Falling for Dante (A Clean Slate Novel Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Prologue - Erica

  Chapter 1 - Erica

  Chapter 2 - Dante

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4 - Erica

  Chapter 5 - Dante

  Chapter 6 - Erica

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8 - Dante

  Chapter 9 - Erica

  Chapter 10 - Dante

  Chapter 11 - Erica

  Chapter 12 - Dante

  Chapter 13 - Erica

  Chapter 14 - Dante

  Chapter 15 - Erica

  Chapter 16 - Dante

  Chapter 17 - Erica

  Chapter 18 - Dante

  Chapter 19 - Erica

  Chapter 20 - Dante

  Chapter 21 - Erica

  Chapter 22 - Dante

  Chapter 23 - Erica

  Chapter 24 - Dante

  Chapter 25 - Erica

  Chapter 26 - Erica

  Chapter 27 - Dante

  Chapter 28 - Erica

  Chapter 29 - Erica

  Chapter 30 - Dante

  Chapter 31 - Dante

  Chapter 32 - Erica

  Chapter 33 - Erica

  Chapter 34 - Dante

  Chapter 35 - Erica

  Chapter 36 - Dante

  Chapter 37 - Erica

  Chapter 38 - Dante

  Chapter 39 - Erica

  Epilogue - Dante

  Invitation

  Did you enjoy this book?

  Also by DJ Hunnam

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Falling for Dante

  A Clean Slate Novel, Book 2

  Copyright © 2017 by DJ Hunnam

  ISBN: 978-0-9986318-3-7

  (Ebook)

  This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Edited by RJ Locksley

  Cover image © Shutterstock/Mimage Photography

  Cover Design by © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, LLC

  I fell for my brother's best friend when I was just a kid. He broke my heart one unforgettable night at a frat house party. Now he's back and ready for another shot. There's just one problem. I'm damaged goods.

  I'm a demon... on and off the football field. The only thing I like more than scoring touchdowns is scoring with the ladies. When my best friend's little sister begs me to take her virginity, I'm not surprised. Erica has had a crush on me since she was an awkward fourteen-year-old. So I do what any man would.

  I reject her.

  Fast-forward five years and Erica has blossomed into one irresistible woman. Too bad she still hates my guts. Convincing her to give me another chance might be the hardest play I've ever had to execute. But I'm willing to give it the old college try.

  I'm a fool... for falling for Dante. He stole the playbook to my heart when I was just a kid, and has been running defense with his ever since.

  I offered him everything. My heart. My soul. My body. His rejection propelled me into a world where my innocence was the price for admission.

  Now I'm running scared. From my past. From my present. From the feelings that Dante stirs up every time he's around. It's only a matter of time before I trip and fall into the arms of the only man I've ever loved. But will the fall come at a premium my heart can't afford?

  ***FREE COPY OF THE PREQUEL NOVEL TO THE CLEAN SLATE SERIES!***

  Don't forget to grab your free copy of Drowning in Talon, the prequel novel to the Clean Slate Series. Details are at the back of the book.

  Happy Reading!

  I was falling.

  Weightless and free.

  Not even the dull thud of my body meeting the concrete floor jarred me from the dark abyss pulling at my consciousness.

  "Oh, shit," a masculine voice hissed. Attempting to look up was an exercise in futility, the neurons in my brain misfiring. A strange salinity coated my tongue, but I couldn't swallow past the bitterness.

  "Help me get her onto the couch."

  "How much did you give her?" asked another man. His baritone was familiar, but my mind struggled to place it.

  "The same as always. Erica, can you hear me? Wake up. I need you to wake up."

  I opened my eyes, but it was like looking through frosted glass. Shadowed forms crept in and out of view before disappearing again. A giggle bubbled up my throat as my eyes drooped shut.

  Wrapped in a sweet cocoon of darkness, I didn't have to worry about exercise and inches dropped, each pound of flesh I lost the price paid for my sanity. Every so often muffled voices rattled around in my head, but nothing permeated the blissful fog.

  Was I dreaming? I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn't. I tried to scream, but the sound came out a muted squeak. Fear coiled tight in my chest as I considered the possibility that I was in some sick nightmare from which I would never wake.

  "Dante," I moaned, invoking the name of the only man I'd ever loved. My mind conjured his form to life, a wispy apparition. Instead of the professional athlete who decimated his opponents on the football field, the nineteen-year-old boy I'd met all those years ago smiled at me from the doorway to my parents' library.

  The pungent aroma of oak and leather-bound books permeated my senses. With the exception of a massive brick fireplace and a wall of windows, the room was filled with bookshelves. Rolling ladders ornamented several of the taller ones, while comfortable chairs and a leather couch were centered in the middle of the expansive room.

  This room was my sole sanctuary in my parents' Vermont mansion. Not even my bedroom was free from my mother's meddling. Snow coated the immaculate grounds, but it was warm inside, the cozy glow of the fire warding off any chill.

