Page 115 of Forbidden Forget-Me-Not

“She’s not a prisoner, but I will guard her door.” Goran’s voice stayed calm.

“Then you can relax. You can sleep in the room next door.” Mr. Winterton sounded polite, though it was odd that he was lingering outside my door so early in the morning.

“I don’t relax, and I don’t need sleep. But thank you.” Goran’s tone was courteous, but an edge sharpened every word.

Mr. Winterton’s voice lowered slightly. “I would hate for her to feel watched or uncomfortable in my home.”

“Ms. Mikhailov is used to protection. She feels safest when I’m close.”

Hearing him say that made my stomach flutter. A quiet exhale left my lips.

“Well, far be it from me to interfere with your job.”

Footsteps echoed through the hallway, growing softer as they retreated.

I leaned back against the wall, my pulse racing. What would have happened if Goran wasn’t here? The thought made my stomach twist.

His words echoed in my ears. “Sometimes you just need to trust me and let me do my job.”

What made it more complicated was that he still had to present himself as hired muscle. I was his duty. His assignment. He was my protection.

But he was so much more. He was my everything.

The hallway fell silent. I seized the moment and opened the door.

Goran checked over his shoulder immediately.

I grabbed his shirt and pulled him into the room.

“What’s going⁠—”

I cut him off with a hard kiss. No explanation. No hesitation.

Goran made a low sound in his throat before I released him. His eyes were darker now, and a faint curve tugged at his mouth.

“Go to bed, you evil temptress.”

I gave him a knowing look.

“You and your duty are insufferable.”

“Yes. I am.”

He stepped back into the hallway as if nothing had happened. I closed the door, leaning against it, breathless.

Wandering over to the bed, I flopped down, curling into the blankets. Sleep finally claimed me.

The next morning, breakfast was already set when Goran and I entered the kitchen.

The nook looked out toward the barn. White linen covered the polished wood. Fine china, gleaming crystal, and silverware, so clean it sparkled, were placed at every seat. The table was laden with pancakes, bacon, fresh fruit, eggs, and hash, as if we were staying at a luxury hotel.

Dylan dabbed his mouth and stood as we approached.

“Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Well enough,” I replied.

He pulled out my chair.