She and Tom were a business arrangement. They were both getting something out of this. He would have his green card, and she was saving face.

Yes. People were now looking at Honor with new respect these days. Tom Barlow, the hottie Brit with the killer smile, had chosen quiet, reliable, boring Honor Holland.

What Honor knew, and shouldn't forget, was that Tom Barlow was only with her because of his unofficial stepson.

Otherwise, there was no way she'd get a guy like that.

"Honor?"

She looked up abruptly. "Sorry, Goggy. What were you saying?"

"I think these are nice. I've always loved carnations."

"Very pretty. I'll think about it. Thanks, ladies. Goggy, we should go. I have to hit up some businesses for raffle donations."

They went to O'Rourke's, where Colleen once again complimented her on "s.h.a.gging and bagging Tom"; to Lorelei's Sunrise Bakery, where the eternally cheerful baker offered to make their wedding cake for free in thanks for all the business Blue Heron had given them; to Mel's Candy Shoppe, where Mr. Stoakes told her she could eat as much candy as she wanted, now that she was off the market. To Hart's Jewelers, where Tom had apparently bought her ring, as she was welcomed in and fussed over like a soldier returning from war.

"You really like it, then?" Mrs. Hart asked.

"I love it," Honor said honestly. Every time she looked at the ring (which was often), she seemed to notice something new.

"He's adorable. Well done, dear," Mrs. Hart said, beaming.

"I fixed them up," Goggy announced. "I knew it was Meant to Be. They're perfect for each other. A perfect match. A grandmother knows about these things. We have a certain sense about us-"

"Okay, Goggy, we should go," Honor said. "Thanks for the donation, Mrs. Hart."

"See you soon!" the jeweler said. "For your wedding bands!"

"Right! Yes. Thanks again."

"I'm hungry," Goggy said. "Let's eat. Is it too early for dinner?" She glanced at the man's watch she wore. "Nope. Four-thirty. That works for me."

"One more stop, okay? The gym said they'd offer a six-month membership."

"Why do people go to gyms?" Goggy asked.

"I have no idea," Honor answered. "But people do."

And Tom's car was in the parking lot. Today was the self-defense cla.s.s. Coincidence? Probably not.

They went into Cabrera's Gym, Goggy clutching her purse in both hands like she was about to encounter a gang of thugs in desperate need of coupons. It was dark (the less you saw, Honor supposed, the less grossed out you'd be). Music boomed over the loudspeakers. "Can I help you?" said a young man behind the desk.

"Is Carlos here?" Honor said.

"He's over there with the kids." The man pointed, and Honor peered ahead.

There they were-Charlie, Helena, Abby and quite a few other kids. The cla.s.s seemed to have mushroomed.

Tom was there, as well. He wore black boxing shorts and a faded blue T-shirt that said Gulfstream. The bottom of the Union Jack was just visible, and his hair was sweaty. She could see the chain of his Saint Christopher's medal where it disappeared into his shirt, and the memory of that medal, hot against her own chest, made Down Under clench in a strong, hot surge.

She swallowed.

"Hallo, darling! And hallo, Honor." He came over to Goggy, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Kids, for those of you who don't know, this is Honor Holland, my fiancee, and her lovely grandmother, Mrs. Holland."

"Call me Elizabeth," Goggy murmured, batting her spa.r.s.e eyelashes.

"Hi, Auntie," Abby said.

"Hi, Honor," Charlie echoed.

Well, well. Charlie spoke to her. Voluntarily and everything.

"Honor, I didn't know you were engaged to Tom here! Congratulations!" Carlos said.

"Mmm-hmm," Honor said faintly, dragging her eyes off Tom's mouth.

"You want a gift certificate for the thing? The ball, right? I'll go take care of that. Back in a flash." Carlos smiled and trotted off to his office.

"Darling, will you help me here?" Tom asked, putting his arm around her shoulders. The smell of soap and sweat made her knees nearly buckle. Would it be wrong to lick his neck in front of the kids? Yes. Probably. Maybe not.

"Right, kids, so here's my lovely Honor, and as I was saying, boxing's a sport for everyone, isn't it, love?"

"It so is," she said.

"Honor herself adores it, though you can't tell from the look of her. But we've seen Rocky at least twenty times, isn't that right, love?" He grinned at her, and her knees did buckle then, but she managed to stay upright.

"Oh, yes. At least. And Cinderella Man."

"Right." He gave her a squeeze. "Don't forget Warrior."

"And Raging Bull."

He leaned in close, his mouth almost touching her ear. "You have no idea how randy you're making me by knowing all these films," he whispered, and her breath was suddenly ragged. He turned back to the kids. "And Honor here weighs about how much, love?"

"Nice try," she said.

"Less than I do, at any rate. But if she knew where to hit-"

"The groin," she said. "Go right for the nuts, girls. Sorry, boys, but it's true." Goggy nodded in agreement.

Tom turned and looked at her. "Darling! I didn't know you had a violent streak. Yes, the groin is an excellent target. But say you can't do that. You still have a lot of options. If Honor knew where and how to hit, she could level me. Couldn't you, sweetheart?"

"Yes. I could." Gray eyes. So...unfair, somehow, the gentle color of a rainy sky on a winter morning, and wasn't someone feeling romantic? That mouth of his. She could do a lot with that mouth. Or rather, he could.

What are we waiting for? the eggs asked.

How about "not an audience of children"? Honor mentally answered.

Don't get testy with us, the eggs said. We're just trying to get a little action here.

"Into the ring with you, then," Tom said.

What? Her stomach lurched. "Oh, I don't think so. I'm not dressed for it." Indeed. A pencil skirt and blouse, the st.u.r.dy-heeled pumps that Faith had deemed "not too nunnish" on their last lunch date.

