The Billionaire’s Vow (Power & Passion #3)

Chapter 1

The flash of bare skin against black lace caught his attention, stopping him mid-breath.

It wasn’t as if she meant for anyone to see.

She was just adjusting, smoothing the sheer stocking into place, the lace catching briefly before sliding neatly against her thigh.

Her fingers moved with quick, practiced efficiency—nothing overt, nothing designed to tempt.

Yet Dimitri’s focus locked onto the motion all the same, his pulse kicking against his will.

And then it was gone.

A quick flick of fabric, a skirt dropping back into place, and the glimpse of lace disappeared as if it had never happened. She turned away, collecting a stack of file folders, completely unaware of the havoc she’d just caused. The subtle sway of her walk only twisted the knife deeper.

Dimitri exhaled slowly, pushing down the growl of frustration that threatened to break loose. He rolled his shoulders, squared his jaw, and stalked toward the conference room. Someone was going to pay for this distraction.

But the moment he stepped inside for the quarterly meeting, his irritation sharpened.

There she was.

Seated primly along the wall, her skirt smoothed modestly over her knees, she could have been any quiet assistant waiting for instructions.

Except he knew better. He’d seen enough to know there was more beneath that composed exterior.

And now, with a clear look at her face, his frustration only deepened.

She wasn’t flashy. She wasn’t the kind of beauty that made heads turn in an instant.

But there was power in subtlety, and she had it in spades.

The soft sweep of brown hair pulled into a loose bun, the delicate line of her chin, and those unexpected silver-blue eyes—when they flicked to his, steady and unflinching—slammed into him like a mallet.

Dimitri’s jaw locked, a muscle ticking as he dragged in a breath.

And then his irritation spiked. That skirt. That jacket. What the hell was she wearing?

A shapeless, wrinkled skirt that swallowed her figure whole.

A boxy jacket so offensively plain it looked as if it had been stolen from a clearance rack.

It was camouflage. A deliberate hiding. And after what he’d just seen—the stocking sliding up her thigh, the lace gripping tight against flawless skin—it felt like a lie.

Those legs had no business being hidden.

And that hair—rich, thick, and begging to be freed—made his palms itch to grip it, fistfuls at a time.

Not to mention those eyes—damn it, those eyes—were too sharp, too knowing.

They left him unsettled, as if she’d already measured him, already marked where to cut.

Had she known he’d watched her a moment ago?

Had she rolled the lace higher with that deft precision because she’d wanted him to see?

If so, then the woman had just painted a target on herself.

Because Dimitri De Luca didn’t like games. He didn’t like being baited. And he sure as hell didn’t like losing control.

Others had tried. Others had failed. He’d built his empire on iron discipline, on a mind that never bent to weakness. Nothing distracted him. Nothing owned him.

And women? Women were temporary pleasures. Beautiful diversions. But never anything more. He had rules. Boundaries. Control.

So why did this woman’s presence feel different? Why did the sight of her make his blood heat like he was already halfway to tearing through those ugly clothes just to remind her who was really in charge?

Max Diatras and Luca Bernardi had lost their edge after marrying.

They’d been collared, tamed, parading their wives and children as if the world wasn’t waiting to devour them whole.

Dimitri had sneered through their wedding ceremonies, their romantic declarations, their ridiculous dogs.

He’d vowed never to fall into that trap.

And yet—

“Let’s get started,” he grumbled, staring down at the reports his assistant had given him before walking into this meeting. Unfortunately, the numbers blurred and all he could see was that long, sexy leg, the sweet skin on her thigh and…!

His teeth ground together as the woman rose gracefully from her chair, that ugly, shapeless skirt swaying with each purposeful step toward the front of the room.

Every instinct in him tightened like a predator sighting prey. He forced himself to remain still, leashing the hunger that surged inside him, hot and primal, chaining it to the floor beneath his boots.

For a man who prided himself on discipline, Dimitri had never been so aware of how close he was to tearing those chains apart.

The lovely lady cleared her throat, tucked a wisp of brown hair behind one ear, then pointed the laser pointer at the screen.

Dimitri had no idea what the woman was talking about as she rambled on about gross contribution, indirect contribution, profit, and blah blah blah.

His thoughts focused on stripping away that awful baggy jacket and unflattering gathered skirt to reveal what was underneath.

He already knew that the woman wore glorious black thigh high stockings with lace edging.

Did they match her lingerie? Was she wearing a black lace bra and panty?

Did her nipples poke out just above the black lace?

Dimitri wasn’t a fan of thong underwear, but those lace things that came right up over the curve of a woman’s ass, showing off that delicious bend before smoothing along the bodacious curve… yeah. He liked that!

“In summary,” the woman was saying, putting down the laser pointer, “the company’s profit margin has increased by three-point-four percent over this time last year.”

The room nodded their approval, a few murmuring their satisfaction. Then, like well-trained soldiers, every pair of eyes turned to him.

Dimitri barely kept from scowling.

Perfect. It was his turn to say something insightful. Something intelligent. Maybe even motivational.

Too bad he had no damn clue what the woman had just said.

He thought she had mentioned that profits were up.

That was good. It meant things were running smoothly.

But the only real fact he had absorbed—the only issue that had any real weight—was that this woman, the one currently staring at his chin instead of his eyes, wore lace-topped, thigh-high stockings.

And that she was lovely.

And that she was hiding something.

His irritation doubled.

Why the hell was she wearing that godawful skirt and jacket, drowning in fabric like some Victorian spinster, when he’d seen what lay underneath?

He knew, with absolute certainty, that this woman had legs that should be insured for a million dollars.

And yet, here she was, camouflaging herself like a damn nun trying to ward off temptation.

Was that her goal? To confuse him? To play innocent while walking around in lingerie underneath all that fabric?

Hell, maybe she was trying to make him lose his damn mind.

Even more intrigued, and significantly more aggravated, Dimitri nodded curtly. “Thank you.”

Obviously startled that he didn’t have any questions, the woman gathered up her files and notebook with efficient, practiced movements. But not before treating him to another view of that lush and amazing ass.

Then she returned to her seat against the wall, hiding herself from view again.

Dimitri inhaled sharply, tearing his gaze away.

His executive team—all the best and brightest in the business—were waiting expectantly. Probably expecting him to say something brilliant.

Too bad his attention was still stuck on the woman who had just sat down.

Those silver-blue eyes held secrets. Important ones. Ones he needed to uncover.

And if there was one thing Dimitri De Luca despised, it was not knowing something.

Turning to his operations manager, he gave a sharp nod. “Take over for me.”

Then, without another word, he pushed back his chair and stood, leveling his gaze at the woman who had just wrecked his concentration.

“We need to talk.”

Without waiting for a response, he strode out of the conference room.