He doesn't understand why she's doing what she is doing, but it isn't offensive, and it isn't hostile, and right now, that's enough. Women have always shown him a bit more kindness than other men; there have been more than a few who've tried to kill him, but they all had justifiable reasons. When he hears other men of his bent deride women as whores and sluts, he finds it incomprehensible.
J.R. is surprised by the muskiness of her blood. It talks to him, giving him clues to why she is here, or at least what such an ancient soul is doing in such a nubile body. He gets the scent of spices; the tang of old blood and steel and bodily fluids. What a life she's obviously had.
He remembers her warning and disengages sooner than he would have otherwise; even if not directly bidden to do so, he feels like showing he can follow orders.