“Alma,” he spoke her name, savoring it. “That means soul in Spanish.”
“That’s what I am,” she replied. “A soul.”
She faced him, seated cross-legged on the grass. The lush vegetation of the botanical garden formed near-solid walls around the small clearing they’d found. Overhead, the bright blue sky held a cresting sun as wispy, cottony clouds were ushered along by a sluggish breeze. Brilliantly colored butterflies flitted about, and the only other sounds came from the chirping birds.
He lay full-length in front of her, propped up on his elbow. He seemed to be idly plucking at the grass, but his attention was riveted on her tube top. With her long hair flowing freely, it was hard to tell there were no straps to hold it up. But he was close enough to see.
“All I have to do is this,” he said, bringing his finger close to her breast and making a downward motion.
She said nothing, daring him with her eyes. His eyes bore into hers as he brought his finger to her breast again and left it there suspended, a hairsbreadth away. After a moment’s hesitation, he hooked it into the top pulling it slowly down one side. She remained perfectly still as she felt the soft breeze caressing her breast.
(From Alma: A Soul Caught Between Heaven and Hell)