pillows, Allie gasped in a deep breath that seemed to be biting down on a scream.
Hudson shot up with her. âWhatâs the matter?â He slipped an arm around her shoulders and he could feel the cold sweat that had dampened every inch of her skin. The penthouse heater was blowing on full blastânot to mention she was sleeping next to him, a living furnace as Allie frequently pointed outâyet she was ice-cold and shivering.
âAre you okay?â He gently swept her blond hair away from her face.
âIâm fine.â Allie wiped at her eyes before meeting his concerned gaze. Her words were meant to reassure, but what he was seeing didnât jive with what she was selling.
Hudson lifted a brow and scrutinized every nuance of her face.
âReally, I am,â she said again. But this time she didnât look at him, focusing her attention instead on the bedding. She smoothed out the blankets and rolled them back in a thick fold. Yeah, he wasnât buying this bullshit. His beautiful, perfect, and downright brilliant woman didnât sound right. In fact, the tone in her voice was all wrong.
âTalk to me, Allie.â
Allie closed her eyes and sagged as she blew out a breath. Heâd been through the sleep-time PTSDs and knew from experience that she was trying to shake off the remnants of whatever images had been playing on repeat in her head. And heâd bet a million to one that it wasnât some far-flung nightmare conjured from fantasy. Not when reality had been so much worse than any horror movie. So many times after pulling himself out of the night terrors, heâd wished it had all just been a bad dream and not segments of his reality burping its way through his psyche. Because thatâs the shit that stayed with you. Like a bad stain on your favorite shirt.
âItâs just sometimes . . .â
Hudson dipped his head to catch her eye. âSometimes?â
âReally, itâs nothing. Just a dream.â Allie gave him a half-assed smile. âLetâs go back to sleep.â
She tried to pull away but Hudson wasnât having it. âAlessandra, youâre evading. And if I recall, that crap didnât fly when I attempted to pull the same routine with you.â
Allie refocused on him, then hesitated. Sadness from one hell of the nightmare was in her eyes. He pulled her against his chest and leaned back against the pillows. Holding her tight, he felt her finally relax into him.
âTake your time, baby. What was it about?â
She swallowed hard as if the blackness was still closing in on her and retelling the horror of it all was grabbing at her throat.
âMostly images from that night.â Allie paused and drew a deep breath through her nose. âI close my eyes and I see it all over again.â She didnât specify which night and she didnât have to. Hudson knew she was referring to the evening sheâd arrived at her childhood home to find her parents lying in pools of their own blood. âYou know, when I was little I used to sneak down that hall to my dadâs office. Heâd be in there most nights and nearly every weekend, but when I would peek my head around the door heâd smile and wave me in.â She was looking at him but her gaze was distant. âIâd sit in one of those big leather chairs, swinging my feet back and forth while he talked on the phone, and when he was done heâd ask me about school or my dolls or dance class.â The corner of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. âAnd heâd always have a butterscotch candy for me when I left.â
Allie looked down at her hands. Her fingers were clutching a section of the bed sheet. âI used to hate the way my mom obsessed over every detail of that gaudy dining room. But she loved it. Her own mini Versailles, she used to say. Then Julianâs shooter riddled those mirrors with bullet holes. Now whenever I