I wipe my palms down my dress before I take to the runway, holding the necklace in my hand. I try to banish all thoughts of Big Doris from my head. The necklace is so pretty. Someone has to bid.

Dangling the pendant from my hand, I turn so the cameras can project the image on the screen behind me. Then I smile.

“Five thousand.”

Darn. Even I know the necklace is worth more than that. Taking a deep breath, I swing the necklace from my finger and saunter down the runway.

“Ten thousand.”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty-two.”

Twenty-two is a long way from fifty, and with Dr. Drake smirking in the corner, I need to do something to heat up the bidding. I saunter to the auctioneer and tell him to announce that I too will offer myself as a dinner companion.

My offer receives cheers and applause, a few whistles, and one catcall.

I put my hand on my hip, spin around and wiggle walk to the back of the stage giving everyone a good view of my backless dress.

“Thirty thousand.”

Looking back over my shoulder, I give the audience a wink and then spin again and pose with the necklace laid against my chest. A smile tugs at my lips. This is kind of fun and in Amanda’s dare-to-bare dress, I’m feeling the magic.

“Forty thousand.”

“Forty five.”

“Forty eight.”

The bids continue to climb. The more I wiggle, the faster they rise. By the time they hit sixty, I’m sweating like I’ve spent an hour in the gym.

“Seventy-five thousand dollars,” Dr. Drake shouts from the floor. He looks up at me and winks.

My face freezes mid-smile. Nononononononono. Seeing him at work is one thing, but going on a date with him when he’s made his intentions clear is another. And what about Max?

“Seventy-five thousand going once,” the auctioneer calls.

Dear God, please let someone else bid. I’ll be good. I won’t gossip. I won’t think mean thoughts about people. I’ll call my parents every day.

“One hundred thousand,” someone shouts.

Saved.

“One twenty-five,” Dr. Drake counters.

No. Bad Dr. Drake. Sweat trickles down my back. My heart thuds against my chest. No. Please. Not an evening with Kink on a Stick. I like my toes unsucked.

“One fifty.”

I roll my hips like a catwalk model, and I walk up and down the runway, imagining I don’t have quite as many curves. By the time they reach two-fifty, my stomach has twisted itself into such a knot I may never eat again. Where does a surgeon get two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to throw away?

“One million dollars.” A deep, rich voice cuts through the crowd.

Gasps from the audience. A sharp inhale of breath from Dr. Drake. A small sigh of relief from me.

“Well, I can’t beat that.” Dr. Drake throws up his hands and shrugs.

“One million once,” the auctioneer calls. “Twice.” He pauses and the crowd holds a collective breath. “Sold for one million dollars. Would our generous benefactor please step forward and collect your prize? Your contribution will help fund our new neonatal cardiac ward and we would all like to show our appreciation.”

I would like to know who thinks this heart is worth one million dollars.

Or maybe, I already do.

A low murmur builds, rolling from the back of the room, gaining momentum as the crowd parts. I hold my breath, and a space clears at the front of the stage.

Max.

He looks up and catches my gaze. My eyes glisten with happy tears. My lips part and my grin stretches from ear to ear. He strides toward me, breathtaking in his sleek, black tux, thick hair still slightly damp and curling at his temples. When he reaches the stage, he closes the distance between us, taking the steps two at a time until he is standing in front of me.

He takes the necklace from my outstretched hand. “Mine,” he whispers.

“Yours. A million times over.”

He reaches behind me and fastens the chain around my neck. His fingers brush lightly over my bare skin and a tiny shiver races down my spine. My hand flies to my throat to touch the most expensive piece of jewelry I have ever worn. “Max, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

The audience claps and cheers. Max spins me around to face them and slides an arm around my waist. “Are you ready for the big time, baby?”

***

By the time the paparazzi are done taking pictures, I can no longer see. Max leads me off the stage and into a luxurious side room with a working fireplace, silk tapestries, and carved-wood ceilings. We sit on a red upholstered sofa built for two, and I stare at the fire and try to blink the spots from my eyes.

“I see you managed to get an invitation.”

Max runs his hand up and down my bare back sending tiny shivers of need darting through my veins. “When I saw that picture I had to come. I would have stormed the castle if Colton had not managed to get me on the list.”

I touch the necklace. “I’m glad you did. Seeing you walk through the crowd was magical. You took my breath away. It’s a moment I’ll never forget.”

“I aim to please.”

“And please you do,” I whisper.

With the worst possible timing in the universe, Dr. Drake appears in the doorway. “Mac, we need you on stage. The bidding is cooling off. You’ve got to get out there and heat things up again.”

Max bristles. “No.”

“Huntington.” Dr. Drake walks toward him and holds out his hand. “We meet again. I want to thank you for your contribution. It will help us purchase equipment that will save many lives, and I’m sure Mac will be an entertaining dinner companion.”