"GET YOUR THINGS. NOW," Grayson commanded.
It wasn't a request. It was an order.
"Grayson, talk to me. What did James say? If something happened—"
"Mailah." He caught her eyes, his gaze pinning her in place. "The time for 'sharing perspectives' has concluded. We are moving. Move with me."
He didn't wait for her to agree. He strode back into the bedroom, and before Mailah could even reach for her carry-on, he had snatched it up.
He grabbed her laptop bag, her discarded sun hat, and the heavy wicker basket from the beach, slinging them over his shoulders as if they weighed nothing more than a handful of feathers.
Despite the rising panic in her chest, Mailah couldn't help but stare. He was draped in luggage—her floral tote hanging off one muscular arm and a backpack on the other—yet he still managed to look like a lethal weapon.
It was the most absurdly attractive thing she had ever seen: a demon prince acting as a high-speed bellhop.
