The carriage lurched once more as it hit another bump on the road, and Circe's balance went with it.
One moment she sat primly at Ragnar's side, trying to maintain her composure, and the next she tipped toward him in a slow, helpless glide. Her shoulder bumped his arm, her hip pressing firmly into his thigh. A soft, breathless sound escaped her, sounding like a startled gasp, as she caught herself against the solid wall of his chest.
His hand tightened around her, strong fingers closing around her upper arm to steady her. The familiar scent of him—sandalwood, leather, and something distinctly him—wrapped around her, clouding her senses until she couldn't think straight.
For a suspended heartbeat, she didn't move away.
"Careful," Ragnar murmured, his voice low and smooth, the single word brushing against her skin like velvet. "The road is quite uneven."
