It seemed every expectation he had about what it meant to be with February Lynch was being challenged tonight. Before now, her fingers combing through her hair had been a way to evoke more passion from him; it had driven him crazy. Now, however, the feeling of her hands in his hair was comforting more than anything.

"That might have been suspicious," he murmured, gently tugging her skirt free from its place trapped between his and her legs. His hands began to wander, though it was a mindless gesture—a display of his comfort with her. Though despite his movements, there was an ounce of hesitation; it was hard to forget that they weren't in public and not in her family's kitchen, but rather in the comfort and safety of his home.

He chuckled against her lips, and, with the comfort of knowing not even the nosiest servants would have a word to say, rolled them to the side so she was lying with her back against the couch seat.

"One of our group members turned into a cat," he said, pushing himself out of his position so he could hover over her. "I considered giving him to you as a gift—and to him as a punishment—before realizing that would mean sending an adult man into your home, albeit in the form of your newest feline companion," he explained, visibly amused, before kissing her once more.

---