Beware of Greeks bearing gifts. If I'd heeded this advice I probably would never have ended up in the situation I did. But when someone holds out the possibility of a week long, all expense paid trip to an exotic location when you can barely afford a trip to the corner store, judgment may slip a bit.

I still can't believe it. I'd been cruising on home, listening to the radio. They were promoting the new CD of a currently hot Greek singer, one I didn't know much about. I remembered vaguely that he was a particularly good looking fella--long dark hair, dark beard, rather sardonic and dangerous looking. Reas, that was the name. *Another one name wonder*, I thought.

"Okay, folks," babbled the DJ, "Here it is, what we've all been waiting for..." *Not all of us*, I mentally corrected him. "The prize is an all expense paid trip to Athens, and we don't mean Georgia! Seven nights at a premium hotel in Greece, a travel gift package, spending cash, and a personal tour of the sights with Reas himself! We're gonna give you a phrase to translate. The first three correct callers will compete for the grand prize. Are you ready? Remember, Reas himself will be taking your calls."

"I await with breathless anticipation," I murmured, as I pulled into my driveway, but I didn't cut the ignition. I was curious. Trivia always interested me.

"All right callers, tell us what this famous phrase means. 'Veni, vedi, vici'."

I laughed, snapping off the radio, jerking my keys free. That was an insult. I went inside, dumping my keys on the counter, and flipped on the radio I kept in the kitchen. "Why the hell do they want Latin translated in a contest for a trip to Greece?"

"All right," the DJ said. "That's one caller right! Sorry we can't let y'all listen in on the responses, but that just wouldn't be fair, would it? While we get our last two contestants, here's Reas' latest hot hit--'Warrior of Love'."

It was pretty good, actually. It had a beat, and you could dance to it, so I did, since I was alone in the confines of my own little world. I hadn't danced in public since I was seventeen, and the boy in the cowboy hat had coaxed me out onto the floor for some disco. The giggles and snickers had cured me of that.

When it was over the DJ came on again. "That's two! C'mon, people, you're embarrassing me!" Two? I was bewildered, and ashamed of my region. It took that long to get TWO correct responses to such a simple question? My God, the listeners were acting like a pack of Bubbas. It would probably be fruitless, I was sure that they'd have the final contestant before I could get a call through, but I had to try, if only to let the Greeks know that there was at least one Southerner with a few functioning brain cells.

I had to look up the number, and I kept waiting for them to announce the final contestant. When they didn't, I went ahead and dialed, telling myself I wouldn't wait more than six rings. Ten at the most.

I heard the click of the receiver being lifted after the first ring, and a rich, dark voice said, "This is Reas." I was too surprised to respond at first. There was a low, liquid chuckle that gave me an unexpected tingle in interesting places. "I know you're there, I can hear you breathing. You have something to say to me?" I started to speak, but all that came out was a squeak. What a time to get stage fright!

There was an undercurrent of amusement in his voice. "You're a woman, right? I can tell. Go on and talk to me, I won't bite. Not over the phone lines, anyway. Tell me what I want to hear."

I found my voice. I was being totally ridiculous. "I came, I saw, I conquered."

His voice rose, pleased. "That's it, Big Dog! We have our third contestant." There was a pleased babble in the background, and Reas laughed. "He was afraid he was going to have to get a ringer to call in. Stay on the line with me, okay? We'll have the final round after the commercial. Why don't you shut off your radio so we can hear each other better?"

I wondered how he'd known about the radio as I shut it off. But he would have been able to hear our voices over it through the receiver, and... No, wait... they weren't broadcasting the phone calls. I didn't have time to wonder about this, because he was speaking to me again. "I need some quick info, little lady."

I snorted with, I thought, good natured self derision, "Boy, have I got you fooled! I'm a long way from little."

He seemed unperturbed. "Little is a state of mind. Some of the most physically imposing people I've known have been little. What's your name, sweet?"

I gave him my particulars: name, address, phone number, age I could hear faint scratching as he took the information down. I was surprised that a celebrity would care enough about the sensibilities of a participant in a routine promotional stunt to do this personally.

Then Big Dog came on the line. "Hey! Lemme see... Scribe, is it? You're..." he paused, and I heard the mild dismay in his voice. "Forty two. Hey! Great!" The cheerfulness of his tone was as false as the claims diet shakes made to rich, creamy goodness. "Terrific that we have a more... um... mature listener joining in!"

I could hear Reas's voice in the background, acid. "You're really living up to your name, Big Dog."

