For years I had written about champagne colored eyes. Never seen a man with them in real life. But there he was sitting across from me, taking us both down an unfamiliar path. I tried to think of what one of my characters might do. They had more experience than I in these types of situations.

The “situation” began while waiting for a train in Boston. I was people watching and he stood out. It wasn’t the Brooks Brothers suit. It was the way he laughed with the women at the deli counter. Openly and without reserve. I was so smitten that I forgot to turn away when he looked directly at me. He returned my hesitant smile with an assured wink. My stomach flipped.

But then there was the mad rush to board the train. All thoughts of sexy brown men fled my mind. I found a seat, well-secluded from children and loud teenagers, so I could work on my next novel. My hero’s character needed defining. I had just settled on his name when…

“Pardon me. Is this seat taken?”

I couldn’t imagine where he was going to place those long legs, but I said, “Be my guest.”

He took his time, peeling off his jacket, folding it into a neat square of tweed fabric. I studied his body as he placed it in the overhead bin along with his briefcase. No washboard abs, but overall I couldn’t complain. He loosened his tie, hitched up his pant legs and lowered himself into the seat across from me. I lowered my head and tried to concentrate on what had suddenly turned into incomprehensible gobbledygook.

“Damn, that’s some cover.” He stared at the jacket of my last book. “I’ve never seen a sister reading a book like that, at least not during the day.”

While I thought the cover was a bit extreme with its depiction of a leather-clad supermodel straddling a Vin Diesel look-a-like, I quickly came to the book’s defense.

“Haven’t you heard? It’s the twenty-first century. It’s okay for women to think about sex these days.” His mouth dropped open. Mischievously, I added, “What if I told you I wrote it, too?”

He didn’t respond right away. I began to suspect the man did nothing fast. First, he loosened his tie some more and then he rolled up the sleeves of his oxford shirt. As he was doing all of this adjusting, his eyes lingered on me the entire time.

“So you’re a writer,” he finally said. He glanced at the book again. “Who writes erotica?”

“On occasion,” I acknowledged in a prim voice.

“Interesting.” He smiled. “You know I’ve often wondered if the people who write these books actually do what they describe.”

“Well, would you like to find out? Under different circumstances, of course.”

Jasmine. That was definitely Jasmine, my most successful and headstrong character, speaking through my lips. If she could tame a Bantu prince and an Arab sheik in Book Three of The Obsidian Chronicles, she could certainly handle one arrogant stockbroker.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I would like to find out.”

Mentally, I kicked Jasmine. She kicked me back.

“You might be disappointed.” Lord knows I often was.

I’ll give him credit. He didn’t look me over like a piece of meat. His eyes, which I noticed were flecked with darker shades of brown, never left my ordinary brown ones.

“I’ll take my chances,” he said with a grin.

I couldn’t maintain the masquerade any longer. “Whoa, boy. You must think I’m a freak.”

“No.”

I frowned. “Then what do you think?”

He lowered his eyes. “I’m pretty turned on actually.” He shifted in his seat. He paused, frowned a little. “I hope that statement doesn’t offend you.”

“I saw a movie about people having sex without touching.” Who the hell said that? His eyes widened. “Really,” I added lamely.

He inhaled and hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go down that road any further. Then, he exhaled slowly and took the next step. “That must take a lot of imagination.”

“And probably concentration.”

“Probably?” He leaned forward. “You mean you’ve never done it before?”

“There’s a lot of things I’ve never done before.” When his eyes fell on the book, I shrugged. “But I do have a great imagination. What about you?”

“Oh, I can be very imaginative.”

“Let me be the judge of that. Tell me one of your fantasies.” Definitely Jasmine raising her lovely defiant head again. Maybe.

“Okay,” he said in a low voice. “Sex on an airplane.”

“In the bathroom?” For some reason, I felt disappointed in his lack of imagination.

“No. In the galley.”

Better. “With the flight attendant?”

“No.” He hesitated. “The pilot.”

“Are you gay?” I asked while mentally preparing myself to be in the presence of another gorgeous unavailable man.

He smiled broadly, revealing even white teeth. “I’d like to point out that you assumed the pilot was male.”

I blushed. “Touché. Well, is he?”

“Yes.” He continued to smile, but his body stiffened. He wasn’t sure how I was going to react. I wasn’t either.

“And are you…?” I pressed him.

“No. It’s just a fantasy that turns me on.” His smile wavered. “Does it turn you off?”

“What do the two of you do?”

He sat back in surprise. “Are you taking notes for your next book?”

Damn, that was a good idea. Wish I had thought of it. “No,” I replied. “I was just curious.”

“I could tell you more over dinner in the dining car.” In a lower voice, he added, “Better yet, after dinner, once we reach the city.”

I looked him over. On the surface he was cliché-handsome, intelligent, sexy - but wasn’t everything cliché until you dug deeper?

“Okay,” I said. I waited for Jasmine to add a few witty remarks, but I was on my own, to fail by not trying or succeed by pressing onward. “What’s your name, stranger?”

The broad grin returned. “Jackson Montgomery.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” I frantically erased my new hero’s first name.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing.” I wiped erasure crumbs on pant leg and then held out my hand. “My name’s Tamara. Nice to meet you, Jackson.”