You Had Me at Hola(45)

But they weren’t alone. And he wasn’t supposed to want that, although he was starting to forget why. Instead, he just played with the ends of her hair, styled into a mass of defined curls by the hair team at Carmen. When she tilted her head closer, he let the backs of his fingers lightly brush her bare shoulders and pretended her shirt wasn’t setting him on fire.

Movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn. Lily Benitez crawled across the long sofa to Jasmine’s side. “Oh my god, you guys,” she said, slurring her words a little. “You two are so cute together. Is there, like, something going on?”

Ashton snatched his hand away from Jasmine’s shoulder like it was a hot stove. His throat locked and his heart rate rocketed.

Co?o. This was how rumors started. How could he have been so stupid? He should have known better than to—

Jasmine just gave Lily an unconcerned smile. “Nah. Why do you ask?”

At that, Lily shrugged and slumped against Jasmine’s shoulder. “Just curious. It happens on a lot of sets, you know.”

Jasmine laughed. “Oh, I know.”

“Cool.” And then Lily flipped her hair and went back to nursing a cup of water at the other end of the room.

While Ashton struggled to get his pulse under control, Jasmine looked up at him from under her lashes. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, reflecting the light from the screen flashing lyrics for “You Sang to Me.”

Then she poked him in the side and muttered, “Don’t get bent out of shape.”

“You handled that well,” Ashton told her, impressed by how easily she managed awkward interactions. He would have stammered and rambled, then run away.

Her gaze held his for a long moment before she looked away. “Nothing to tell.”

Her tone was cool, but there were many things unsaid in those words, and they were at odds with the heat in her eyes. Ashton felt like he did when they were on set together, when Carmen and Victor spoke without speaking, conveying so much connection in a single look or touch. Right then, he felt it. Like he knew her deeply, as if all their time on set pretending to be other people had also brought them closer together.

The powerful impulse to know her even more deeply rose up inside him.

But as much as he wanted to kiss her right now, as himself, they were in a room full of their coworkers. And this was a line he’d sworn he wouldn’t cross ever again.

A shout went up as the others recognized the opening bars of “Livin’ La Vida Loca.”

“That’s my song,” he whispered to Jasmine alone.

Her teeth bared in a fierce smile and her eyes gleamed. She handed him the extra mic and said, “Kill it.”

He did. Allergies be damned. He gave the song his all, copying Ricky Martin’s mannerisms and revving his voice. The others danced and sang along, urging on his theatrics. Through it all, he kept finding Jasmine’s eyes shining at him from across the room.

It was all for her. He wanted Jasmine to see him, the real him. ángel Luis, the boy who’d grown up dreaming of being a big movie star. And Ashton, the man who ran around with his son playing superheroes.

He wanted to tell her everything, but he couldn’t. Instead, he let her see a glimpse of who he felt himself to be inside . . . through the words and moves of the great Ricky Martin.

When it was over, the crowd, as they say, went wild. Jasmine found him and slipped a hand around his waist when no one was looking.

“You’re amazing.” Genuine admiration glowed on her face, lighting him up from within. Then she winked and grabbed the mic from him as “Jenny from the Block” flashed across the screen in garish pink. “But let me show you how it’s done.”

Jasmine raised the mic to her mouth. “Gotta remember your roots,” she said, then proceeded to serenade the room with a powerful rendition of JLo’s early hit about growing up in the Bronx.

Ashton couldn’t take his eyes off her. She shone like the brightest star in the sky, commanding the heart and imagination. Everything else paled in comparison to her radiance.

He should leave. Watch some TV, go to sleep, wake up tomorrow with new resolve to keep his distance. His life was complicated enough without developing feelings for his costar.

Instead, Ashton drank more. He sang more. He chatted with the others and shared a basket of french fries—his weakness—with Nino. And somehow, he never lost track of Jasmine. She appeared at his side periodically, checking in on him, handing him wine, water, tissues. Touching his waist, his back, his arm. Driving him wild with her smiles and small touches.

And despite his reservations, he touched her too. With as close as they got on set, it seemed normal to rest his hand on her hip when she reached past him to steal a fry, or to trail his fingers down her arm while she whispered anecdotes to him about the songs, her lips achingly close to his ear, sending tingles across his scalp.

He already knew the feel of her mouth under his. But those kisses had been choreographed, controlled, and scrutinized by others. He wanted to know how she tasted.

As Lily treated them all to a wild interpretation of a Shakira song, Jasmine found her way to his side once again.

“I’m going to go back to the hotel,” she told him, pitching her voice low.

“I’ll go with you.” The words came without forethought. He knew how it would look if they left together, but he didn’t give a shit. As much fun as he was having with the rest of the cast, he didn’t want to be there without her.