Hemingway got up with her, happily linking his fingers with hers, partly so they wouldn't get separated on their way back, but mostly just for the contact and intimacy of it. She was keeping him anchored. It would just be a case of somehow retracing their steps. He knew the address, at least.
"Yeah? That sounds wonderful," he agreed, with a bit of a dirty smile. It was an appealing idea. "If I like passion..." he repeated with a laugh. It would have been completely ridiculous to claim that he didn't like passion.