There should be a retort for that. Maybe even five, and she could pick and choose which one she wanted, if she'd be kind or cruel and why.

But there wasn't.

There was just the heat that suddenly shot through her and coiled low in her stomach at the way he breathed out that word. Dearest.

Why? Why is that so familiar? Why did she feel like she knew this?

Her lips moved to form a name she didn't recognize, and it didn't make any sense, and how terrible to be wrong and hurt him, insult him, no, she wouldn't risk it-- "Oh."

Come on, girl, get yourself together.

"Guess... I won't need the gloves, then."