"I'm putting you on the speaker now, Scribe..."

"Miss Scribe." I said brittally. I sure as hell didn't like him enough to want him calling me by my first name.

"Um... Miss Scribe. The commercial's almost done."

I heard Reas's voice again. "You're going to win."

"Hey," the DJ said warningly. "Don't give her any hints, or we'll have to void the contest."

"I won't, you dolt. But she will win."

"Maybe. But that first question was pretty damn elementary, and look how long it took to get three answers. What the fuck makes you think she'll be the one to get it right?"

"Because I want her to."

"Sorry, champ. You don't have any say in who wins this."

Again I heard the dark amusement, and I thought that Big Dog must be plenty stupid himself, talking to this man like that. "Don't I? We'll see."

"Here we go!" crowed Big Dog. "I got three contestants on the line, all ready to try for that grand prize of a trip to Greece with the one and only Reas. The others will receive a genuine a Wurlitzer jukebox, circa 1956, adapted to today's technology and loaded with CDs, courtesy of Basic Beat Music Stores. In case of a tie, there will be another round. Are you ready, contestants?" I heard a faint rattle of voices, and added my assent.

"First contestant, Mark. Mark's a twenty-year-old student. Here it is, Mark. Translate this for us. ''illegitimi non carborundum'"

*Jesus please us*, I thought wearily. *A bastard Latin catch phrase that had appeared on countless posters, desk plates, and cross stitch samplers. Who do they have writing for them? An idiot could get that.*

"Uh... boy. That's a hard one. Illegitimi... corrob... Let's see, illegitimi means... Um...'I can't read... corro... I can't read... the chocolate substitute?" I silently offered up a prayer of comfort for his parents.

"Nope, sorry Mark. I believe you're thinking of carob. Don't despair! If neither of the ladies get it, you'll have another chance. Now we have Typhani." I swear, you could tell by the way he said it that this was how it was spelled. "Tiff is nineteen, and she works at the Lotsa Lobes Earring Emporium. Okay, Tiff. ''illegitimi non carborundum.' Thrill me!" There was a high pitched giggle, and I groaned. You could practically hear the wind whistling through her head, in one ear and out the other with nothing to stop it. She giggled for several seconds. "Hey, down girl!" Big Dog joked. "I bet this means you have the answer."

"Well..." the voice was coy. Hmm, maybe I was wrong? I wouldn't mind having a jukebox, if I could find somewhere to put it, and choose my own music. No Brittany Spears, definitely. But if we both got it right, wouldn't there have to be a tie breaker? Shouldn't we all have had different questions? Who had thought up this mishmash, anyway?

"Well, illumination is light, right? And non is, well, nothing. And a carborundum is one of those new German cars, so it means there is no light in my car!" she finished triumphantly.

There was a second's silence, then a wild burst of laughter from Reas. I could tell it was him. I had a clear image of his head tossed back, dark hair flying back over his shoulders, dark eyes sparkling with merriment that was, perhaps, not entirely nice.

Big Dog sounded regretful. "Ooh, sorry, Tiph. That's not it."

"It isn't?" She sounded pissed, but genuinely surprised.

"Nope. But don't worry, the way this is going, you'll get another crack." *And that*, I thought, *is a crack directed at ME, you snotty, too-hip-to-live-Gen Xer.*

"Sooo, that leaves you, Scribe..."

"Miss Scribe," I snapped.

"Sure, whatever." His tone was definitely let's-get-this-over with. "'Illegitimi non carborundum'. What's your guess?"

I'd been doing a slow seethe, now I let myself come to a boil. "First off, next time think your freakin' contests out more carefully. If we'd all three been right, you'd have had a real mess on your hands."

"Hey, I didn't set this up, it was..."

"Second, who the hell wrote your questions? The first one was about as uncommon as 'See Dick run', and the second isn't real, classic Latin. It's a bastardized approximation. It's joke Latin."

He yelped, but again I could hear Reas laughing. "You can't say that on the air!" Big Dog said hotly. "Who the fuck... dammit! Who's on the censorship button?"

"Relax, it isn't any worse than calling a female dog a bitch. It's just accurate. That little phrase of make-believe can most closely be interpreted as 'Don't let the bastards grind you down.' And how the hell did you expect anyone to answer it on the air without saying 'bastard'?"

"We have a winner." I could hear satisfaction in Reas's tone, and imagined the cool grin he was giving Big Dog.

