Free Mr Destiny by Candy Halliday

Had Kate not been so perfect in every other way, he would have dropped
     her at that first sign of insurrection.
    Except Kate
was
perfect wife material.
    More perfect than any woman he would ever find again.
    He knew that.
    “A successful man keeps his home life and his real life separate,” his father had hammered into his brain. “Give the woman
     you marry everything a woman could ask for. Put her up on a pedestal where your
wife
belongs. But take your pleasure where money can buy you whatever you want in the bedroom. You do that, and you'll have a
     successful career, a successful marriage, and a sexually satisfying private life.”
    His father had proved that point on his eighteenth birthday. His birthday gift from dear old dad had been the type of woman
     you reserved for the bedroom. That coming-of-age experience had definitely been satisfying beyond his wildest dreams. It had
     also set the stage for his adult sexual preferences.
    He often wondered what the couple's therapist he and Kate were seeing would say if she knew the real reason behind why he
     had no interest in Kate physically.
    Harold smiled.
    Dr. Elaine Markam had been so intent on bringing his “problem” to light, she'd quickly filled in all the blanks with her own
     absurd assumptions.
    Clueless bitch.
    However, when he thought about it, he decided he should actually double Dr. Markam's fee. After only two months into therapy,
     he'd proposed, and Kate had accepted.
    Now Kate truly believed he was suffering from some imaginary penile inferiority complex. That meant she had stopped worrying
     about their lack of physical contact for the moment, getting her off his back. It also meant after they were married and he
     forced himself to take her to bed often enough to keep her happy, she would believe her patience and understanding had cured
     him—making her even more devoted to him.
    But most importantly, she would never suspect the problem all along had been that nice girls like Kate had never been able
     to satisfy his sexual appetite.
    Kate was going to be his wife.
    He would put her on a pedestal where she belonged.
    His pleasure he'd take elsewhere.
    Harold smiled again as he waited for the elevator that would take him to the grand deluxe suite he always reserved when he
     stayed there—one of Chicago's finest hotels. There was no doubt in his mind that marrying Kate would be the best possible
     move he could make. Having a beautiful wife and a gracious hostess would undoubtedly complete the image that went along with
     his already-successful career. His finally getting married would please his doting mother immensely. Also, having Kate to
     take care of the elementary aspects of running his household would free him up for even more
private
life time when he wanted it.
    A sexually satisfying private life.
    That was his ultimate goal.
    “Good evening,” an older gentleman said when Harold stepped into the elevator. Harold ignored the man and pushed the button
     for his tenth-floor suite. Arrogance was another fond trait his father had passed down to him. Like his father, he had no
     desire to waste time on empty conversations with irrelevant people he had no interest in knowing.
    But also like his father, he could turn on the charm when it suited his purpose—as was the case where his mother and his darling
     fiancée, Kate, were concerned. When it came to the only two women who would ever be relevant in his life, being so charming
     it often sickened him would
always
suit his purpose.
    He left the elevator, reached his suite, and slid the plastic key into the slot. Once inside, he tossed his briefcase onto
     a chair, took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, then headed to the wet bar. A tumbler of Scotch in hand a few minutes
     later, he walked to the living room area of the suite, punched the remote, and slumped down on the plush leather sofa as the
     large plasma screen came to life.
    He had exactly fifteen minutes to relax before