  Dante walked in further, my heart ricocheting with each of his steps. Tall and lean with muscles wrapped taut in brown skin the color of Viennese nougat, Dante was masculine perfection. He sauntered closer, his pitch-black eyes piercing me in place as his sensual lips lifted into a broad smile.

  Until that moment, I'd never had the desire to kiss a boy.

  Or a man.

  And Dante was all man.

  Even with his military-short haircut, the kink of his curls was evident. I knew the texture of those curls because I'd gripped them when he'd brought me to orgasm in that frat house bathroom.

  "Wow, this is incredible," Dante murmured, bringing me back to my current dream.

  My mouth went dry when his broad shoulder brushed mine. "It's my favorite room in the house," I said.

  "I can see why." He moved to the first bookshelf and ran his long fingers along the spines of several books. "What do you like to read?" he asked.

  "A lot of different things," I said.

  "What are you reading right now?"

  "The Children of Húrin." Which was a total lie, but this was my dream sequence and I could remember our first meeting however I wanted. In this pseudo-reality, I was a sophisticated, well-read adolescent and Dante was a suave older guy.

  "Interesting. Most people only know Tolkien because of the movies. Which i
s a shame," he said, prowling the room like a caged panther. "Fantasy your genre of choice?"

  "Yes." I shifted from side to side, my plaid, schoolgirl skirt swishing at my knees. "What do you like to read?"

  "I like fantasy. But mystery and science fiction are my favorites. Although lately, I haven't had much time to read for pure pleasure." The purr of his last word vibrated through me.

  "Erica, Erica... Come on. I need you to take some deep breaths."

  "Shit. What is wrong with her? What did you do to her?"

  "Shut up. Erica, listen to me. Open your eyes. Show me those big, beautiful eyes."

  Dante pulled out a book and settled onto the couch, flipping through the pages. "Why are you all the way over there? Come sit by me."

  I froze in place, before forcing my feet to pad across the smooth floors. I sat on the opposite end of the couch, but soon Dante's relaxed smile and inviting posture had me inching closer. The hemline of my skirt hiked higher and I caught Dante staring at the pale skin of my upper thighs. He blinked several times before looking back up into my eyes. I could have stared into the cavernous depths of his for hours.

  I gestured to the book in his lap. "You a Harry Potter fan?"

  "Who isn't?"

  "They were okay."

  "Be careful not to say that in mixed company. You might get stoned to death," he said with a chuckle.

  The soft sound of my giggle floated up into the rafters. His hand landed on my bare knee. Unable to reconcile his innocent look with the molten heat emanating from my leg, I glanced down.

  "She's having trouble breathing. We have to call 911."

  "No way. She'll be okay. We just need to give it some more time."

  "We can't let her die."

  Sadness overcame me. I didn't want to die. I wanted to stay locked in the library with Dante forever, discussing books and exploring the desires of my body. "What's wrong, Erica?" Dante asked, brow furrowed with concern.

  I spoke, but no words came out. Ice gripped my heart and I reached for Dante, hoping to seize his vibrant warmth, but he disappeared, like smoke up the chimney. I needed to tell him that I loved him. Instead, I fell further into a stupor, my declaration locked in the fairytale of my mind.

  "Erica, your brother and his new friend will be here any minute," my mom said as she strolled into the library. I glanced up from the book my friend, Crissy, and I had been discussing just in time to see disappointment mar my mother's pretty face. "How many times have I told you not to sit like that? You don't want to end up with varicose veins."

  I uncrossed my legs and laid the book cover-down. I didn't need another lecture on proper reading material for a fourteen-year-old girl. Certain genres had not made the list. If my mom had her way, I would spend less time reading and more time preening in front of a mirror.

  "Hi, Mrs. Wood. I love your outfit. You look beautiful," Crissy gushed.

  "Oh, this old thing?" my mom said, dismissing Crissy's compliment with a wave of her hand. The gray pantsuit, which matched the color of my mother's eyes and fit her trim body to perfection, was not old. Maybe old as in last season old.

  My mother flitted around the library straightening things even though the room was already immaculate, courtesy of our housekeeping staff. I stared out the window at the snow blanketing the endless expanse of our Vermont backyard and contemplated my odds of escape.

  "You're not wearing that, are you?" my mom asked, jolting me from my plotting.

  I looked down at my baggy sweatshirt and jeans. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing? It's just Damian."

  With one French-manicured hand on her hip, she said, "And his friend. Darling, you only have one chance to make a good first impression. Look at the beautiful dress that Crissy is wearing."

  Crissy did look nice in her red Maxi dress. "I don't think it matters what Damian's friend thinks of me," I said.

  "Appearance is everything, darling." As if to prove her point, she checked her flawless makeup in the antique mirror above the fireplace. "Why don't you wear that lovely teal dress I bought you last week?"

  I almost groaned, but settled on an eye roll. "I don't want to wear that. It's too tight and shows too much skin."

  "Don't be stubborn. You look beautiful in that dress. After all the weight you've lost, you should be proud to show a little skin."

  "Fine," I lied, hoping to end the conversation before Crissy heard any more about my recent weight loss. I had no intention of wearing that dress. My mother clasped her hands together and beamed like I'd told her the secret to immortality.

