You Had Me at Hola(38)

When she arrived at the dance studio the next day, worry gnawed at her. Would Ashton pull away from her again after possibly being photographed in the grocery store? But her fear was surpassed by her anticipation at getting to dance with him. She swung by craft services for a protein bar and coffee, then hurried inside the real dance studio where they would rehearse.

A PA directed her to a spacious room, complete with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, a ballet barre, sound system, and shiny light wood floor. Narrow windows overlooked Forty-Fifth Street.

Jess and Nik, the dancers who’d been hired to choreograph Carmen and Victor’s salsa, were beautiful, professional, and—Jasmine could tell just from the way they looked at each other—100 percent in love with each other. Jess was petite, with creamy brown skin and gorgeous curls. Nik had a quick smile and a thick Brooklyn accent, and he moved like a leopard.

The first thing the dancers asked, after introductions, was whether Jasmine and Ashton had any experience dancing salsa. When they both nodded, Jess clapped her hands in delight.

“Well, that just makes things so much easier, doesn’t it?”

Nik turned on a Gloria Estefan song. “Why don’t you two show us a little of what you can do?”

Jasmine’s breath caught in her throat. This was the opposite of what they’d done with Vera, who outlined and directed every move before they made it. While it had initially been weird, it also took away the awkwardness of just jumping into an intimate encounter with the other actor—which, she supposed, was the whole point of having an intimacy coordinator attached to the production. Today, they were on their own.

Ashton held out his hand and Jasmine met his eyes. She’d have killed to know what he was thinking right then. Was he excited to dance with her? Annoyed? She couldn’t tell. But she took his hand, and just like that, they were dancing.

Years of ingrained muscle memory took over. Jasmine had learned these moves at a very young age, and had danced them with her abuelos and tíos at every wedding, birthday, and christening she’d ever attended. Her spine arched into the proper pose as her feet picked up the beat and her hips connected to the rhythm. Salsa music was in her blood, the combination of congas, trumpets, and smoky vocals flowing through her and begging her to move with them.

And Ashton . . .

Ashton knew how to lead.

He took her through spins and twirls, giving her slight cues through his hand on her back, or a tug on her fingers. She moved to the music, following his guidance, all of her attention glued to him. There was a light in his eyes she’d never seen before, and his lips curved in a confident smile that had her melting inside.

Now she knew why he’d said he wasn’t nervous about dancing. He was amazing at this.

Their dance only lasted a few seconds before Nik turned the music off, and Jasmine’s heart cried out for more. She was breathing fast when she turned to face the others, but it wasn’t from exertion.

Ashton had left her breathless.

And he was still holding her hand.

He gave her fingers the slightest squeeze, then released her. And Jasmine’s treasonous heart soaked it up like it was a declaration of love.

“You two clearly have moves,” Nik said, coming over to join them.

“And chemistry,” Jess added, beaming. “This makes our job a lot easier, as we can focus on form and choreography. Sound good?”

They got to work, and it was the most fun Jasmine could remember having on set in a long time. No offense to Vera.

When the day was over, Jasmine was tired, but exhilarated. For the first time, she let herself imagine the audience response to Carmen. It was something she shut off while filming, because if she acted with the audience reaction in mind, it would trap her in her own head and damage the performance. But with the way the last few episodes had gone, she was sure people would love it.

She just hoped enough of them watched to warrant a second season. She was growing to adore Carmen and Victor, and she was curious to see what the writers would do with more episodes.

Riding high, Jasmine stopped Ashton on his way to their double-banger trailer and made the offer before her common sense could catch up.

“Want to practice tonight?” she asked, her voice nonchalant. “You can swing by my room.”

He looked at her for a moment that seemed to last forever while she waited for his answer.

In the back of her mind, common sense finally piped up like a warning alarm.

Bad idea bad idea bad id—

“Sure,” he said, and she couldn’t stop the flash of pleasure she felt at his agreement.

The voice of common sense nagged at her as she entered her side of the trailer, through changing and removing her makeup, and into the black SUV that would drive her back to the Hutton Court. Finally, she couldn’t ignore it anymore and reached out to the Primas of Power.



Jasmine: Help. I’ve done something incredibly stupid.





Chapter 18


Ashton didn’t know what had possessed him to accept Jasmine’s invitation.

Well, he did—it was pure, ill-advised lust, currently on overdrive after dancing with her all day—but he still should have turned her down. There were so many reasons to be careful about meeting with fellow actors in private places.

Not that he thought she had ulterior motives. He believed her when she said she wanted to rehearse. Their performances had clearly improved since they’d started hanging out together, but he was still wary of anyone finding out what they were up to. The grocery store was bad enough. Going to her hotel room after hours was amateur shit, just begging to be caught.