Reluctantly, the DJ said. "That's it, then. We have a winner of the deluxe, all expense paid trip to Greece. You folks stay on the line for info about claiming your prizes, and I'll spin the newest release by Kickin' Chicks, 'Chop Busters.'" I heard music start up, and the DJ said dully "Congratulations. Did you rig this with her, man? I don't appreciate being made a fool of."

"That would be impossible. You were a fool a long time before I met you. Miss Scribe, I have your phone number. I'll call you in a moment from a private line and we shall discuss details."

I smiled. Somehow I got an odd feeling that he could see that smile, and was responding in kind. Perfectly ridiculous, of course. "Call me Scribe."

"When can you leave?" I'd half believed I was going to sit up in bed and find out that I'd been dreaming about the contest, and the trip I'd won. But the phone had rung a few moments after I'd hung up, and it was that rich voice again. Reas.

"Hm? Isn't there a specified time period, like I have to take it between now and then?"

"No, not in this case. It's at your convenience, and I hope it will be soon. I'm looking forward to educating you."

"Oh, I hope you don't plan on it being nothing but museums! I love them, but I want to get a good look at the countryside, too. I'd like to see how the people live."

There was a purring tone in his voice. "That wasn't exactly what I meant. I'll be happy to show you about life. So, when can you go?"

"Welllll..." I considered. "I'm currently at loose ends. Translation, no job. The savings are getting low, but I can treat myself to a week of indulgence before I knuckle back down. I'd have to board the cat... Maybe a week?"

"Are you sure that's the earliest possible date?" His tone said he knew I could do better, if I tried.

"No, but I thought that would be a bit soon for you. I could leave tomorrow if..."

"There's an early morning flight that would have us in Athens in time for a late supper. Can you be ready by seven?"

I sputtered. "I... I'll have to buy travel clothes, get a passport..."

"Hm. There is that. I'd forgotten about these forsaken modern rules." He sounded like he was talking to himself. "It would be simpler if I just bypassed the physical transportation and..." He trailed off. "Sorry, my mind wandered, there. I know a few people who can rush things through. Tomorrow I'll drop by and we'll start taking care of vaccinations and such."

"But is your company going to approve of such a jump start?"

"They don't have any say in it," he said flatly. I was a little surprised. I knew that superstars were catered to, big time, but this seemed a bit much. "I want it like this. That's that."

Someone was apparently very used to getting their own way. Oh well, it was to my benefit if he were spoiled. "All right, then."

"Good. I'll pick you up in the morning. Just pack enough for tomorrow. We can buy your travel wardrobe in town while we wait for the passport to be processed."

"Look, I'm going to need some time to bargain hunt. It's not like sudden vacations figure into my budget."

"No need. I'll make the wardrobe part of the prize package.. We'll spend the night at a hotel, and leave early the next morning for home."

"You're a bossy person, aren't you?"

"I know what I want, and I get it. Until tomorrow, Scribe."

I hung up, and fingered the fringe of hair that had been falling in my eyes lately. I wasn't supposed to have bangs, but it had been a long time since I'd had the time, money, or incentive to have my hair done. Now was the time. Luckily, the hairdresser had a cancellation, and managed to fit me in. I was pleased with the results, and felt ready to set out on a grand adventure.

By eight the next morning I had the cat settled with a friend, the mail taken care of, the fridge emptied, and the gas and water turned off, just in case. I had a few clothes tucked in a battered little plaid, soft sided suitcase.

At eight-ten the limo pulled up--the stretch limo. It barely fit in my driveway. A genuine, honest to God uniformed chauffer got out of the front and opened the back door. A long, tall, sardonically gorgeous bearded man, wearing dark shades, got out of the back and headed toward the house, the chauffer trailing. He smiled as he advance, hand outstretched. "Scribe! So we meet at last."

There was absolutely no need for me to ask who he was. The face and form were familiar from the last People's Fifty Most Beautiful People edition. Reas practically oozed self assuredness.

I offered my hand, smiling a tad nervously now that he was actually here. He took it. Instead of shaking it, though, he raised it to his lips. I felt the tickle of his beard on the back of my hand, and a warm touch of skin. *Ooh, very old world,* I thought. Then he turned my hand over and kissed my wrist. I was suddenly sure that he had to feel the pulse that had immediately started to pound there.

He released my hand and removed the sunglasses, parking them in his jacket pocket. His head cocked, he said, "You cut your hair. It's very becoming."

"Thank you. I thought... Wait a minute. How did you know I cut my hair?"

