“Your voice?” Mac wondered. “I think your voice is one of the sexiest things about you.”
He stopped suddenly, as though he had caught himself saying too much—which, truth be told, was not nearly enough for Flynn. Mac’s pale skin reddened a bit beneath his freckles. He looked away, staring down at the table and tracing a circle with his finger on its surface.
To the table more than Flynn, he said, “You just have this kind of deep, almost raspy quality that’s kind of velvety. I could wrap myself up in your voice, like a big fuzzy blanket.”
He gave a little chuff that Flynn could classify as a laugh.
“No, I like your voice. Very much.”
And then Mac did look up to meet Flynn’s gaze. His green eyes shone. There was an electric connection between them, so intense that Flynn had to look away
