“You shouldn’t look at me like that, Sophie.”
His voice was low, commanding, the kind that made your thighs clench and your breath hitch.
But he wasn’t just any man.
He was my stepbrother.
And now… my professor.
⸻
It started with a name on a syllabus.
Professor Nathan Hale – Advanced Romantic Literature.
I’d stared at it for a full minute, heart thudding in disbelief. No. It couldn’t be him. Nathan left years ago—after graduation, after our parents’ awkward marriage made us step-siblings and roommates in a house full of tension and late-night glances that lingered too long.
But when he walked into the lecture hall, tall and effortlessly confident in that fitted navy shirt and charcoal slacks, I knew. It was him.
Older. Broader. Sexier. Dangerous.
His eyes swept the room, and for