He shrugged negligently. "Maybe I have spies. Is that all you're bringing?" He clucked. "We'll have to do something about your luggage. Arturo..." He gestured, and the chauffer picked up the bag, carrying it to the limo and placing it in the trunk. "Shall we?" He offered me his arm. For a split second I just stared at him. No one had ever done that, not in resent memory. I wasn't used to men 'escorting' women except in wedding parties and at proms.

He was watching me closely. "Come on. I can't take you unless you agree to be taken. Rules are rules." That was odd. Of course you couldn't force a vacation on someone. I put a hand gingerly on his arm, and he quickly tucked it in securely. He gave me a broad smile. It had to be my imagination, but it looked both satisfied and triumphant. "You'll enjoy this, I promise." I walked with him to the car. It isn't often I feel small. And it wasn't that he was such a huge person, either. He was good sized, but nothing to make a football or basketball coach look twice. Still, there was something about him that made me feel downright tiny.

The car was Robin Leach's wet dream. Leather upholstery, a built-in bar, telephone, mini-fridge, television. Plus it was spacious enough to have an orgy in. Where had that thought come from? As we backed out of the driveway, Reas unwrapped the foil from around the top of the bottle of champagne that nestled in a silver ice bucket. He worked the cork out with a subdued pop.

"I hope you don't mind that I didn't do that with a flourish." He poured a pale amber, bubbling liquid into a long stemmed crystal tulip glass. "And I hope you don't mind not having those commercialized shallow glasses. They're really not designed for champagne. Louis the fourteenth had to get sentimental and have a glass created based on the shape of his mistress' breast, and we lose centuries of effervescence."

I took the glass. Champagne isn't really my thing, but I wasn't about to turn it down, even if it was mid morning. This was all part of the experience. I was never going to do anything like this again, and I was determined to enjoy it. "Is that a true story?"

"Absolutely. He was as besotted as any man I've ever seen. And she was a scrawny little thing, too. Hardly had a mouthful of breast meat on her."

I felt myself blushing. Well, I wasn't going to let him embarrass me that easily. "You know you're history pretty well."

"Intimately. How's the bubbly?"

I sipped. What did I know? "Nice, I guess?"

His brows lifted. "You're a hard woman to impress. That's an '83 Moet Chandon. It costs about two hundred a bottle."

I almost choked on the bubbles. "Good God! I'm drinking a week's salary!"

"Just enjoy it. I'll have to remember to get you something sweeter from now on." We chatted as we rode to the urban center. The first stop was a private physician's office. I received a couple of shots, ending up with both an aching arm and an aching behind, and filled out forms. Then we went to a small office where I filled out more forms, and had my photo taken. We stopped at a travel store, and he bought a set of luggage. The price tag made me hyperventilate. Most of my cars had cost less. Then it was time for lunch.

We ate at a restaurant I'd seen reviewed in Texas Monthly, Bon Appetite, and Gourmet. After an initially scandalized glance at my Wal-Mart special clothes and a laser beam return from Reas they treated me like I was the Queen of England, and they were promoting a treaty.

After that we went to several clothing stores. Not just stores. Clothing stores. The clothes had no price tags on them. I was scared to breath, for fear I might damage something and find myself liable for it. Reas asked my opinion occasionally, but once my measurements had been taken, he consulted mainly with the clerk. I found myself being outfitted like a Barbie doll. What seemed like dozens of sets of clothes went into the new luggage, including underwear and a white, gauzy evening gown that looked more like a nightgown than anything else. I gave up my tentative questions and protests after a while. He just didn't seem to be listening. He kept saying, "Yes, I know. But this is a good color for you. If you don't like it, you don't have to keep it. Now, I want to see that in blue..."

When we went back to the travel place, a small green folder was waiting for me with my photo inside. My first passport. "Well, that was a good day's work. What say you to just having room service tonight, hmm?" That was fine by me. I felt shell shocked.

The hotel was a huge edifice near the airport. We were taken to the top floor, into a room that resembled those obscenely lavish staterooms in the Titanic movie. My luggage, except for my own pitiful belongings, remained in the trunk of the limo, ready for the short hop to the airport in the morning.

In my room, Reas ordered supper for us both, then sat down on one of the sofas (sofas, plural) to chat. I had figured that we'd each eat in our own room, but I didn't really mind. He was still interesting, even if he was a tad overwhelming. This time with the meal there was something called a Merlot. It tasted a lot better than the champagne, and I drank a good bit of it. By the time we'd finished, I was yawning.

"You go on to bed," said Reas. "I'll take care of these dishes."

