I remembered, out of nowhere, a conversation I'd had back in college about a man I'd been thinking of dating. Describe him, my best friend had said. I'd giggled and said, He's sweet. And she'd looked at me very seriously, taken my hands, and said, Corazon, sweet men are only sexy until you realize that they're too weak to hurt you. I hadn't agreed with her--still didn't, in some ways--but there was no denying that dangerous men had a visceral attraction.
(Heat Stroke, Rachel Caine, 291)