THE SEXY PROFESSORS SERIES BOXED SET

 Welcome to Thackeray College—where the professors are hot, the chemistry is off the charts, and the smartest people in the room keep making the messiest mistakes.

This series follows a group of sharp-tongued, emotionally unavailable academics who thought they had it all figured out—until love knocked them on their tenured asses. From forbidden hookups and surprise pregnancies to hate-fueled Vegas weddings, every story is packed with enough tension to set the faculty lounge ablaze.

If you like your romance with banter, brains, and a very generous dose of spice, the Sexy Professors series delivers.

NOT QUITE PERFECT

When I met Professor David Carstairs on the ferry to my mom’s sixth—and hopefully last—wedding, I wasn’t looking for a rom-com meet-cute.

David was smart. Sexy. Charming … the kind of man who made it dangerously easy to forget every cynical thing I believed.

We argued about books. Flirted like it was foreplay. And when he invited me back to his place, I didn’t even pretend to hesitate.

It wasn’t just a night I’ll never forget—it was the kind that gave me hope. For a moment, it felt like the start of something real. Something perfect.

And then everything fell apart. Because my new stepdad? David’s father.

Now we’re suddenly stuck playing family, while living in the same small town where secrets don’t stay buried long.

We try to act normal. Smile politely. Pretend our bodies don’t remember every second of what we did that night.

But nothing about us is normal—not the chemistry or the stolen glances. And definitely not the two pink lines on the test on my bathroom counter.

THE WORST MAN

By now, I should be immune to Professor Hank Talbot’s smug insults. But the infuriatingly handsome, arrogant man knows exactly how to push my buttons—and does it with a smile.

So when he tells our colleagues at a work conference that my idea of fun involves color-coding my sock drawer, I’m officially done playing nice. He thinks I don’t know how to let loose? Fine. Challenge accepted.

From dive bars to swanky clubs, we tear through Sin City like it’s our own personal playground—until one too many shots of tequila lands us at that infamous little white wedding chapel on the Las Vegas Strip.

Now, what’s even more shocking than waking up accidentally married to the man I hate most in the world is realizing it might not be the worst idea after all.