  After my mom had flounced out of the room, I turned to Crissy. I wanted to finish our discussion about The Hunger Games. I had just launched into a diatribe about why Gale could have done so much better than Katniss when Crissy dug her pink fingernails into my arm.

  "Who. Is. That?" Crissy hissed.

  I glanced towards the door, not even attempting to hide my annoyance.

  "Oh, that's just my brother, Damian," I said, but I couldn't hold back my smile. It had been months since my brother had left for Stanford and I'd missed him, but I wasn't about to let on how much.

  "Pip," Damian called out, bounding through the door with a grin on his face. When I was seven years old, I had made the mistake of wearing my red hair in pigtail braids. One time. My brother had never let me live it down. The only reason I still allowed the horrid nickname was because it bugged my mother even more.

  Damian practically tackled me to the ground, picking me up and spinning me until I was breathless and giggling.

  Crissy stood up, thrust her chest out and gave my brother a once-over that was totally gross. Damian didn't seem to notice, because he was too busy staring at me.

  "How are you?" I asked.

  "I'm great. Nice to be on the opposite side of the continent and out from under Dad's thumb," he said under his breath, even though my dad was nowhere in sight. If I had to guess, my dad was probably in the formal parlor, downing his third cocktail of the evening. "How did you grow taller? And you've lost more weight," he said, a hint of concern deepening his voice.

  "And you've gained weight," I said, slapping his rock-hard stomach. My brother had always been a big guy, but now he was enormous. The freshman fifteen apparently referred to muscle when it came to college athletes.

  "I couldn't have done it without that guy. He's an animal in the weight room. It's no wonder his nickname is the Demon."

  I looked over my brother's shoulder to the dark shadow filling the doorway. I swore I heard ominous organ music and a wolf howling in the distance, but then I reined in my overactive imagination. Dante stepped into the light and all of the blood in my body pooled between my legs.

  "Dante, this is my little sister, Erica, and her friend..."

  "Crissy," she said, thrusting her hand out, while I tried to pick my jaw up off the teak floors.

  Dante sauntered closer, his pitch-black eyes piercing me in place. They reminded me of the Eye of Sauron. Or the Gateway to Hell. Demon seemed like the perfect nickname, because if he were staring me down on a football field, I would run screaming the other direction.

  His plain t-shirt hugged a broad chest and hinted at washboard abs, while holey jeans completed his thrown-together ensemble. Dark tattoos ran up and over both biceps, disappearing under the cuffs of his shirt. I swore that Crissy almost fainted from all the testosterone in the air.

  "Nice to meet you." The bored look on his face contradicted his statement. But damn him and his sexy voice. I wanted to swim in the smooth texture of it, have it wash over every intimate part of me.

  "Likewise," Crissy said with an overenthusiastic lilt.

  "Earth to Erica," my brother said at the exact moment Crissy elbowed me in the side.

  Crap. How long have I been staring?

  "Oh, uh, yes, it's so nice to see you... I mean meet you." I knew my cheeks burned bright, but I couldn't think straight with Dante standing so close.

  My brother and Crissy chatted about the insane
amount of snow Vermont had received in the last month, while I stood there stupid. All bodily functions were working. My heart beat and my lungs drew in oxygen, but I couldn't focus on anything beyond Dante's bottom lip and the coarse stubble lacing his jawline.

  "Erica," Crissy said, "I'm going with your brother."

  "What?" I asked.

  "We're going to grab snacks. Mom said the chef won't have dinner ready for another hour," Damian said. Crissy linked her arm through my brother's, ignoring the pleading look in my eyes. "Stay here and keep Dante company. He's as much a bookworm as you are," my brother threw over his shoulder.

  "Oh, uh, okay," I stammered, rubbing my sweaty palms down my thighs.

  "Chef?" Dante said, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

  "You guys don't use a chef?"

  The sound of his laughter reverberated off the floors. "Not unless you count Chef Boyardee. This place is insane. I mean, I knew people lived like this, but could it be any more over the top?"

  I wasn't sure how to respond since he seemed unimpressed. "What are you studying at Stanford?" I asked, hoping to put us back on neutral ground.

  "English and Communications."

  If I knew how to swoon, I would have. "What are your plans after you graduate?"

  "Jesus, you sound like a fucking guidance counselor. I plan on playing football."

  "Professionally?" I asked, ignoring his surly remark.

  "Yep," he said, no bluster just pure confidence. He shuffled to the cabinet in the corner, rifling around until he found a bottle of my father's forty-year-old whiskey. Without bothering to ask, he popped the top off and threw back a gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "I don't think you should do that," I said, looking over my shoulder.

  "Why?"

  "Because you're underage."

  "Don't be a killjoy."

  "And that bottle probably cost more than your tuition last semester." I regretted the pompous words the second they spewed from my mouth.

  Regarding the bottle with interest, he ran his long fingers over the beige label. "Good thing last semester didn't cost me a dime, what with my full athletic scholarship."