If I were to ever get trapped inside a parking garage at night with a psychopathic security guard like the woman in P2 does, I absolutely wouldn't survive long if the said psychopath were as hot as Wes Bentley. He could act creepy, make weird jokes, knock me out with chloroform, strip me down to my underwear, chain me to a chair, and then, when he asks me to eat Christmas dinner with him, I would chow down heartily while staring into his eyes. Then, when he forces me to witness him brutally killing one of my co-workers, tries to drown me, surprises me with another dead body, and locks me in the trunk of a car, I would still dream about reaching out and running my fingers through his hair. Then, when he smacks me around, commands his dog to attack me, and attempts to kill me with his car, I would still cry "You're beautiful!" and try to hump his leg. And that's the problem with hot psychopaths.
By the way, P2 is a perfectly serviceable horror flick. The characters are completely devoid of personality, but the two leads sure are likable despite, especially when Wes Bentley (after a particularly imaginative murder) starts gyrating and lip-syncing to Elvis's "Blue Christmas."