Abraxas M has never been a well-behaved boy, and now, as a man, he is even worse. His upbringing in a stifling household under the iron rule of his mad parents has shaped him into a thoroughly unpleasant person.

When they arranged a suitable fiancée for him, his rotten nature drove him to defy them and try to disgrace the witch in the most ghastly manner.

He is not noble; his play with women is always fleeting, rarely lasting more than a night or an hour. He never imagined he would be drawn to her, let alone fall hopelessly in love. Yet, much to his surprise, he did.

He became so utterly besotted with her that he can't imagine being with anyone else. While he tried to act like a gentleman around her, he couldn't fool himself about his true inclinations. He longs to make her his own, to mark her with his unmistakable touch; claiming her.

The man watches her in fascination as her graceful fingers guide the needle, stitching a delicate pattern on the fabric stretched tight in the round hoop. Her long strands dance in the breeze coming through the open door, brushing lightly against her cheeks. Her legs swing gently as if to the rhythm of some lullaby, her bare feet occasionally tapping softly on the floor.

She is breathtakingly beautiful. Especially today, on the eve of their wedding, he feels an irresistible urge. Abraxas yearns for something far more than the silly, chaste kiss expected at the altar. He wants to steal a kiss from her⎯passionate and greedy. With a careful yet trembling hand, he reaches out and takes the wooden hoop from her palms, putting it on the settee.

“Just one kiss, oh,” he coaxes. The tip of his polished black boot slowly slides between her ankles. His grip around her wrist tightens, his thumb brushing over her pulse point as he measures her heartbeat against his own.

Abraxas's breath wafts over her parted lips in a tantalising whisper, “Please?” He does not lean in for the kiss; instead, he waits, seeking her permission with a gaze full of awe.