Damien closed the passenger door of the Maserati.
He hissed through his teeth as he settled into the bucket seat, his lower abdomen still throbbing with a dull, nauseating ache from her kick. But physical pain was quickly becoming the least of his concerns.
Warning bells began screaming in his head.
He watched in horror as his wife basically vibrated with excitement in the driver's seat. Aria was affectionately caressing the custom Italian leather steering wheel like it was a fluffy puppy, a bright gleam in her emerald eyes.
She didn't even check the mirrors. She just jammed her finger directly onto the push-to-start button.
The twin-turbo V8 engine roared to life, a guttural, mechanical scream that echoed off the concrete walls of the parking garage.
Damien didn't hesitate. He reached over his shoulder, grabbed the seatbelt, and hastily snapped the metal buckle into the receiver, pulling the strap so tight across his chest it nearly cut off his circulation.
