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There were things I expected.

Like towering dark wood bookcases, the shelves about ready to give way under the weight of all the tomes shoved onto them. And, of course, the collection of not only record players but also radios, boomboxes, and even old 8-track players. To go with them, of course, were glass-fronted shelves under all the windows that were loaded with records, CDs, cassettes, and 8-tracks.

In the center of the room were camel-colored leather couches and a captain’s chair with charming tufting buttons settled on a dark carpet with a central coffee table.

There was still a mug sitting there and a book set down with the pages spread to mark his place.

Despite wanting to distance myself, I couldn’t stop myself from making my way over to the book as I fished one of the bookmarks we had made for his show merch (the one about book boyfriends) and shoved it between the pages.

Finished with that, I made my way over toward the far end of the room, where a staircase was set between the kitchen and the bathroom. It led down. Since there was no sign of Silas on the second floor, I made my way downward, where he must sleep.

Did a part of me wonder if he slept in a coffin? Yes, because, well, some did! There was this whole discourse a few years back when a vampire influencer came out and said we had to stop using that old stereotype, only to be dragged by a lot of other vampires who did, in fact, love to sleep in their coffins like they’d been doing for centuries.

Since Silas was one of those guys always lamenting about the “good old days,” I figured he would be the sort to sleep in a coffin.

When I made it to the lower landing, I was met with a single room with the same square footage as the room upstairs. It felt a little smaller since the whole space was devoid of any windows, just the light spilling down from the staircase that made it slightly brighter than pitch black.

I could see just enough to make out a wall of what seemed to be wardrobes on the far wall and a massive bed in the center of the space. It was flanked on both sides by nightstands and lamps.

There was nothing else in the space.

Except, of course, the man on said bed.

“Silas?” I whispered.

I may as well have detonated a bomb in the space. That was how fast Silas went from dead asleep to off the bed with the light on, standing in the middle of the room.

“Maggie?”

Look, I’m not proud of the gurgling sound that escaped me then.

I was just not expecting what I was seeing.

I mean, yes, Silas.

But the Silas in my imagination wore those sleep outfits that may as well have been lightweight silk suits; they were so proper.

The Silas in front of me was not a pajama suit wearer.

Oh, no.

Nope.

This Silas was a low-slung sleep pants and nothing else wearer.

I wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been alive. That said, he clearly spent a nice chunk of those years working on his body.

He wasn’t bulky, but he was well-defined.

He had a bit of a swimmer’s build with just a little extra abdominal muscles, including those deep cuts near his hips that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

I could sink a finger into all those indents.

Or a tongue.

Yes, definitely a tongue.

Catching myself mentally tracing those grooves with said tongue, my gaze snapped back up to his face.