I mumbled my thanks and went into the bedroom, then into the bathroom. I took a quick shower, put on my most comfortable old T-shirt, and stumbled into the darkened bedroom. I didn't remember turning off the lights, but that was all right, since I didn't need them anyway.

I felt my way to the king-sized bed and snuggled into silky sheets, sighing with contentment. I had started to drift off when the hand settled on my arm. In my near sleep state, I might have believed it was a dream. But when another hand settled over my right breast and squeezed slightly, I came awake with a start. That had been warm, solid, and very real.

I shoved myself out of bed, landing on the floor with a thump. The room was dimly lit by light seeping under the bathroom door. In the faint glow, I made out the bearded face that appeared over the side of the bed. "Did I pinch?" Reas asked mildly.

I jerked my T-shirt down over my thighs. "What are you doing?" I hissed.

"Oops," he said. "I see I misjudged my timing. Sorry, I thought you were ready."

"No, and I'm not gonna be! Get out of here!"

He shrugged, and slid out of bed. I yelped again, and covered my eyes. He was totally nude. I heard padding footsteps. A finger touched my cheek, and I slapped blindly, missing. I heard a chuckle. "You make the cutest noises. I can't wait to find out how you sound when you get excited." Before I could think of an outraged reply, the door shut, and I knew I was alone again.

I got up and went to the bedroom door. Damn, no lock. There was a chair at a vanity table, and I tried to wedge it under the knob. It fit loosely, and I hoped it would do the trick. I hoped I didn't have to find out whether or not it would be effective. Then I crawled back into bed. *The very idea,* I thought, as I drifted off.

Someone was shaking me. "Rise and shine." I blinked my eyes open. Reas was standing over me, once more clad with casual elegance, shaking my shoulder. I knocked his arm away and clutched the sheets up to my chin.

He sighed. "Look, I apologize for last night. I thought you'd gotten the signals. I can understand you being pissed with me, but you've got to get up, or we'll miss the plane."

"How did you get in here?"

He pointed. "Usual way." The door was unblocked, the chair once more neatly beside the vanity. Why hadn't I heard that? "Now get up while I go order breakfast."

He left, and I dressed hastily. I was going to wear my old clothes, but they'd disappeared. All that was left was the vacation wear. I didn't want to have anything that he was responsible for next to my skin, but I didn't have much choice unless I wanted to run around in my underwear.

When I went into the front room, he was working on a huge plate of food. Damn, the man had an appetite. He waved a fork at the dishes. "I didn't know what you like, so I got everything. Want me to fix you a plate?"

I sat down on the other side of the little table as he began to fill a plate. "Look, Reas, maybe last night was a little my fault, too. I'm not used to dealing with guys, so maybe I was sending out mixed signals without realizing it."

He set the plate in front of me. "So we were both mistaken. Eat."

I picked up my fork. "I just think we ought to get things clear before we leave."

"Sure. You don't intend to let me get into your pants. I intend to keep trying till I do. Pretty simple."

"Now look..."

"Eat. We have fifteen minutes to get down to the car."

*To hell with it.* I gulped down the food. I wasn't going to miss the opportunity of taking the dream vacation of a lifetime because one guy thought he was some sort of love god.

"God of War, actually."

"Excuse me?"

"Ten minutes. Come on." He urged me up out of my seat and herded me to the door.

"But I was going to get some of the complementary..."

"I'll buy it for you in Greece. I swear, if we miss that plane, I'll fly us there myself, rules or no rules."

We were hustling through the lobby. "What? You're a pilot now?"

He pushed me into the limo and jumped in after me. "Hundred bucks if you make it to the airport in ten minutes."

"Hey, I could get a speeding ticket."

"Cost of the ticket and two hundred." The chauffer burned rubber.

We made it to the airport without a ticket, and I was whisked onto the plane. For what I was given to understand was the first time in recorded history, it left exactly on time, and I found myself in the air, on my way.

He kept trying to grope me. I was really getting annoyed. The stewardesses thought it was cute. I heard them whispering about 'that cute honeymoon couple.' Lord. I just kept quiet and pushed his hands away, but I was making sure there was a good lock on my door in the hotel when we arrived. If he was this persistent in public...

In Athens we went to a small, but obviously hideously expensive hotel. The desk manager greeted Reas effusively. "Yes, your worship. The suite is prepared. Our best..."

I jerked to a halt. "Suite? Whoa, Nellie, no you don't. Separate rooms, pal. On different floors, if possible."

The manager looked from me, to Reas, and back again, obviously confused. "But his worship ordered..."

