I'd read enough travel brochures on the plane to know that I should have been looking out the window at the beauty that is historic Greece. But all I was thinking about was the indescribable beauty that was sitting next to me in the car and how a few moments ago he had been handing me a box of condoms, and a short time before that, I had been having wild sex with him on a beach. Awkward.

It had been completely silent since we'd gotten into the car, which I was grateful for, because had he asked me a question, I might have said something about head and brain injury being the most common type of injury caused by car accidents or that the most dangerous road in the world was in Bolivia or that--- Stop it Jane, get a grip.

"So pleasure?" He finally asked.

"What? I beg your pardon?"

"Business or pleasure? But pleasure I presume." There was a strange tone in his voice.

Pleasure was definitely the wrong word to have chosen under these circumstances, it held so many connotations. Not to mention made my stomach do a little double take.

"I am definitely not here for any pleasure. I can assure you of that." I said firmly, making sure I set the record straight. Boxes of condoms usually sent the wrong messages to people.

"So business?" he sounded slightly amused still.

"What! No! No!" Did he think I was a working girl? "No, it's not that kind of business at all. Not at all."

"So what kind of business brings you to Santroni that is so important, you aren't here for a little bit of pleasure too?"

Again with that loaded word! And the way he said it certainly didn't make it sound like it referred to innocent frolicking on the beach, sight seeing or eating Meze in the sun. I was suddenly feeling very hot again, not just from him, but also from the car, so I proceeded to fan myself with my passport.

"It's hot in here." I exclaimed.

"At least 2 to 5 degrees hotter," he said with a sly sounding smile in his voice as he began winding down the window. "The aircon is broken."

I attempted to do the same, but the button didn't seem to be working. I pressed it a few times but the stubborn thing didn't budge. And then suddenly- without any kind of warning- I felt his big muscular arm reach across me.

"There's a magic trick to it," He said with a smile in his voice (Dark art practitioner?), "you have to jiggle the switch," He jiggled it and his arm brushed my stomach lightly and then the worst possible thing happened, his whole hand fell into my lap as the car went over a bump. I jumped, letting out a little gasp as he pulled away quickly.

"Sorry. Bumpy road." He said casually, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. But I felt anything but casual. In fact, my lap currently felt like it was on fire and melting into the seat beneath me. What the hell was wrong with me, that one touch from this guy had me feeling like I was losing all control of my body and mind?

"Yes, did you know that in Ireland there are some potholes that are so big you can actually swim in—" I stopped myself mid-way. "Nevermind.."

He looked at me sideways and flashed me a small smile. Why was he smiling?

"So what is your business then?" he asked.

"I'm looking for someone."

"Who?"

"A man." I kept my response brief, I wasn't going to tell this stranger my whole story.

"Mmmm," He said knowingly, " I think that all the beautiful women that come to Greece are looking for a man.'

"What?" I inhaled sharply. He'd just called me beautiful and for a second I almost let my imagination run away with me, but I quickly reeled it in, because this was obviously a blatant lie. I was not beautiful.

He was obviously just stuck in default charming mode. The Greek cliché: hot romantic playboy. He probably called all the women he drove around beautiful (exactly the kind of things those middle-aged, low-cut topped woman were looking for.)

But I was onto him. I don't trust good-looking men under normal circumstance. Besides most of them have the emotional and intellectual IQ of a hairdryer. Well, I wasn't going to fall for his act. I would not be charmed by this Greek playboy.

His act reminded me of that freshly polished floor in the mall- it was too smooth and if you weren't careful and watched where you walked, you might slip and break something. Or at least leave with a large, painful bruise.

"It's not that kind of man!" I finally said as firmly as I could, once I had gathered myself.

"Oh" he turned and arched his brow in query, "Not romantic?"

"Not all relationships with men are romantic you know. In fact, it's been scientifically proven that you can have a very fulfilling platonic relationship with a member of the opposite sex."

He smiled that devastating smile again as if what I'd said had somehow amused him. But the smile, coupled with the eyes and the dimples and the perfect face and hair were almost too much to look at. Like the Greek legend of Medusa, but instead of being turned into stone, it was the opposite, you were turned to jelly.

I turned away from him and looked out the window trying to focus on my surroundings instead.

"So what kind of man is he then?"

God he wasn't letting this go, he was like one of those children that kept asking "Why?" or "Are we there yet?"

"He's just someone that worked here a while ago."

"And where is he now?"

"I don't know. All I know is his name is Dimitri."

The Greek God burst out laughing. "Everyone here is Dimitri. My name is Dimitri."

"I doubt that." I said dryly.

He reached into his cubbyhole, pulled out his driver's license and passed it to me.

The photo was obviously old, his hair was much shorter and he looked more clean-cut, but still deadly gorgeous.

"Dimitri Spiros" I read it out loudly, "Oh. I see."

We fell into a silence again. I couldn't believe his name was Dimitri. The coincidence didn't escape me. Not that I wanted to draw any comparisons between me and bio-mom. The silence seemed to drag on, but this time I noticed him glancing over at me several times.

"What?" I heard myself asking.

"Do you always wear dark glasses in the evening?" he asked, sounding amused.

"Yes. As a matter of fact I do. They happen to protect your eyes against harmful UV rays, which I might add are still present at sunset so..."

"So it's not because you're a celebrity trying to hide from the paparazzi or something like that?"

I tisked loudly, "Please. Do I look like a celebrity?"

"Definitely." His response was instant and the word was said so deliberately that I had an abrupt case of arrhythmia.

"In fact you look a little like a model here that I recently worked with, Alexandra. She's considered to be one of the most beautiful women in Greece."