"She's not, is she?" Tom left her side, unbalancing her a bit, as she seemed to have leaned up against him. It was cold without him there. He bounded up the two stairs to the ring. "But that's the point. You have to know you could defend yourself whenever you needed to, no matter what you were wearing. Come on, Honor, let's show the kiddies how it's done."

Honor glanced at the teenagers, who waited expectantly. "Go for it," Abby said.

"Yes, honey, do it," Goggy said. "I want to see this."

Hesitantly, she climbed the steps. "How do I get in here?" she murmured to Tom, who held the ropes for her. It looked very complicated.

"Just scoot in."

"Right." She started with one foot, then the other, holding her skirt down. Tripped (of course), only to have Tom grab her arm.

"There you are." A slight smile flashed across his face.

"Hey, Honor! Look at you!"

Oh, fungus. A d.a.m.ning flush started p.r.i.c.kling across her chest. "Hi, Brogan."

Her former...person...walked over, gym bag slung over his shoulder, the easy grace of a natural athlete evident. "And Tom, isn't it?" Brogan asked. "The lucky guy! We've met before. At Hugo's?"

"Of course," Tom said, reaching over the ropes to shake his hand. "Nice to see you again. Honor and I are just demonstrating a move for the kids."

"Fantastic. I'm just in time." Brogan set his bag down and folded his arms, winking at her.

After the little showdown in the cask room with Dana, Brogan had sent Honor an email, full of hearty congratulations and a few possible dates for dinner. Unsurprisingly, Honor hadn't had any free time. Not that she'd looked. But now, seeing Brogan's smiling face, she couldn't help missing him. As a friend.

Yes. For the first time, his presence didn't make her quiver. She smiled back at him, relieved.

"You ready, darling?" Tom asked.

She jerked her eyes to his face. His face was grim. "Ready for what?"

"To demonstrate a punch."

"Not really," she said. "Can someone else do this?"

"You'll be brilliant. Kiddies, an uppercut starts here," he said, holding his hands next to his temple. "You don't scoop up so much as bend your knees and turn, like so-" he swiveled, bringing his shoulder down "-and hit with your whole body." He demonstrated, touching her chin with his fist, his eyes on the a.s.sembled kids. "Bend your knees, turn so that it's not just your arm doing the work, it's the entire body, and extend that fist with the whole of you right behind it." He went through the move again, slow motion. "Your turn, Honor."

What looked like a fluid, easy motion was a lot harder when Honor tried it. It was hard not to feel self-conscious and awkward while everyone, including two-thirds of all the men she'd slept with, were watching. If there was anything less s.e.xy than trying to channel Muhammad Ali while wearing a skirt and not-too-nunnish shoes, she didn't know what it was.

"That's it," Tom said. "Practice a bit, Honor. Kids, you, as well." He left her in the corner, bobbing like an idiot, and walked over to the other side of the ring to watch the kids' form. "Hands up, don't forget, you don't want to leave yourself open. Mrs. Holland-Elizabeth, rather-don't just stand there! Get moving, darling." Goggy giggled and cooed and put her hands up and began punching the air quite vigorously. Good Lord.

"This punch is brilliant if you're in close quarters," Tom continued, "because it's tight and brutal." He demonstrated the move again. "So if someone's got you against a wall or whatnot, this is your punch, and it's a knockout if you do it right. That's it, Molly, you've got it. Good job, Charlie. A little more pivot, Abby. Brilliant."

He had a way with kids, that was certain. And they seemed to like him, too. Even Charlie looked a little more cheerful than usual, which wasn't saying a lot, but still. The boy was supposed to come for dinner tonight. Hopefully, he'd speak.

"Looking good, On," Brogan said, grinning up at her. She rolled her eyes. "No, really. You remind me of Iron Mike."

"Thank you. He and I are very close."

"He's a good guy. I photographed him a few years ago out in Vegas." He paused. "How've you been?"

"Good. Busy. You know. Just...wedding stuff."

"I know. Dana's gone crazy with it. And, uh, we're kind of in a rush now." His expression was sheepish. "Want to get it done before the baby."

"Right." Tom was showing Helena how to turn her arm, and Helena was eating it up.

"Anyway. It's good to see you."

"You, too. Um, do you box?" she asked, rather than have to stand here alone, punching air.

"A little. Here and there. You know me."

Yes. He loved all things athletic, from rock climbing to rowing to football to sailing. Rather tiring to a person whose idea of outdoor activity was taking her book outside to read.

"All right, Honor?" Tom said, walking to her corner.

"For what?" she asked.

"To hit me, darling." The kids laughed. Brogan, too.

"Oh, uh, no. No, thanks. I don't want to hit you."

He towed back to the center of the ring. "Sorry," he said in a low voice. "Didn't mean to interrupt your chat with Brandon."

"Brogan."

"Right." His eyes were flat and neutral.

"We weren't chatting," she said. "We were just... It was nothing."

"Of course it was nothing. Since you're so in love with me and all." He turned to the kids. "Pay attention, kids. Honor, hands up."

"I'm not going to hit you." Just the idea made her feel a little sick. "No, thanks."

"Sure you are. I can take it."

"No, really. I'm not comfortable doing this."

"Exactly! Kids, did you hear that? She's not comfortable fighting. And she does have a point. Most girls don't grow up scrabbling in the schoolyard, do they? Maybe they've been conditioned not to hurt anyone, and yeah, it can go against the grain, which is all the more reason to learn this."

Honor didn't feel so good. Tom was right; her mother used to have a fit if they so much as wrestled. The one time fighting might've come in handy-aside from the catfight, of course-she'd been frozen in shock.