Lee is still slightly unsure, but he would know better than her, she thinks — Michael Ginsberg is not the most sensible person, nor does he have the best judgment, but what's great about that is that neither does Lee, which means that between the two of them they are completely incapable of making good or responsible decisions — so she turns, facing him. Her free hand cups his cheek as she leans down and kisses him.
It's very chaste, her mouth is closed, but she lingers there. She stayed at his place overnight but she wasn't awake when he left in the morning — if Lee is woken before her customary twelve hours of sleep all she does is crack an eye open, growl, and bury her face under a blanket — so she hasn't had her quota filled today, see.