This was madness. Sheer, unadulterated madness. Why, she did not even know the man yet her body clamoured for him in a way she had read about but never experienced.
She should walk away. Turn on her heel and return home. She should tell him that she could no longer continue working under his roof. Possibly smacking his face for good measure.
What she absolutely, categorically should not do was encourage him at all.
"Yes," she encouraged anyway, "I do."
Time seemed suspended. Mariah could not have moved away if the Prince Regent himself had demanded it.
She waited in breathless anticipation.
She was not disappointed.
With a muttered oath, Mr. Haverton pulled her roughly toward him, grasping her waist with one strong hand, the other burying itself in her hair.
Mariah gasped at the feel of his strong, solid body pressed so closely to her own.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this should not be happening.
But then his lips crushed her own and all rational thought was silenced.
Mariah had never felt pleasure like what she was feeling right now.
His lips were hard and demanding and fuelled her need even more.
She gasped in shock at the sensations that burned through her and he took the chance to deepen the kiss.
Mariah's knees almost buckled at the feel of his tongue against her own and she was quite sure that it was only his strong arm holding her up that stopped her from melting to the ground.
A curious mix of satisfaction and a visceral need for more was surging through her, the fire that had ignited in her belly spreading through her so that even her toes tingled with the heady sensation.
As inexperienced as she was, she did not know if this was the usual way of things but she knew on some level that it could not be.
If this was how every kiss felt, nobody would ever stop. She felt right now that she would never stop.
Feeling emboldened by her desire, by the evidence of his own, Mariah tentatively mirrored his actions and the result was as immediate as it was intense.
Haverton growled and pulled her tighter still. Mariah could barely breathe but she didn't care. How could she, when he was making her feel more alive than she'd ever felt in her life?
He dragged his lips from hers but before she had the chance to feel the loss, he moved to trail them along her sensitive neck, raising yet more sensations.
Mariah moaned as her head tilted back almost of its own volition, giving him further access to her skin, pushing her even closer to his chest.
His hands, which had remained in place, began to move and he grabbed her hips, tilting her towards the evidence of his need.
Mariah rejoiced in the proof of her effect on him. Felt powerful and seductive and more like a woman than she'd ever felt in her life.
She had no idea what was happening to her but whatever it was, it wasn't enough. She wanted more, quite desperately.
"Please," she whispered brokenly, though she knew not what she was begging for.
Her plea had the exact opposite effect on him than she wanted.
He stopped immediately, froze stock still before her, with an audible curse, he pulled away. The movement was so quick that Mariah stumbled and his arms shot out to right her.
As soon as she was steady, he snatched his hands away.
Mariah felt their loss keenly.
"Dear God in heaven," he muttered, his breathing as laboured as her own.
Mariah could do nothing but gaze at him, still caught up in the dreamlike feelings he had created.
She didn't know what he was thinking but the glazed look in his eyes led her to believe that he was as surprised by what had happened as she, and he had enjoyed it just as much.
"What the hell am I doing?" he said, his tone guttural, his face a picture in self-recrimination.
Mariah dropped her eyes to gaze at the floor before her. His shame made her feel terrible. No doubt he had not meant for their kiss to go as far as it had. He had not meant for them to kiss at all, she would warrant.
He must think her an absolute wanton. Perhaps he even assumed that she gave her favours lightly. She would not blame him, not after her behaviour.
To her horror, she felt the beginnings of hot tears prickle her eyes and she turned her back so that she could dash them away.
"Oh hell, I've made you cry." He sounded miserable about it, which made her feel slightly mollified. "Miss Bolton, please do not cry. You have no need to be scared of me. I am sorry, truly sorry. I should never have touched you as I did, and the blame lies with me and me alone."
"I'm not scared. That's not why I am crying, you dolt," she snapped, so caught up in her upset that she did not even care that she was calling him names.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked horrified.
"No" she sniffed.
"Then what –"
"You must think I am a brazen harlot, and I'm not," she blurted, feeling even more tears coming and powerless to stop them.
The sound of his choked laughter had her whipping round to glare at him.