Carter Bravo's Christmas Bride. Christine Rimmer

killer body of hers across the hood.

      “Hello, Carter.” She gave him one of her come-and-get-me smiles. The smile matched her outfit: a red thong, a Santa hat and sky-high stilettos.

      It was a testament to how over Sherry he really was that his first thought had very little to do with her being nearly naked. His first thought concerned how those pointy heels of hers had to be screwing up the Firebird’s high-dollar paint job.

      “Sherry,” he said and tried not to sigh.

      “I thought you’d never come out from under that car.” She stuck out her plump lower lip in a sexy pout and tossed her long blond hair. “I’m starting to get kind of chilly.” She fluttered her eyelashes and glanced down at her bare breasts. Yep. She was chilly, all right. “Come on over here, baby,” she cooed. “Come here and warm me up.”

      “Sherry, I...” He really wanted to ask her to please get off the hood and be careful while she was doing it. But showing concern for the paint job right at that moment would only send her through the roof.

      Her pout started to get kind of pinched looking. “What is the matter with you? I missed you. I’m here in this smelly garage of yours practically naked and it’s all for you.” The big blue eyes suddenly brimmed with fat tears. “I’m here to get past this little problem we’ve been having. I’m here to prove to you how much I want to work things out.”

      There was nothing to work out. They were done and she knew it, had been done for months now.

      He spotted her black trench coat. She’d tossed it on top of the cover she’d whipped off the Firebird. So he stuck his rag back in his pocket, crossed to the coat, grabbed it and held it up for her. “Sherry, come on.”

      She sniffled. “How can you be so cold? You’re breaking my heart. How can you do this to me?”

      “Put your coat on,” he coaxed.

      “Fine. Sure.” Sharp heels digging in, she scrambled off the hood. He tried really hard not to wince at the sight. She tossed her hair some more. And then she came at him, hands raised in frustration. “I hate you, Carter Bravo!”

      “Sherry, there’s no point in—”

      “Hate you!” And she hauled back and bitch-slapped him right across the face. That shocked him. She’d never physically attacked him before.

      Then all the fight went out of her. She crumpled, burying her head in her hands. The sobs started.

      He gently wrapped the coat around her. “It’s over,” he said quietly. “You know it is.”

      She sobbed harder. “But I love you...”

      He took her to the counter at the window between the shop and the office and whipped a few tissues from the box there. “Come on, now. Blow your nose.”

      She snatched the tissues and swiped at her cheeks.

      He said sincerely, “I’m sorry, Sherry. For everything. Let me drive you home.”

      “Forget it.” With a furious sniff, she shoved her arms in the trench he’d draped on her shoulders and tied the belt, hard. Then she raked her acres of hair off her face and aimed her chin high. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

      He had no idea what to say next, so he said nothing. She wheeled on one of those pointy heels and stalked toward the side door, flinging it wide when she got there. That door was made of steel. It banged good and loud against the wall. “That does it, Carter. I am through. Finished. I hope I never see your face again.”

      He kept his mouth shut. He had a feeling that even the sound of his voice right then could have her storming at him all over again. Uh-uh. Better to keep quiet and stand still.

      At his extended silence, she fisted both hands at her sides, threw her head back and let out a yowl of frustration. A second later, she disappeared from sight.

      Carter stayed right where he was, hardly daring to breathe, until he heard the Camaro he’d rebuilt for her start up. She gunned it and then roared from the lot. He gritted his teeth, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t run into anything, wouldn’t hurt herself or anyone else.

      As the sound of the engine faded into the distance, he let himself breathe again. And then, reluctantly, he took a good look at the Firebird.

      Yep. Dents and gouges all over that hood. Resigned, he whipped the cover back in place. Monday, he’d get it back to the paint booth and tell the customer he’d need a few more days before the car would be ready.

      It would be okay. Sherry would get over him and eventually move on.

      He just wished he knew what was wrong with him. He just wished he could someday find a sane woman to get involved with. His mother had it right about one thing. He’d always known that someday he wanted a family.

      Well, the years were going by. And someday was starting to look a whole lot like never. But what the hell was a guy supposed to do? He’d tried over and over and it always ended up the way it had with Sherry. This time, he had zero desire to find someone else and try again.