In one violent movement, my heart swopped places with my spleen. I sat up straight and adjusted my seat belt; maybe subconsciously I thought I was going to fall out the moving vehicle in total shock.

This guy was a real pro. He probably told all women- no matter what they looked like- that they resembled some great beauty. He was definitely the local holiday fling. All those women who came to Greece probably landed up falling onto his hot tour guide lap... how totally cheesy and predictable!

I guess...Like my birth mother did.

Well, I was nothing like her. I wouldn't fall onto his lap or onto any other part of his anatomy - if that was indeed his agenda.

He spoke again. "Welcome to Fira. This is where you'll be staying. It's one of the most beautiful villages in Santorini."

"I see," I said taking in the surroundings. The entire place had a kind of warm glow in shades of blue and gold as the sky and the lights took it in turns to light up the whole village. Everything was white – the homes, the hotels – even the streets were quaint little paths cobbled in light grey.

We were forced to make an impromptu stop as a lazy donkey decided to cross the road.

"You will find that the pace of life here is not like anywhere else.".

"Mmmm.." I looked down at my watch. I wonder what time I was meant to check in. I tapped my watch impatiently. I hated being late.

"So, where are you from Jane?"

"South Africa."

"Aaah," he said, "The beautiful rainbow nation and home of one of the greatest leaders that ever lived, Nelson Mandela."

AHA! The last bit of evidence that proved- beyond a reasonable doubt- he was a 'professional wooer of womenfolk'. Say something intelligent and thoughtful about the person's country, not only does it show you up as being sensitive, but also knowledgeable and interested in the world around you. What a smart little addition to his seduction routine. I bet he had a 'great' person lined up for every possible country. He probably Googled them regularly.

Still, I wondered how many women had fallen for this particular little gambit. He was so good that he probably broke the aircon himself and orchestrated the bump in the road, not to mention the crossing donkey to give the women a chance to find their way onto his lap.

The car finally started moving again as the donkey cleared the street- I gave it a once over to check it wasn't animatronic. It was only then that I spotted the cat running down the street. We drove a little more before finally stopping outside my hotel. The Luxury Aegean Villas.

"Are you sure this is your hotel?" He asked in a tone that sounded reticent and strange. As if he were trying to be polite.

I pulled out the large plastic envelope that the travel agent had given me containing all the pertinent details of my trip. *Terms and conditions really had applied to the sun cream, though; I'd received five small 0.05 oz tester sachets of the stuff. I pulled out my itinerary and read it out loud.

"Luxury Agean Villa's"

"Are you sure it doesn't say Agean Sea Villa's" he asked in that same strange polite tone.

"Why?"

"There're are two hotels here with a similar name."

"Nope." I read the words one more time to be sure, but the word sea was very clearly absent.

"Okay." He climbed out of the car. All his movements seemed very well rehearsed, as if he knew he was always on stage with an audience of gaping women. He eased the door open, as if he were starring in an advert for the latest Maserati. Suave, devastating hot man climbing out of sexy, obscenely over priced car.

He stood up with brazen confidence, as if in an advert for extra strength Viagra and he had the kind of rock -hard erection that he'd just used to bring a small village of women to their quivering weeping knees.

STOP! Crapping hell Jane. What had gotten into me? The only kinds of thoughts that I seemed to have around this man were the dirty sexual kind. I physically shook my head, hoping to shake the thoughts free and climbed out. It was getting too dark to wear my glasses now and I took them off.

I sneezed. "Dammit!" A cat skulked out of the shadows. I was completely allergic to cats. I hoped this place wasn't full of them.

"Well Jane, it was a pleasure meeting you and I hope you find the Dimitri you are looking for."

And then, to my absolute horror, he leant forward and kissed me on both cheeks. I caught a brief whiff of his scent - it was all exactly like I'd imagined in my dream, only better.

"I... I... yes, thanks for the lift." I stumbled over my words while in my mind he was busy running his fingers through my hair and nibbling on my ear.

He nodded and stands of hair fell into his face again. It was as if all the fantasies about men that existed in the female collective consciousness had somehow coalesced and transformed into physical form. And its name was Dimitri Spiros.

"Do you know where you are going to look for your Dimitri?" He asked.

I shook my head, "No idea."

"So if you don't know who he is, or where he is, how do you know I'm not the Dimitri you came looking for? Maybe you were meant to find me." He flashed his deadly Medusa smile again and my skeletal system liquefied.

I smiled politely, "Goodnight Dimitri, thanks for the lift."

"It was my pleasure."

Again with that bloody word.

I turned and started walking away.

"Wait." He called after me. I turned and looked straight into one of the last shafts of sunlight. "Here is my card so you can call me when you're ready to go on a tour of the island." He moved towards me.

"Thanks, but I won't be doing any tours."

"Well, take it anyway, in case you change your mind, or if you need anything." I reached out to the card but he didn't let it go.

"Your eyes..." he said softly.

I sighed. The inevitable had arrived. "No it's not a glass eye. It occurs when there is a lack or an excess of the pigment melamine and is usually a genetic disorder that–"

I stopped. He was looking at me weirdly now. I'd seen many people react to them before. They usually looked at me with confusion at first, and then went in to investigate further, staring from one to the other like I was some zoo animal in a cage. It made me seriously uncomfortable, but this was making me feel worse. I'd never seen anyone look at me like this before.

"What?" I couldn't take it any longer.

"I've just never seen anything like it before." He looked up at me strangely one last time and then quickly climbed into his car and drove off without another word. Like I was some kind of freak.

Bastard. Not exactly subtle in his revolution.