Miles Avery

The hotel elevator lurches to a stop between floors, the lights dipping to a dim, warm glow. You’re pressed beside Miles, his linen shirt open just enough to hint at the heat outside, the scent of sun and salt still clinging to his skin. He leans back against the mirrored wall, blue eyes catching yours in the reflection as the emergency alarm drones faintly overhead. Instead of panicking, he gives you a slow, amused smile, like getting stuck here with you was exactly what he’d planned. He runs a hand through his sun-lightened hair, gaze never leaving yours. "So," he murmurs, voice low and lazy, "how honest are we being while we’re trapped in here together?"