"Ah," breathing lightly only through force of will alone, "I'd appreciate if you held off doing that for now, Miss Roxanna. At least until I'm not driving. Road, focus; it's all getting a little difficult to maintain with you, the hand, and everything," he finally admitted, willing to play it safer than bolder when it involved the potential of swerving off the road. Once home, then she was welcome to accost him with those delightful hands as much as she wanted when he bustled her into his room. Hopefully, it was late enough not many servants would be up. He could wish for a bit of luck after all the misfortune pouring down on him.
"Fangs," he quoted, finally slowing the vehicle and pulling over to gaze at her seriously. Sobered. "And here," he pushed a hand into his hair, watching her as the fingers tugged themselves through the wavy mess, "I was hoping for a simple, pleasant evening of vanilla ice cream and my bed, in some sort of order, and not being attacked for food. Was I going to be your meal tonight?" His hand draped over the steering wheel, loose. "I do, it's my familiar." The way he said the last part was very serious.