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“Let’s talk about it later,” I placated him.

“I want to talk about it now.”

“Aaron,” I began, “you––”

He laughed. “Being with me is going to be terrible for you.”

“In what way?”

“In the being-taken-seriously way.” He snorted out a laugh.

“I can shoot somebody. I bet that would let them know I meant business.”

“Stop. Just think about it for a second.”

“Gimme an example.”

“Okay, let’s say you show up at a crime scene, and before you can even ask a question, the press is there, and they’ll yell out crap like, Hey, we saw you on TV at the black-tie event to open the new exhibit at the Field Museum. How were the hors d’oeuvres, Detective?”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “And you’ll go places with me, and I’ll get out and then you. And you think they went after you in Vegas? Oh, baby, when you’re in your tux, standing next to me, it will be insane.”

I absorbed that.

“Your days of ever going undercover again are over.”

But I’d already known that.

“We’re talking about newspapers, magazines, the web … I mean, people will google Aaron Sutter’s boyfriend, and your picture will pop up.”

Yes, it would.

“You need to be ready for this. Are you truly understanding⁠—”

“I got it,” I said, reaching for him, sliding my hand inside the collar of his shirt so I could touch his warm skin.

He flinched.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your hand is freezing.” He sounded worried. “Why are you freezing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you hold me?”

“Sure.” I grinned.

“No, idiot. I mean, will it hurt you if I get in your lap and give you some of my body heat?”

“No. C’mere. Make with the heat.”

“Such a hedonist you are.”

“I dunno what that means,” I said, leaning back so he could get up and then sit down in my lap, straddling my thighs. “You wanna maybe—oh.”

He wrapped me in his arms, and only with him against me did I realize how cold I was.