"He's not MY worship, and I don't care what he ordered. Separate rooms."

"Scribe, be reasonable. It's a suite, separate bedrooms."

"That interconnect. I know what a suite is." I glared at the manager. "Please direct me to the American embassy."

"Scribe..."

"I understand they help stranded tourists. I'm sure they can arrange a way for me back home..."

He threw up his hands. "You win. Separate rooms. For now."

"Forever and ever, amen."

"We'll see."

"No, you won't. That's the whole point."

He grinned. "Spitfire. You remind me of someone. I can't wait to introduce you to each other."

"Male or female?"

"Female. Why are you interested?"

"Because any guy who hangs around with you is likely to be just as much of a horn dog. At least with a woman, I won't have to worry about protecting my virtue." He gave me a really peculiar grin when I said that.

"You should take a nap."

I rolled my eyes. "I stopped taking naps when I had to stay up aaaall afternoon in first grade, like a big girl."

"Yes, but here in the Mediterranean, everyone who can takes a nap in the afternoon. The heat..."

"I'm from southeast Texas, I'm acquainted with heat. I'm on vacation, and I don't want to spend it dozing."

Reas crosses his arms, staring at me. "I could insist."

"You could try," I agree. "But unless you intend to sit on me..." I caught sight of his wicked grin, and stopped.

"Well, perhaps not sit on you."

"Yeah, like I'm going near that bedroom now. I'll just go in search of interesting, touristy spots myself, thanks." I dug an English/Greek phrase book out of my things and set off.

"No, wait, I'll come. I can't let you go wandering around a strange country by yourself. You could get eaten."

He caught up with me as I stepped out onto the busy street. "Eaten? By what? Wolves? Bears? Wild dogs?"

I felt a sharp twinge in my posterior, and whirled in time to see a young man kiss his fingertips at me with a grin. "Nope. Greeks." He laid a palm consolingly on the curve of my behind. "Hurts?"

I knocked his hand away and hissed. "Not as much as you will if you don't stop it!" I stalked away.

"Wait up. You need me for protection."

"Yeah, right. I always leave my cat to guard the tuna fish."

His voice was sly. "I wish you wouldn't talk about yourself like that. You actually have a very pleasant scent, kind of like apricots..."

"Stop it. I don't need you. Leave me alone." In ten minutes of trying to make my way along the crowded street, though, I was rethinking that statement. Apparently any American woman was a target, and any American woman with a southern accent had a bull's-eye painted on her bottom that was only visible to Greek men. I kept trying to dodge, but even the grandpas were fast. It wasn't long before I felt like I'd sat on a bee hive. I found myself, back to a wall, covering my aching behind protectively with the phrase book while a man in a business suit tried to shoo me over to a gaggle of what looked like whispering, chuckling frat boys.

I spotted Reas a few yards away, watching. He lifted his dark brows. "Well? Still feeling independent?"

"Do something! If I get pushed into the middle of that group I might not emerge in the same state I went in."

"You ready to let me go back to being a proper host?"

"Yes! Host, tour guide, bodyguard, whatever. Just do something."

"Do you trust me?"

My response was immediate. "Hell no, do I look crazy? But I can't be choosy right now."

"Fair enough."

He shouldered his way through the knot of men, putting himself between me and them. He put a hand on my head, starting to play with my curls. Then he shook a finger at the men and said something in Greek. I haven't seen that many people turn pale at the same time since ex-President Bush's minor surgery, when a radio announcer observed that, while George was under sedation, Dan Quayle was technically in charge.

They faded quickly. Several of them directed earnest babbling at me that could only be some form of apology. "What did you say to them?"

"I said you were my lover, and the next man who touched you would find his own cock removed and stuffed up his ass. If they looked at you disrespectfully, I'd only rip out their eyes."

"Oh. Um. That would do it."

"If you insist on wandering about in the heat, I can at least make sure you see something worth looking at." He flagged down a taxi. "Go on. That is, if you can sit down."

It was uncomfortable, but I managed. He looped an arm around my shoulders as we drove away, and I shrugged him off, scooting to the far side of the seat. He sighed. "You're a stubborn little cuss."

"Nobody else seems to think so. But then, they aren't trying to molest me."

"Well, silly them." He made another grab at me, and I shoved him back. The thing was, he was playing with me, and I knew it, and he knew I knew it. This guy was big, strong, and fast. If he ever really determined to jump my bones... Well, I might have a lot to say about it, but it wouldn't do much good. I just had to believe that he was amusing himself by freaking me out. I mean, with all the groupies he had, that had to be it, right?

