I want Claire so f*****g much it’s insane. I can’t get enough of her, never satisfied, and I know that’s dangerous.
I’m dressed in a white dress shirt tucked into black pants, sleeves rolled to my elbows, watching her fix her hair into a sleek ponytail. She’s putting herself together while I should be going to interrogate Solovsky. They finally caught the bastard, and yet here I am, wanting to spend the day with Claire. Even if it’s just talking like last night, or listening to those quiet giggles that get under my skin.
She’s got that thoughtful look again, meaning she has questions. I don’t need to guess what about. She wants to know what I’m doing. It bothers her. Of course it does. No good woman would be fine knowing her husband kills people and runs organized crime.
She doesn’t nee
