Glancing down, Marcus saw that her knuckles were white, and when he looked back at her face, he saw that she was blindly staring at the seat back in front of her. Her expression was stark with terror and perfectly mirrored the way he also felt. The plane leveled out and bumped along, reminding him of a mogul skier racing down a steep mountain slope, before resuming its shuddering descent to O’Hare airport. “Oh, God,” Claudia murmured to herself. That did it. He could suffer through the fear if he had to, but Claudia’s fear, he discovered to his own surprise, was unacceptable. The need to make this ordeal easier on her rose up in him, primitive and urgent, and he went with it. “Claudia,” he said, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand, “talk to me.” She blinked and slowly turned to face him. “What?” “Tell me something about you.
