The first in the Honor series, Above All, Honor introduces single-minded Secret Service Agent Megan Pete and the woman she is sworn to protect-Normani Hamilton, the daughter of the President of the United States.
As the tension between them grows...
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As she drove through the Lincoln Tunnel into Manhattan, Megan reminded herself that she was in New York City for the sole purpose of attending the opening of her mother's gallery exhibition.
It was the first East Coast showing in a number of years, and Megan knew it would please her mother for her to be there. She had absolutely no intention of visiting the command center, and certainly no desire to see Normani Hamilton. She reminded herself of this every few minutes, whenever she found her mind drifting to the images that she thought she had successfully eradicated. Images of Normani, in a smoky bar, her hair wild and her hunger unleashed; Normani, elegant and cool on the dais of the parade route; Normani, vulnerable and weary in the hospital after the ski accident. Normani's memory triggered a kaleidoscope of wistful wanting and explosive sexual desire. Megan forced her concentration back to the congested city traffic, grateful for something, anything, to distract her from the aching need that was never far from the surface of her consciousness.
She allowed the attendant at the Plaza to valet park her car and gave the bellman her luggage to bring up to her penthouse suite. She was not traveling on company time and felt no need to account for her expenditures. In fact, she felt unaccountable to anyone for the first time in her adult memory. She was between assignments, and despite Director Carlisle's edict, she had no intention of performing any duty for the United States of America for the next seven days.
She signed in, and as soon as she was alone in her suite, she showered off the drive's dust and grit. She had an hour and a half until the evening opening of her mother's show. She stood naked before the bathroom mirror, trying to tame her unruly curls into position.
Megan surveyed her image unemotionally. Her skin was paler than usual, likely due to the cool weather and the time she's spent indoors, but flawless. Her hair was still dark brown and curly, but hidden under a bone straight lace front, and, despite the lengthy convalescence, with vigorous physical therapy and workouts, she had maintained her muscle mass and strength. She was sculpted and taut, and stuck to her strict diet consisting of salmon, rice, and vegetables. If she wanted to get her body right again, she would need to eat right too. The only visible difference was the scars on her torso from the surgical incisions and the multiple tubes that had been necessary to reinflate her lungs. She looked at herself dispassionately and wondered for a moment how she would appear to another. She dismissed the thought quickly. It was a moot point.
She went about the process of dressing absent-mindedly. She did not glance at her reflection again, knowing that the black silk jacket and trousers were perfectly tailored for her, that her loafers were perfectly shined, and that the French cuffs of her white starched shirt were exactly the right length. When the driver let her out in front of the address she had given him, she knew that she was precisely on time. Everything in her life was exactly as it should be–predictable, ordered, and under control.