"Where are we going?"

"There's a nice temple I want you to see. It's very special to me, and I want to share it."

"Is it public?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He leaned over and murmured confidingly. "You don't really think that would stop me, do you?"

"Wow." Okay, I'm usually much more articulate, but 'wow' was pretty accurate. I suppose the temple was small by, say, Acropolis standards, but it was the biggest one I'D ever seen. Okay, it was the only one I'd ever seen, but it was damn impressive.

We were near the top of a long, steep flight of stairs that led down into a sunken section of the temple. Reas was looking around. "Yes. You should have seen it when it was new."

I gave him a look. "Right." An occasional sight-seer wandered past. I wondered why they didn't react more strongly to him, seeing as he was a national celebrity around here.

"I want to show you something." He led me to a raised stone slab closer to the stairs. "Hm, they moved this. It used to be in the middle of the room, under the skylight. That way anyone lying on it could look up at the stars."

"Nice rock."

"It's not a rock. It's an altar. People offered up sacrifices to the God of War on it."

"I see. What sort of sacrifices? Food? Chickens? Goats?"

"Virgins."

I took a step back. "But I thought the Greeks didn't have human sacrifice."

He ran his hand over the smooth stone surface, a dreamy smile on his face. "Not that type of sacrifice. They didn't kill them. But I do believe it's been called 'a fate worse than death.' Utter rubbish, of course."

"You mean they... uh... on the stone?"

He nodded, eyes gleaming. "Sometimes the god himself would come down and do the honors."

"Oh, please." I backed up some more. "It makes me nervous just to be near that thing."

"Why should it? Unless..."

"Yeah."

"Scribe, are you..."

"I said yeah. Now let's drop the subject."

"Let's not." He came closer.

"Look, you can just get that glint out of your eyes. I don't intend to give it up. Not to you, and particularly not on a cold stone slab."

"I'm sure I can locate somewhere comfy nearby. Come here."

"Oh, hell." I was backing away. I don't really believe I would have fallen down the stairs on my own. I'll never know, because at that moment a purse snatcher chose to strike. And maybe I still wouldn't have fallen, if I hadn't tried to hang on to my purse. That pissed him off, and he shoved.

I tripped backward, and suddenly there was no ground under my feet. I had a nanosecond to wonder how they were going to ship my body back. Then I heard Reas give the most chilling scream of rage I've ever heard. I plunged through a patch of darkness, and landed, butt first, in water.

*Water? What the fuck? You mean I'm not dead?*

I spluttered and stood up. I hadn't known that the temple had a pool in it, but I was awful glad it did.

"Tartarus!" someone nearby yelped.

"You can say that again," I agreed. I didn't know what the heck a Tartarus was, but it sounded close enough to a swear to serve. I raked wet hair out of my face, picking a lily pad off my cheek, and looked around. "Where in the pluperfect hell am I?"

"You... you're in the temple of Ares at Athens... goddess?"

*Goddess?* It was a male voice. I looked around, trying to locate the source, and get my bearings at the same time. The room looked a little familiar. I was standing in what seemed to be a sort of stone-bottomed indoor pool, complete with lily pads. Overhead was a skylight, and in front of me was a large stone slab.

The speaker was kneeling in front of the altar, but had twisted around to look at me. He was a slender, rather gawky looking young man, dressed in the most gawdawful ridiculous looking outfit I'd ever seen. Sort of 'A Funny Thing Happened to Me On the Way to the Forum' meets 'Gladiator', crossed with 'Emeril Live'. The helmet looked like it would be very useful for straining spaghetti.

I waded toward him. He turned to face me, still on his knees, his brown eyes getting very big. I halted at the edge of the pool. I was hip deep in the water, and not feeling frisky enough to haul myself out. "What are you? Tour guide? Life guard?"

He swallowed, then straightened proudly. "Warrior."

"Check. Well, Rambo, how about giving me a hand up out of this pit?"

He got up and came forward, saying apologetically. "I'm not Rambo. My name is Joxer."

"Cute name." I said it absently, but his eyes brightened. I reached toward him. "Gonna help me out, here?"

He hesitated. "Why don't you just use your powers?"

"What powers?"

"Well, since you transported into it... Which goddess are you, anyway? I don't recognize you. You aren't Artemis, or Aphrodite, or Athena, or Hera or Eris, thank Zeus."

"I'm Scribe, and I'm not a goddess by a long shot, you flattering devil, you. Now help me!"

