Rodrigo lowered her onto the bed with more care than he had intended, his hand lingering at the small of her back, long enough to feel the heat through her clothes.
A sound escaped his lips.
This woman had absolutely no survival skills.
Heat radiated through the thin fabric of her clothes, seeping into his palm, and for a brief moment he remained there, suspended between instinct and something far less defined.
He'd carried her before he could think.
Rodrigo couldn't remember the last time he touched someone else who wasn't Seven.
His eyes studied her pale face quietly, an uneasy feeling moving through him.
Last night, and now...
Usually, he'd been repulsed with another human's touch, but he found he touched her easily. As though it was a normal thing to do.
