Spotlight on Peggy Bird!

Hiya, readers! it's my pleasure to welcome Peggy Bird back to the blog. Peggy visited with us when her first book, Beginning Again, debuted. She's back today with a spotlight on her second book, Loving Again (isn't the cover hot?). I've had the chance to read both books and I loved them both...so, on with the spotlight!

Loving Again Blurb:
    Glass artist Amanda St. Claire and Portland police detective Sam Richardson didn’t have an ordinary boy-meets-girl introduction—they meet when she’s accused of murdering her boyfriend. Sam puts his career on the line to find the evidence that frees her. But she leaves Portland before they can explore the attraction between them. Six months later she returns and a serious relationship begins.
    However, the past isn’t always easily buried.
    When an anonymous killer sets Amanda up again as a murderer and then threatens Sam, she moves to protect him the only way she can—by walking away from the only man she’s ever really loved.

Find Peggy Online: 
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Peggy-Bird/264392460308782
http://pinterest.com/writingbird/
http://www.peggybirdwrites.com
Buy The Book:
http://www.amazon.com/Loving-Again-Second-Chance-ebook/dp/B009VLZLXU/ref=la_B0081JM3LG_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1351349497&sr=1-  

EXCERPT from Loving Again --"Finally. The last load out the door.” Amanda St. Claire plopped herself on a footstool with a sigh. Most of the friends who’d been helping her pack for her move had just left, taking a truckload of boxes to her storage unit. Only Sam Richardson remained, a man who got her more hot and bothered than all the packing and moving in the world could. However, after what had happened last year, it was hard to know how to handle an attraction that was clearly mutual but which so far, other than one kiss—one wild, passionate kiss—she’d managed to keep tamped down. 
    She cleared her throat, which was closing in just thinking about that kiss. Or maybe it was the dust she’d inhaled while she was packing up the basement. Sure. Dust. Like that made her breathless. It would probably be better if he left, too, and let her figure this all out when she was in Seattle and he was here, in Portland. “Sam, you don’t have to hang around. You got suckered into helping when the only reason you were here was to say good-bye.”
    “Funny, I don’t feel like a sucker,” he said. He was standing way too close. She swore she could almost feel his breath when he spoke, his voice low and husky, creating goose bumps all over her. And those eyes—warm, chocolate brown with an unreadable expression—amused, maybe affectionate. Maybe she shouldn’t overthink this and just enjoy the way he made her feel. 
    God, he was sexy. She’d wondered for months if there could be something between them. But her life had been so messed up by what happened last year that she wasn’t sure she could rationally say she was in any position to find out. “Sorry, that sounded unappreciative and you know I’m not. I’m just feeling guilty. I owe you more than I can ever repay and getting you involved in packing boxes of books for two hours wasn’t how I envisioned trying to make it up to you.”
    “I keep telling you, you don’t owe me anything, Amanda.” He shrugged those broad shoulders of his, then grinned. “On the other hand, I’m not above playing on your guilt if it gets me dinner with you tonight.”
    She ran her hands through her curls that hadn’t seen a comb or brush since early morning. “Dinner? I don’t know. It’s tempting but after the day I’ve had I’m not sure I’m up to going anywhere.”
    “I was thinking more like getting a pizza delivered.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I have the best pizza place in Portland on speed dial.”
    She paused before answering, knowing it probably wasn’t smart to start anything the evening before she was leaving for six months, before she had a chance to sort out how she felt about…well, pretty much everything. But instead of the “no, thanks” her head was telling her to say, her heart—or maybe her hormones—got control of her voice and squeaked out, “Pizza would work.” After she took a deep breath to get her voice under control, she said, “But first, I need to get out of these clothes and take a shower. Digging around in the basement I’ve avoided like the plague for years got me filthy and sweaty.”
    The expression he had on his face now wasn’t hard to read at all. “I’ll volunteer to help with that, too, if you’d like,” he said, his voice rich with innuendo, as he tucked one of her wayward curls back behind her ear.