I managed to scramble out with his help. Unfortunately, he didn't stop pulling once I was out. His foot slipped on the water dripping off me, and he fell, still hanging on. I was dragged down. I had a better landing than he did: he cushioned my fall, though that armor was kinda lumpy.

"Aw, geez." I tried to scrabble upright, managing only to sort of squirm on top of him. "Crud, I'm sorry, fella."

"It's all right."

"But I'm getting you soaked."

He had a sort of dreamy look on his face. "No, really, it's all right."

I finally rolled off him and sat up, looking around. "Oh-kay. Now, does this place have security, or do I need to notify the local cops?"

"Cops? As for security... Well, someone would have to be either dumb or suicidal to try to pillage a temple devoted to the God of War. The only thing comparable would be going after one of Strife's temples." He shuddered.

"Uh, right. Okay, no security. So, how do I locate the police?" He looked blank. "Er, gendarms? Bobbies? Heck, what is the name for Greek police? But then, you're speaking English, so you should know what I'm talking about?"

"What's English?"

I looked at him again. "English. A language. From England?" No spark. "Um, Great Britain?"

His face lit up. "Oh, Britannia! Is that where you're from? You do have an interesting accent."

"No, I'm from Texas, and..." I paused. "I have an accent? Wait a minute... No, that would be silly. But... Tell me, Boxer..."

"Joxer."

"Yeah, right. What language do you think I'm speaking?"

He gave me a funny look. "Why the same as me and everyone else around Athens--Greek."

"I have news for you, I can't speak Greek."

"You seem to be doing a pretty good job to me."

"Trust me. I know a few restaurant terms: moussaka, ouzo, souvlaki, baklava, gyros. That's about it. I think maybe I hit my head when I fell, and didn't know it. Could you just call a taxi to take me back to my hotel? A few aspirin should fix me up, and maybe a quick dip in the hot tub, if I can lock Reas out of the room."

"I would be pleased and honored to help you, Goddess Fannie. I only need you to explain a few things."

"The name of my hotel?"

"What is a taxi and aspirin, and isn't it the water that's hot, and not the tub?"

I sat down, groaning. "I have such a headache."

"Maybe you're about to give birth."

I looked up sharply, then said carefully, "No, that isn't an option. And I think the pains would be located much further south if it were."

"Not necessarily." He sat beside me. "After all, Athena sprang fully grown from Zeus' head. Maybe you're going to have a godling. I wonder what positions they have left open?"

"Ain't pregnant, Foxy."

"That's Joxer."

"Where I come from, foxy means pretty much the same as sexy."

His face fairly glowed. "Really?"

"Don't get your tunic in a twist. I was just being friendly. Well..." I stood up. "There's usually a taxi or at least a phone booth somewhere near these touristy thingies. In fact, Reas left the taxi outside, so maybe I can sneak into it without him noticing and leave his behind behind. Oo, question is, will he trust me on the fare till I get back to my hotel and notify American Express to have my traveler's checks replaced?" I noticed the confused look on his face and said, "Ignore me. I'm just talking to myself. It helps me think things out." He nodded. "That makes sense to you?" He nodded again. "Wow. I think I like you." Another beam.

He followed me as I made my way outside, and bumped into me when I screeched to a halt. I looked at him. "All right. What happened to the road?"

He sighed. "It is a bit nasty. I think someone was driving a herd of goats into town, and didn't have enough courtesy to take them on the grass."

"No, I mean, where's the pavement? That was a two lane when I went in there. Concrete. Double yellow line." I waved at a grassy area to the side. "There was a parking lot over there. I think they charged five drachmae to park. Highway robbery."

He nodded. "Yes, those bandits are a curse. Xena and Gabrielle and I have had a lot of run-ins with them."

I stared at him. "I begin to believe that you are not being deliberately obtuse, but actually don't have a clue as to what I'm talking about." He nodded again. "Uh oh." I peered at him again. "I tell ya what, Joker..."

"Joxer."

"Right. I'm going to mention a few things. You tell me whether or not they mean anything to you." I cleared my throat. "Television." He shook his head. "Telephones." Shake. "Automobiles." Shake. "McDonalds." Shake. "MTV." Shake. "Survivor."

He frowned. "Of a war, or of a natural disaster?"

"Thank God that one isn't in existence. What year is this?"

"It's the fifth year of Augustus Caesar's reign in Rome. Does that help?"

I groaned, sitting down on a stone and holding my head. "No, not really."