once had. Clearly, fragments of memory still lingered within him.
"...Sigh." She looked straight at him. He must have realized.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, taking her hand and brushing his thumb over her palm.
For a moment, she thought: every person carries both light and shadow, but the ability to apologize—that was a kind of goodness.
Anchana disappeared for nearly two hours, delighting in her shopping spree. She returned with armfuls of fresh produce and seasonings, setting them down at the door before pressing the bell.
"Wait half an hour, please…" His voice drifted from the intercom.
Perplexed, she left the groceries neatly stacked outside and went down to the reception, asking the staff to temporarily store everything in the housekeeping area.
When she returned half an hour later, Suraj opened the door immediately. Anchana froze. Inside, a woman was zipping a large travel bag shut. She glanced back, smiling lightly.
"What time tomorrow, sir?"
"I'll call you next week," he replied with a nod.
The door closed behind her, leaving Suraj brimming with energy.
"Come, let's start. The groceries you bought are right there; a housekeeper already brought them up."
"Yes…" Anchana replied, her mind filled with questions that might not be posed.
'Who was that woman? Was she… a service companion?' She swallowed her curiosity. If only she were not only an outsider.
"Could you wash the vegetables?" she asked while preparing the counter.
"Let me change first. Fifteen minutes, then I'll help."
He disappeared into his room. Soon, the scent of body wash filled the air as he reemerged, drying his hair with a small towel.
"Alright… where are we now?"
"I soaked the vegetables in the solution already. Just strain them out to dry."
He leaned close, near her neck, the sharp cologne unmistakable. Clearly, he knew how to wield fragrance like a weapon of charm.
"Hmm… my mother said we argued the first time we met. Is that true?"
"What do you remember… exactly?" Anchana turned, almost brushing against his chest.
"Nothing at all… tell me after dinner." He smiled.
She busied herself slicing vegetables, laying fillings on wrappers. Together they rolled the spring rolls—his clumsy folds oddly endearing. Perhaps these small acts might stir his memory.
"What about the dipping sauce?" he asked.
"No, I bought bottled. Easier, and useful for other dishes too."
Suraj brewed hot green tea and handed her a cup, his gaze unyielding.
"I think… did we drink green tea here that day?" he pressed.
"No. You didn't offer me anything. I wasn't hungry, just waiting… for you."
"For me? What did I do?"
"Something… personal. I can't say."
"What could I have done? Ha!" He laughed, then grew quiet.
"My aunt told me we danced together at a club."
"Yes. You invited me. But you had another woman with you."
"That must have been Nicharat. She visited me… though not anymore."
His tone was detached, as if past events were nothing but a dream.
"And childhood? Do you recall anything?"
"Of course. I loved amusement parks. I even trained with a pistol once."
"So, you remember your childhood—how much?"
"I don't understand." He frowned in doubt.
"A few memories?"
"That's all."
"And last year?" she pressed softly.
"I was in Paris. With a woman. Nicharat, I think."
"That's all?"
"Mmm… I liked her. Very romantic."
Anchana's lips tightened. She dared not ask further. He seemed too eager to recount that woman.
"Tell me. Did we ever… sleep together? Right?" His English startled her—his language skills were still intact.
"No. Never. We only met that day… and then the accident."
His face tensed, hands clutching his temples.
"What's wrong? Headache?" Anchana rushed to soothe him, rubbing his neck gently.
He exhaled shakily, leaning into her touch. She kneaded up to his crown, and he murmured—voice low, heated.
Her breath caught. "Don't… don't. I'm not… giving you permission…" Her voice was soft and intermittent.
But Suraj's voice was fevered, desperate. Memories of Paris burned behind his eyes, tangled with the woman who once enthralled him.
"Please, stay with me tonight…" Suraj murmured, carrying Anchana to the bedroom.
Anchana's whispers trembled, "No… we've never… please don't…"
"How do you like it?" His voice was husky with desire as he drew her closer. Anchana felt her breath catch, every nerve alive beneath his touch.
The world fell away when his hands traced along her skin, her soft moans rising with each tender caress. The sound intoxicated him, pulling him deeper into a hunger that was more than physical—it was a need that consumed him.
He gathered her in his arms, lifting her effortlessly, guiding her into a rhythm that set her heart racing. Every movement stole another fragment of her innocence, leaving in its place a fire she had never known.
Anchana trembled, caught between fear and rapture.
"I can't… I can't bear it," she whispered, though her body clung to him, unable to let go.
"You make me lose myself," he murmured against her ear, his breath warm, his words fierce with longing.
"I'm mad for you… only you."
It was a night of firsts—his first step beyond the shadows of recovery, and her first taste of passion's overwhelming power. In each other's arms, they crossed a threshold from which neither could ever return.