Summary

Tulisa Petrosyan was thirteen when she fell in love with the boy who lived across the stream. At the time, he'd been eighteen but she was convinced that had it not been for their age difference, Jesse could have returned her feelings. The years wore on and with them, her feelings for him only seemed to mature along with her. Unfortunately for her, Jesse had a girlfriend, who became his fiancé and eventually his wife. Tulisa resigned herself to her fate, for no matter how much she tried not to love him, it seemed she was doomed to make the same mistake as her mother by pining after a man she could never have. Then through a series of unfortunate circumstances, Jesse was all at once free. After suffering losses of the worst imaginable kind, Jesse has sworn off women. He has no plans of falling in love again. Yet, he finds his flesh burning to possess the once little girl whom he'd thought of as a little sister. But he can't just use Tulisa if he can't love her. *************** The Trouble with Apples and Trees A Drunken Tryst The pale yellow moon is waxing crescent in the midnight sky, it's ghostly glow not nearly powerful enough to make a difference in the thick darkness. Even so, Jesse is still aware of his surroundings. A cool summer breeze sweeping through the opened window flutters the sheer curtains to play with that familiar fragrance swirling around in his bedroom. It's a fruity smell -- sweet and tart and making Jesse long for the things of the past. Despite his current condition, he could still recognize the smell in the kind of way he'd feel a power packed punch to the gut. A mournful groan gurgles in his chest but he shoves that down along with the anguish that he'd tried to drown tonight. It has been too long. Too long since he's known the touch of a woman and this one, trying to support his weight is supple, her curves inviting, just as he remembers a woman is supposed to feel. Alcohol ripples like a strong current through his blood stream, inhibiting his coordination. One foot tangles with the other, making him stumble across the hard wood floor. The heavy boots he'd worn to the workshop that day sound like canons going off in this type of quietness. The noise is not a deterrent for him and he's too far gone to wonder if his fumbling is for her. It takes all of his wonky concentration to get his arms to labour through the heaviness incurred by the liberal amount he'd guzzled throughout the night; just to rise up from his sides to allow his eager, uncoordinated fingers to grab and grope at clothing and skin while she giggles at his clumsiness. Her laughter is pretty, he notes. That's the best word his struggling brain can come up with; and its familiar too. The girlishness behind the sound awakens a sense of awareness in Jesse as well as a niggling sensation that he shouldn't be taking this any further. "Let me. I'll do it," she says. Her sultry voice, dripping with the promise of release, makes him sta