The True Love Quilting Club Read Online Free PDF Page A

pictures on the wall of Miller with a pretty, much younger woman and three kids in their late teens.
    “Is this your family?” she asked, and turned back around to face him. “Your wife is beautiful and—”
    “Yeah, yeah, that’s my wife and kids. Now take off your clothes.”
    “Pardon?” It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard him; it was just that she couldn’t believe what she’d heard.
    “Get naked.”
    Her mind grappled with the situation. Was this really happening? Oh God, were the rumors reallytrue? Emma gulped. “My…Myron didn’t tell me the play involved nudity. I don’t do nude scenes.”
    “The play doesn’t involve nudity.”
    “Then why do I have to get undressed?”
    “Honey, do you want the lead in a Broadway play or not?”
    Anxiety slammed into her. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. The biggest producer on Broadway wanted to have sex with her? “I do.”
    “Then get those clothes off. I’m dying to see if the curtains match the carpet.”
    She wasn’t naïve. She knew such things went on. She’d come up against a lot of sexual innuendo in this business, some inappropriate touching, and, yes, she’d even been propositioned. But nothing so blatant as “Give me sex and I’ll give you a job.”
    “Come on,” Miller said, closing the gap between them. “Schmansky said you’d do anything for a part. I gotta see that red hair. He said you’re a natural.”
    Inside her chest her heart was an engine, revving hot and fast. Was this really what she was going to have to do to make her dreams come true? Humiliation tasted soggy and sour, like laundry left too long in the washing machine.
    Do you want the part?
    Not like this. Please God, not like this.
    Miller’s hands went to the snap of his jeans. His eyes were two lusty black dots. Spittle gleamed at the corner of his mouth. She realized he was standing between her and the door. Over his shoulder she could see the smiling face of his wife and kids. What a prince.
    Emma straightened her spine, stitched together the scattered pieces of her courage. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”
    “Yeah?” He slid his zipper down.
    She knotted her fists. If she screamed, no one could hear her. She was five-foot-nothing and ninety pounds. Miller was over six feet and weighed at least two hundred. She didn’t stand a chance of fighting him. She tried to look haughty. “You’ve been misinformed.”
    “How’s that?” He came toward her.
    She inched backward, her longing gaze caressing the door. “Myron misspoke. There’s a lot of things I won’t do for a part.”
    “Just a blow job then. Five minutes you’re done, the part is yours.” He stripped his pants to his ankles and stood there completely naked from the waist down, sporting a boner the size of Detroit. It made her hurt just looking at him.
    “I…I…” She was so stunned she couldn’t breathe, much less talk.
    Miller snaked out a hand and grabbed her by the waist. “Here, let me help you with those clothes.”
    What happened next was pure reflex. She forgot he was big and she was small. Forgot he was the most famous producer on Broadway and she was a lowly struggling actress. Five years of Krav Maga training took over. She brought her knee to his crotch at the same time she jammed her fist up underneath his chin.
    Miller’s head snapped back. He let out a blood-chilling shriek, clutched his testicles with both hands, and sank like a sack of salt to the floor.
    Emma turned, leaped over his prostrate body, and ran for the door. She fumbled at the lock as Miller cursed her with every colorful word in his extensive vocabulary. “You’ll never work in this town again,” he screamed.
    Feeling like the utter cliché she was, Emma stumbled down the corridor, staggered past the assistant who no longer looked so bored, and tumbled out onto the street.
    It was only as she ran, pushing her way through the cluster of humanity thronging Forty-second